College: Elementary School, Except With More Tears

When I was in elementary school, I pictured college students as majestical creatures who knew everything about the world. To me, the dark circles under their eyes was the source of all their powers, and they could drink secret brew that made everyone laugh. They were superheros--and one day, I would grow up to be just like them.

Fast forward 10 years later. Scene: A college dorm, cluttered with stacks of paper, a hairbrush that hasn't been used in a month, and a disheveled looking pillow pet.

It turns out that in some ways, I already was just like them. Because, in more ways than not, college is a lot like elementary school. Except for, y'know, that whole future being at stake thing.

In about fourth grade, my mom let my brother and I choose what we wanted to eat for dinner. Having a bit of a uncontrollable obsession with taste for desserts, my journey to the pantry was something like trekking through gold. Forbidden peanut butter cups were everywhere. Chocolate chips were calling my name. The cake that was only for "special occasions" suddenly became the salad course. All of which, obviously, came before dessert.

The next week's sugar coma was well worth it.

Since than, I've realized that in order to avoid that whole diabetes thing, I should level out and eat real salads for dinner. It's easy when your parents do the grocery shopping.

Then college happens. And you're walking down the aisles of Giant, and you realize that, oh my goodness, there's a sale on Turkey Hill ice cream. Better get 50. And some Hello Kitty popsicles while we're at it. And who needs lunch when you can eat Lindor truffles for the next week?

Don't mind me, I'm just dinner

Let's just ignore the fact that last year's sugar coma is this week's muffin top.

Elementary school kids are pro at the "I don't need you Mom and Dad, I got this--no wait, where I are you...Mommy!!" By the time high school rolled around, I was convinced I couldn't wait until I didn't have anybody around to tell me what to do, or that back in their day, nobody smashed pigs with angry birds. I'd even stay out just a few minutes later than I said I would be back, just to show how independent I was, la dee da.

Once I actually got to the point where nobody was around to tell me what to do, the number of frantic phone calls my parents got became a little ridiculous. "HOW LONG AM I SUPPOSED TO MICROWAVE CHICKEN NUGGETS???" is not a thing a mature, independent adult cries to their parents.

Even the lesson plans are shockingly similar. Somehow, jumping from elementary school to college, we're still learning the differences between their, there, and they're.

Some things never change.

Namaste.