Do you remember how we used to carry our lunch boxes to school? A bunch of ten-year-olds showing off the design of their package whilst concealing the nervous pit in their stomachs about the game that was about to ensue. When it comes to school lunches, there are two teams: the home team, which comprised Nutella sandwiches, M&Ms, chocolates, caramelized goodies, gummy bears, marshmallows and those huge lollipops that we ate just to reach the bubble gum — and the away team, which consisted of a healthier menu: dried fruits, tomato and cheese sandwiches, broccoli and a ton of healthy snacks that nauseated most of the kids who dreamt of juicy hamburgers and crunchy fries.
This is the beauty of Wilbur Field. You sit with your friends as the sun says “see you tomorrow.” You eat your hot meal as you converse about the unpredictable turns of the collegiate roller coaster that stops at the very top before resuming. The little knee bruise you hide from your bike crash. The word you use over and over again: “undecided,” the heading of your chapter three. “Undecided” tricked us into believing in perfection — that things could one day be decided — when perfection is only an artifact of the mind and reality is just a maze of unpredictability. As we listened to each other’s dreams, we closed our eyes to sense them, perhaps grasp them and live through them. But as we opened our eyes, we realized that the dream is now, on a Thursday night, on the humid grass, in the college that never wakes, in the land that never lives. In the land that keeps on dreaming, to transform dreams into a living. We were asleep while being fully awake. The alarm wouldn’t ring, for it was not time to wake up. At least, not for now.
Contact Tiffany Saade at tiff24 ‘at’ stanford.edu.