visitors

I always forget how much I love having people over.  I think I will always be a people person at heart.  I will always want to make people comfortable and happy.  I think.  When I have people over in my room, I feel like my parents when I was younger.  Most nights (and always on the weekends) we would have people over visiting, laughing and eating in the living room.  My first instinct when someone comes over is to thrust food into their hands and smile, “so, what’s up?”  (I used to detest saying “What’s up?” and “‘Sup.”  When did I suddenly start saying, “What’s up?”)

Sometimes I lose sight of why I became a RCA.  And you know, I still don’t know sometimes.  It’s discouraging, remembering how much I wanted to be one when I was a freshman and how happy I was (I was so happy!) when I found out, but when it came down to it, I realized I could never really be there for my zees, I could never really carry their burdens or make their lives easier.  And the plain fact is, most of them don’t need me.  Which is great, because I’d rather not be needed than they have loads of problems.

Too soon too fast I came up against problems (not specific to one person, rather, a culmination) I couldn’t handle.  I couldn’t handle the emotional burden, and I drew away, burned.  Mindy told me, don’t be emotionally involved.  It’s not your problem.  Don’t let this affect you.  I didn’t know how to do that, I didn’t know how to not be emotionally invested.  I learned too late that I could maintain a distance, and it dampened me.  There’s not anything I could have done, nothing, nothing, nothing, yet I feel like that’s exactly what I did and I could have done something, something, something.  Those people are fine without me, those people are perfectly fine now, but I still feel somehow responsible.  Not responsible.  No, I’m not responsible.  I’m just a student, I’m just a fallen human being.  But I am still somehow guilty.  Those people, willingly or unwillingly reached out to me for a semblance of help, and I just shrank into my comfortable corner of friends and laughter and happiness and pityingly smiled and offered a cookie.  I didn’t love like I should have, and I didn’t love like I could have.

It’s discouraging when I think about all the administrative stuff I have to do and my relationship with my boss (the mere fact that I refer to her as my boss is unnerving–I adore her, I do.  She is a sweet woman who knows what she is doing, and is very capable.  I just feel like sometimes we don’t have 정.), and how I’m never around for my zees to actually come and hang out with me.  I don’t know many of them, and the ones I do, my relationships aren’t as deep as I’d like.  It’s entirely my fault.

I’m never around the dorm, because frankly, it’s far and I’m lazy.  I’d rather spend time laughing with Julia and Dahae.  It’s not that I would rather spend time with them (well, I guess it is), but when I’m in the moment, I’m not going to think about coming back and hanging out with my zees.  I’m never around, and now that it’s second semester, it’s too late to go back and deepen my relationships with them like I could have.  It’s not impossible, but now we have a semester gaping in between them and me, that semester when I wasn’t around and would come back at 3, 4, 5am and smile tiredly and trudge into my room.  Spring semester is speeding up, and now they have their own lives, they have their own things to take care of, instead of talking to some old RCA who wants to be buddy buddy and shove candy down their throats.

Thank goodness I spent so much time with them during freshmen orientation week.  I’m glad that we got to know each other on the right foot, and no matter how little I’m around, they’ll still remember me as that RCA that shepherded them around (albeit annoyingly) to all the University events, who almost started crying when we were discussing date rape, who said ridiculously dumb things at the diversity event.

Sometimes I don’t want to talk to them.  (Not just my zees, but everybody.)  Sometimes I just want to be by myself in my room.  Sometimes all I want to do is talk to them, but they’re not around, they’re busy, or it’s 4:01am and I’m blogging instead.  :)  Last year, it was so easy.  It was so easy to be their big sister, and I wasn’t even a real RCA.  It hit me the other day–it wasn’t that these guys were different from last year.  Last year the freshmen were amazing, this year, my zees (sophomores included) are amazing.  But I changed.  I’m no longer a sophomore that can identify as closely with the freshmen.  I’m a junior who has my own selfish problems to face.  Some days, all I can think about is myself, and how little I care about the trials and tribulations of Princeton underclassmen.  I say, what do you know about being busy?  What do you know about work? in my head, and it’s all wrong.

It’s all wrong.  They do know.  I know, they know.  Every year is hard, every year is difficult, everybody’s burdens are heavy.  It’s not like mine are especially difficult, if anything, they’re pretty light in comparison to other people’s.

And then there’s my decision.  I’m not going to be a RCA next year.  The thought that I won’t be that RCA, that person, that nuna and unnie on a hall full of freshmen and sophomores to love and adore and to be loved and to be adored, sometimes, it needles me.  Did I make the right decision in being selfish and wanting to live with my friends next year?  Was it?

I know that I will still have contact with underclassmen next year, and I’ll make the effort to be involved in the Butler community as a fellow, but it’s hard.  It’s not the same.  It’s not the same at all.  Everytime someone asks me, “Are you going to be a RCA next year?” I feel a twinge of sadness, guilt?  Everytime someone exclaims, “You’re not going to be a RCA next year?” I twist inside.  And worst of all, when my zees found out, “Sumin, you’re not going to be our RCA next year?”  They’re asking me now, especially with room draw coming up, and everytime they ask, I cringe.

To so many people, a RCA means nothing.  A RCA is just someone who gives them food once a week or twice a month, and spouts University propaganda.  And you know what, that’s a lot of what we have to do.  But at the root of it, I care.  Others care.

This brings me again to the beginning of my first sigh.  Do I really care?  I mean, I know I do.  But I realized that I don’t always care.  I don’t care like I used to.   I pray that I will somehow find the ability to love like I should, like I want, and that care will somehow be a comfort to someone.  I pray that my apathy will dissolve, melt away, disappear harmlessly.

I guess much of this is a feeling of inadequacy, especially in light of the superhero failing to accomplish superhero duties.  Also, it’s because I know I can do better, I know that I can do so much more yet I choose to be mediocre.

In honesty, a RCA is really not that important.  Most people who come to the University are pretty self-sufficient, and if they have problems, they’re usually beyond the scope of their RCA.  Self-glorified, puffed up importance, propaganda machine, is that what I have merely become?

I like to think that I’m more than a mere University funnel of crap (and some good things, but mostly crap).  I like to think that somehow, by being me, by being a Christian, I can bring a more balanced view for my zees.  I like to think that I help them and that I can somehow help adjust their outlook on life.  (After all, are grades really that important?)  It’s a lot of “I like to think”’s.

I suppose the only way to start again is to open my door, and invite them in.  Ask them to sit on my sketchy, retarded futon, and offer them unhealthy candy or snacks (because pretty much everything I bought today is ridiculously unhealthy).  Now, in order to find the time to do that, that means a major restructuring of my lifestyle.  That’s where the difficulty lies–I like it so much right now.  I guess I’ll choose one night of the week and leave my door open, and that’s the night when anyone can just drop on by.  Now, I must find this evening.

What a self-centered entry.  What a self-centered entry.