As a sophomore you come more prepared to college, thinking that you already know the ropes of the game, and that you are in great advantage compared to your new freshman roommate, (who, you think, should be scared to death). You are even a Senator, a part of house council; you have a power of authority with which you can order those little guys around, in your advantage. You dream of living like a king, since you now feel like home.
Unfortunately, reality is unkind. You come to the hall to find out that nearly all freshmen (except three or four) are football players. When I say football players, I mean real ones, tall, muscular, massive; the ones that when they walk on the hall, you put your head down in fear, and escape their sight. So long for the feeling of superiority and authority. And then, you think that you know the ropes, until you see a bunch of new people you never met. You feel exactly like a freshman, just stupider, because you were here for a year, and have no idea what’s going on.
You thought that you did excellent in your freshman year? Well, welcome to your sophomore year, (especially if you’re a pre-med kid) where organic chemistry is all about a bunch of triangles, rectangles and hexagons; mammalian anatomy consists of dissecting cute kitties; and humanities teach how crazy our world really is. Welcome, oh you brave kitty slayer, oh you master of geometric shapes symbolizing sugar, oh you rounded figure trying to understand art, literature, music and philosophy, welcome to your sophomore year! You thought that you could beat the system? You were wrong; you can never beat the system; the system is always ahead of you! (Dude, I sound like one of those Matrix characters!)
But you always feel better when you hear your House President complaining: “I am not running a summer camp here! This is college!” Yeah, that’s right freshman! Do your own laundry by yourself. Oh, whom am I kidding; I’m a sophomore and I still didn’t figure out the secrets of doing laundry. I never really understood how to read the instructions on the washers; it’s as if they are written in hieroglyphs. I don’t know how I am going to be a doctor if I can’t read a simple set of instructions.
You know, by sophomore year you start thinking more about your future. I personally have to make my mind up about being doctor and a writer. I think I will quit writing. It neither gets you paid nor laid, so what’s the use of it. There was a time it used to be cool, but I think it turned out to be a bad investment: nowadays kids only watch movies and play video games. Maybe, if we, community of writers, could sabotage the entire film and video game industry, we might have a chance of surviving. And I can finally take my revenge upon people who beat me up in that “Halo” game.
Anyhow, I think that it has been a productive year so far. I’m learning so much about American people and culture. One thing that I still don’t get is “your mom” jokes. But don’t worry; until I graduate (in three years or so) I will become a master of those jokes. I will be undefeatable! “Your Mom’s ‘undefeatable’! Ouuuuu!”