A Reflection on the College Process and Senior Year

Ceci Massaua

As soon as I hit the submit button, there was an immediate burst of virtual confetti all over my computer screen. I had done it. I applied to college. The feeling of accomplishment was like no other. The process that I had spent so much time, energy, and stress on was over (at least on my part). There are so many emotions tied to submitting my college applications. I’m excited for all of the firsts that are going to come in college. I’m stressed about my decision date. I’m looking forward to what’s to come beyond the gates. However, despite all these great emotions, I also feel sad. Through all of this, I'm realizing that I'm finally experiencing my year of lasts. It’s my senior year of high school at Notre Dame, the place I’ve called home for the last seven years.

Since th grade, I’ve watched all of the senior classes before me experience their year of lasts. However, I never knew mine would come so quickly. Before I knew it, I was driving through the gates in the pouring rain on September th to go to my senior tailgate in the Cuvilly gym. Then, weeks later, I jumped into the pool for my senior plunge, something I’ve been waiting for since th grade. Last Friday, I danced the night away at my last Fall Fling, dressed cleverly as “Identity Theft,” a costume I came up with the night before. Next week is my seventh and final Spirit Day, one of my favorite traditions here at ND. Our skit is going to be awesome, but I’m dreading it being over because that means it’ll never happen again. In February, I’ll have my last Winter Ball, then Prom in May, and finally, the last day I drive through the gates as a student and hear my last “have a great day Notre Dame.” This year has gone by lightning fast, I blinked and it’s already the end of the first quarter. As each day passes, June rd creeps closer and closer. As I’m experiencing each of my lasts, I’ve been thinking of my future beyond the Gates and what’s to come once I leave Notre Dame. I’ve started taking photos of the Mansion each day to serve as a reminder of this place.

I honestly never meant for this paper to become a sob story, but that’s what happened. Senior year is such a great thing to look forward to, but once you’re in it, I can’t stop wishing I was back in freshman year, not willing days to end. I remember one of the themes for spirit day when I was in middle school was “Time Flies at ND” (I still have the shirt to prove it). Everyone has always told me that time really does fly at ND, but I guess I’m only realizing it now. I’ve whizzed through this entire college process (or at least tried to) without realizing what it means for me and my time at ND. I was in such a rush to submit all my applications, that I didn’t sit down and think that I was subconsciously wishing away the rest of my limited days at ND.

While all of this reflection isn’t directly related to me hitting that submit button and seeing virtual confetti, it’s all tied together in a unique way. Each day that goes by is one less day that I have here, but one day closer to my future beyond the gates. It’ll be a new school year at a new school where I’m experiencing my year of firsts. I’m so excited for what’s to come after I graduate, but I’m just not ready yet. I’m going to cherish every single moment here at ND for the next days, hours, and minutes.

Of Mice and Women

Lindsay McBride

Iusedtothinkmicewerecute.

Theydidn’tdeserveallthebadpress—depictingthemasdirty,unhealthy,mean, orugly.FlowersforAlgernonbrokemyheartoverthedeathofafictionalmouse withextraordinaryintelligence,andasachild,IreadclassictitleslikeTheTaleof DespereauxandMrs.FrisbyandtheRatsofNIMH.JustlookatStuartLittleand MickeyMouse.Eventheircousin,Ratatouille—allresoundingHollywoodstars, belovedfiguresofchildhood.SearchingtheInternetfor“moviesaboutmice” yieldshundredsofaward-winningmotionpictures.

Just last year, Ratatouille the Musical was a legitimate performance that (virtually) raised $ million with songs like “Trash Is Our Treasure" and "Anyone Can Cook". So it seems that both the literary world and Hollywood are rather obsessed with sentient rodents. Why?

For one, they see the physical world from a different perspective than humans, sneaking into crevices and top hats alike. Also, since mice can be both pets and pests, filmmakers can tell an easily understood story about the dangers of marginalization. Ratatouille is emotional at its core. Of course, the animated rodents we see in movies are nothing like the ones we see in real life.

