Princeton — by Elazar Aslan

By Elazar Aslan

It was a time before most parents began taking vacations to scout colleges with their teenage kids. To help you select and get in to your college of choice, there were books, guides, and those useless counselors; but for me, it was a rather solitary quest. Nonetheless, I knew what I wanted. Princeton. I had never been there, but it was always my fantasy of what a university experience would be all about—a bucolic, ivy-ridden, intellectual nexus where classes were only an excuse to meet people and discuss life—how it worked and why—along with how to get the best pizza and the hottest girl.

I was excited when I arrived on campus. Actually, I was sixteen, alone and scared. I had made the first cut and was granted an interview; my last step before they granted me acceptance or shattered me with rejection. I decided to arrive early to see the campus and maybe even choose a dorm. Stepping foot on campus, it looked exactly like I fantasized—from the architecture to the landscape. It even had the soft scent of freshness and hope.

Within the first ten minutes, and rather unexpectedly, I encountered a student who just walked up to me, way into my personal space, didn’t say a word and stared at me with a rather angry face. The incident lasted less than fifteen seconds and he left. As bizarre as the whole situation was I decided not to try to understand it, nor his motives. Shortly thereafter, another person, with a slightly different style also came very close to my face and displayed a rather angry look. This time it was difficult to let it go with his exit. I couldn’t understand why they did this to me, but I was beginning to take it personally. After all, I didn’t do anything to them, yet they were staring me down in silence and with anger. Within twenty minutes, as another person approached me, I could guess the face they were going to make and I didn’t like it at all. He looked angriest of all. By the time he moved past me, I had no ability to try to figure this out, but I certainly was bothered by the experience. The feeling was somewhat intensified when a little later, a lovely woman approached with the same outcome. More than upset, this time I was heartbroken. I felt unwanted, angry, and quite lost and confused.

In short order, it was time for my interview—the last obstacle between me and my fantasy college. Needless to say I wasn’t able to recover in time for the interview. I walked in already defeated, lacking both the confidence and the passion that was so critical in defining those that deserved a seat at the elite table. The actual interview simply continued on the path that I’d walked in on in other words, it did not go well. I knew it in the interview and I certainly knew it when I left the room.

To make matters worse, as I descended down the steps that seemed to be held down by demanding pillars, another student came up to me and showed me that rejecting and shaming face. This time, though, he was dressed all in black and had white cream all over his face. I realized then, as he was flitting away, and so I asked, “is this a pantomime class?”, to which he bobbed his head in affirmation.

It struck me quick and it struck me hard. It was me they were seeing. They weren’t angry at me, they were simply asked to go and mirror what they saw; and what they saw was an angry face covering up fear and anxiety.

I sat in the train and wondered. What if when I set foot on campus, I was full of excitement and joy? Suddenly some stranger would appear and smile at me and in silence welcome me. That would make me even happier so that the next person would be ecstatic when he came to mirror me. As the joy would easily ping pong up, I would feel such a magic and wonder about this place that when I walked into the interview, my face would shout, “I am here, I have arrived and I want to claim my place”. The rest of the interview would just flow by, more as a friendly chat between two colleagues than an audition. My authentic passion would be the wind that lifted me above their iron clad gates and my quest would have been fulfilled with such ease.

* * *

How often have I walked into a room and quickly judged all those people who were looking aloof, and somewhat disinterested in my presence? Quite often the situation would actually get worse and I would take it personally and leave thinking there was something wrong with them. Why did I always wait and want the other person to crack a smile first and ask me in? How would my experience be different if I entered a room with a grin a mile long and let people know I was glad to be there? It is a rather simple and somewhat obvious understanding that I seem to forget too easily—the other person is most often mirroring my cues and creating the world I see— and what would my world be if that cue is one of support, embrace and joyous acceptance?