“Surreal @ Stanford” is an attempt to quantify the gaps and the bridges, the cold and the comforting, of attending Stanford. Whether it’s a first In-N-Out order or the sudden feeling of inadequacy, we’ve all undergone new things since our arrival. In this column, Tanya Rastogi ’29 seeks to explore that liminality.

“Mid” is used in many ways. Originally, it was a prefix referring to the middle of something, like “mid-day,” or “mid-October.” Recent internet language has shifted its connotation to something more like “mediocre” — below average, boring, unappealing. In Stanford terms, “mid” is eternity. It is Week 4. It is Week 6. It is Week 8. 

My professors really enjoy the phrase “midterm season” — it’s a great catch-all for every stressor a student could experience. Midterm season is the veil of reasoning applied to the dead silence in the lecture hall after a question. It’s the explanation for dark circles and messy dorm rooms and, hell, the darkness that now blankets campus at 5 p.m. 

Midterm season. Doesn’t that sound so heavy?

When over half the quarter is spent preparing for impending exams, the weight of this term can be reduced or bloated. One one hand, if everything is midterms, they can’t be so bad, right? But then it is indeed so bad, and frosh with the light still in their eyes realize that they have 11 quarters remaining of this.

The rationale for this sadistic schedule (I’m looking at the chemistry department in particular; my friends in the 31 series have suffered greatly) is unclear. We’re already on a quarter system. Our temporal perception of a school year has already been stretched by 50%. Why must that year be pulled further by the claws of deadlines and late-night study sessions and Canvas notifications that are somehow always sent out during the function? 

The afternoon a few days before my exams — both conveniently on the same date — I sat outside at the tables in front of Tresidder. I needed to get out of my dorm, where I’d be distracted, and the libraries, where I was undergoing a hibernative transformation induced by fluorescent lighting and dry stuffy air. I figured that if my exams would have me staring into a laptop screen for hours on end, the least I could do for myself was let myself see the sun. 

In my ears blasted the same playlist that had been running on repeat for the past two hours. It cycled through the final song, and I ran it back from the beginning. “California Dreamin’” kicked in with its first wistful plucks of guitar. All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray …

A light breeze grazed my skin, ruffled the leaves below me. Traces of laughter from the surrounding tables broke faintly through the music. Above my head, the clouds were wispy and white. All the leaves were orange, and the sky was blue, so blue. 

For just one instance, all my troubles evaporated to the warm air. 

… 

Maybe this is what happens when Stanford students touch grass. Maybe midterms have us all delirious. Whatever it is, there is more than life to academics. Go outside.