I had the unfortunate pleasure of realizing this last week.

Perched upon my favorite blue armchair, the venue for most of my productivity (and periodic dozing), I pored over document after document, scribbling calculus problems in succession. The television hummed in the background; Jeopardy! blending into Wheel of Fortune into professional cornhole. I was probably the only viewer, but not even an active one - unaware of the other screen in the room, I honed in on my work like every other night. It felt as if the television volume was zero - a lovely and calm atmosphere for productivity. In retrospect, I imagine this part as the scene in the movie where the protagonist unknowingly carries along, while the killer furtively prepares to strike. Just when she thinks she is safe, the unthinkable happens out of the corner of her eye.

A flash of fur darts into the living room. It makes eye contact with the girl in the chair: me. The awkwardness of it was oddly human. At this moment, I regretted every time I had ever extended the mouse a dose of sympathy. It was clearly intimidated, though, by our uncomfortable eye contact, and immediately scurried back to wherever it came from in the kitchen.

I’m not sure who was more affected by the encounter. Relaying my experience to my dad, you wouldn’t know whether I had seen a mouse or the ghost of Christmas past. It was odd — the idea that it had noticed my presence, and changed its mind about entering the space I was in. The protein-coding regions of the mouse and human genomes are % identical. Genetically speaking, we’re not as different as people might think. Mice can make facial expressions based on their emotional state, and if they do not have a companion, they can become lonely, anxious, and depressed.

Sound familiar?

After my mom noticed mouse droppings on the arm of my chair, I knew I could not in my right mind continue to sit there. Firstly, it did not appear possible within the laws of classical physics that the mouse could scale this chair, unless it somehow learned parkour or flight from a bird outside. Secondly, it couldn’t sit on the other, unoccupied chair in the room? Some entitled mouse we had.

Now, I realize I’ve continually personified this mouse and made it seem conscious of its surroundings. But in a sense, it kind of was. We study mice in the lab as animal models all the time, and depict sophisticated, CGI versions of them on TV. They’re instrumental to our success in neurobiology and modern medicine in general. Every drug you have ever been treated with was tested on a mouse. Why, then, was I so afraid to see one in my living room?

Sometimes, we don’t do well enough to consider the feelings of other creatures around us.

I didn’t encounter the mouse again for a long time. And in a weird way, I wanted to see it. I walked down the stairs at : am and tiptoed into the dark kitchen because I was nervous we’d make that awkward eye contact again. I stopped sitting in my favorite blue armchair, because I knew the mouse had been sitting there, and I’m not particularly fond of sharing. As crazy as it sounded in my head, I had waged a mental war against this tiny rodent that tormented my living room. No matter how many traps we scattered throughout the house, the mouse was indomitable. It simply would not give up. Just last night, as I penned this very essay, the mouse scurried out from under my blue chair that I was sitting in the night I saw it for the first time. It was a cruel and ironic symbol of the territory I have conceded since we first began this struggle for control of my living room.

Like Hollywood often tends to do, I have noticed myself anthropomorphizing the mouse. I found comfort in knowing that I might be its only remaining family member because my dad continues to buy rat poison and mouse traps. I referred to it as Mickey in our family group chat. I even wrote in one of my college applications that I was irrationally afraid of mice. Am I embarrassed that this has consumed my life? Maybe a little. But to be honest, I’ve been on edge a lot lately. When I’m consumed by serious responsibilities, Mickey is kind of a welcome distraction.

It doesn’t feel right to use the mouse as a metaphor for my own personal struggles and shortcomings, but I do think it is important to consider how we treat things that scare us. Fear is a healthy response in life — as the body's primal response to a threat, it has kept our species safe. But we cannot let ourselves be totally dominated by the what if, by the imagine that, by the I’m afraid.

My mom told me last night that they hired an exterminator to develop a “solution to the mouse”. I sincerely hope this is my last encounter with mice for a while.

Now to try to watch Ratatouille without having nightmares about my living room. Bon appetit.