First-Year Student Journals : Kristin : Journal 10

Kristin's miniature straw box that looks like the White House

Kristin wears her sunglasses while hanging out on campus

Kristin | Profile | Reflections | Journals: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Things are going just swimmingly, as usual.

My friends Sara and Angela had some pet fish. They even had a contest to name them in which the ladies and gentlemen of the Whitis Court buildings submitted their thoughtful suggestions. They were hardy, healthy salt-water goldfish gracefully abiding in an aquarium of hospitable waters. One day, for their seeming welfare and for hygienic purposes, my friends changed their waters. Unfortunately, unaccustomed to the Austin water, the little fishes perished. (I am not trying to be morbid.)

I often wonder about those fish. I wonder how it must have felt—the abrupt disruption of changing environments that hastened their demise. I wonder how they died—was it just shock, or like poisoning or suffocating or exploding? Angela and Sara told me they died because their bodies were trying to reestablish equilibrium.

Freshmen are often jokingly called fish. I too, then, am a fish. My environment consists of pretty things—bright colors, poetry on the wall and art. I have made a space here customized to my needs.

I have just returned from Spring Break. I have recently received a new housing assignment for next year. I realized yesterday that in about two months I will have to pack up and move out of my Austin abode. Here in Austin, I know I do not live in an aquarium. There is a flow, a direction, an ebb to my existence. The water seems to regenerate itself. The ebb can be slow, or I can feel like I am tumbling down a waterfall. Of course, in a riverbed there are rocks and hooks. I can hit them or get snagged by them. I keep moving. If the water is toxic, I find a hospitable environment.

I realize I both have control and I don’t. I must move out in May and adopt another new space in August. I have no choice in the matter. However, I can tailor my new space to my needs. I may claim other spaces as well…a nook in the coffee shop or quiet undergrowth obscured by landscaping.

Change, change, change—I have never adjusted this much. At the same time, I feel both out of control and in control of the familiar immutable. Going home for the summer is an aquarium. I didn’t choose it. My ancestors chose the space I claim is my home, a possessive possession. Like the aquarium, home is a container, a repository for the familiar. UT seems to be a river. I keep going with the cascades of the river. Notwithstanding, my actual dorm room is my shared aquarium.

I ask myself often if I have established equilibrium. I am unsure. Spatially, I contend that I reached equilibrium. I possess my private living space and share the public spaces here at UT. Once in a while, I become a little peeved when I get bounced off an elliptical machine at Gregory after 20 minutes but Kristin the Only Child is learning to share.

Equilibrium is a cogent consideration in matters other than space as well. It seems to be a constant quest to have the interpersonal, academic and corporeal balance out, especially when daily habits revolve around the academic. Even when the balance can be established, an investment of energy is requisite to maintain it. Then I ask myself a seemingly perilous question, one directly opposed to common knowledge and conventional wisdom: What type of equilibrium is really necessary?

Last semester my fixation was academics. My courses were my lodestones. Right now, my focus has adjusted. I am concentrating on my emotions and relationships: established, broken and potential. The question on my mind is, “Does everything have to be balanced all at once, or can I direct my attention on one thing at one stage and then redirect my concerns to the previously neglected willfully and successfully?”

Even though I am pondering all of these important, life-altering, transcendent questions of existence and being and meaning and stasis and change, I really need to figure out by what miracle I am going to get all the junk I brought with me out of my dorm room. There is a lot of stuff on my side of the aquarium.

Send questions and comments to kristinrochelle@yahoo.com.



	Kristin \| Profile \| Reflections \| Journals: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Home
	Things are going just swimmingly, as usual. My friends Sara and Angela had some pet fish. They even had a contest to name them in which the ladies and gentlemen of the Whitis Court buildings submitted their thoughtful suggestions. They were hardy, healthy salt-water goldfish gracefully abiding in an aquarium of hospitable waters. One day, for their seeming welfare and for hygienic purposes, my friends changed their waters. Unfortunately, unaccustomed to the Austin water, the little fishes perished. (I am not trying to be morbid.) I often wonder about those fish. I wonder how it must have felt—the abrupt disruption of changing environments that hastened their demise. I wonder how they died—was it just shock, or like poisoning or suffocating or exploding? Angela and Sara told me they died because their bodies were trying to reestablish equilibrium. Freshmen are often jokingly called fish. I too, then, am a fish. My environment consists of pretty things—bright colors, poetry on the wall and art. I have made a space here customized to my needs. I have just returned from Spring Break. I have recently received a new housing assignment for next year. I realized yesterday that in about two months I will have to pack up and move out of my Austin abode. Here in Austin, I know I do not live in an aquarium. There is a flow, a direction, an ebb to my existence. The water seems to regenerate itself. The ebb can be slow, or I can feel like I am tumbling down a waterfall. Of course, in a riverbed there are rocks and hooks. I can hit them or get snagged by them. I keep moving. If the water is toxic, I find a hospitable environment. I realize I both have control and I don’t. I must move out in May and adopt another new space in August. I have no choice in the matter. However, I can tailor my new space to my needs. I may claim other spaces as well…a nook in the coffee shop or quiet undergrowth obscured by landscaping. Change, change, change—I have never adjusted this much. At the same time, I feel both out of control and in control of the familiar immutable. Going home for the summer is an aquarium. I didn’t choose it. My ancestors chose the space I claim is my home, a possessive possession. Like the aquarium, home is a container, a repository for the familiar. UT seems to be a river. I keep going with the cascades of the river. Notwithstanding, my actual dorm room is my shared aquarium. I ask myself often if I have established equilibrium. I am unsure. Spatially, I contend that I reached equilibrium. I possess my private living space and share the public spaces here at UT. Once in a while, I become a little peeved when I get bounced off an elliptical machine at Gregory after 20 minutes but Kristin the Only Child is learning to share. Equilibrium is a cogent consideration in matters other than space as well. It seems to be a constant quest to have the interpersonal, academic and corporeal balance out, especially when daily habits revolve around the academic. Even when the balance can be established, an investment of energy is requisite to maintain it. Then I ask myself a seemingly perilous question, one directly opposed to common knowledge and conventional wisdom: What type of equilibrium is really necessary? Last semester my fixation was academics. My courses were my lodestones. Right now, my focus has adjusted. I am concentrating on my emotions and relationships: established, broken and potential. The question on my mind is, “Does everything have to be balanced all at once, or can I direct my attention on one thing at one stage and then redirect my concerns to the previously neglected willfully and successfully?” Even though I am pondering all of these important, life-altering, transcendent questions of existence and being and meaning and stasis and change, I really need to figure out by what miracle I am going to get all the junk I brought with me out of my dorm room. There is a lot of stuff on my side of the aquarium. Send questions and comments to kristinrochelle@yahoo.com.