We need to be honest with you. We have a huge confession to make. Are you ready for this?
When we first met you, we didn’t like you. At all. We were the bitter ones who told everyone we didn’t get into UCLA or Berkeley. We contemplated transferring. We realized we were too lazy to go through the application process all over again. Then we realized why we didn’t go to an Ivy League (it all makes sense).
But then we saw you in a different light. You and us, we got involved. We got to know you, the real you. We spent long, passionate nights in our dorms (AV’s IPACS and Mesa’s Otero) talking with you, talking about you and finding ourselves more comfortable with you.
We joined organizations and clubs to get closer to you. It worked.
Khassaundra did Peer Mentoring, marking the beginning of a very fruitful relationship. She showed the freshmen how cool you are, and she realized just how true it was.
Emmercelle founded and became involved in Clare de Lune A Cappella, and serenaded you twice a week from then on out. You swooned. It was confirmed. We just might be right together.
You promised us a Student Center when we first met, magnificent and splendid. We eagerly waited an extra year, staring out of our windows at ugly construction. Oh but when you deliver, you deliver. Your creation was worth the wait; we spent many hours there with you.
Alas, the honeymoon stage ended quickly. You stressed us out on many occasions, keeping us up at all hours to please you. You demanded hours, effort, projects, papers, cut into our social time. You isolated us in your bubble town, far from the nightlife of LA. You called it safe. We called it boring. Still we obliged, we obliged for four years straight. For you, we did it all.
When you cooked for us, sometimes we noticed the cheese on the pizza was rubbery. But we loved you, so it was okay. We ate it anyway. You made up for it with your grilled cheese at Brandywine (it is to die for). After a year, you thought we were taking advantage of you and started charging us about $8 per meal. You should know we never took you (or your Zot bucks) for granted. How could you doubt us?
There were the parking tickets. Oh, the parking tickets. Why you would ever fine us for just coming to see you, we will never know … and no, hush, our love, we don’t want to hear anything about Ron Fleming. He has nothing to do with our bond. You should have never gotten him involved.
Then, just in the past year, things got ugly. You demanded more from us. You called this demand “Budget cuts.” “Tuition increases.” We protested, but felt helpless. Could we really continue on, like this, with you? Still, we struggled to make it work.
Still we endured.
There were still good things. Among the other activities we did in order to truly know you inside and out were the Kappa Alpha Theta sorority, Pan-American Latino Society, Student Parent Orientation Program (SPOP) Royal and [color not yet known] years, Humanities Out There, Forest Fire Magazine and the Literary Journalism program. And here we are now, New U Features editors face to face with the end of our relationship with you, and we don’t know how to say goodbye.
It is time to part ways. Life is leading us to different places. As much bad as we recall, you made us incredibly happy. You introduced us to new people we’ll never forget. You taught us valuable knowledge, inside the classroom and out, and gave us priceless mentors and professors.
We will never forget the first time we stepped into LJ 101A and knew that we were in the right place, in the right major. Similarly, we will never forget countless New U production Sundays spent ogling shirtless men in between cursing at computers, digitally making babies, and singing along to “Bad Romance.” We even managed to get some work done every week! You taught us that any moment spent idle should actually be used doing lunges (FEEL THE BURN!) and that stairs trump elevators because you are too lazy to renew your elevator permits. Shame on you. We’re telling your mother.
UCI, we will always remember you fondly and with warmth in our hearts. We bid you adieu. Peace, bitches.
K & E