Person asking at least one of these questions:

“Do you like Bryn Mawr?  You must love Bryn Mawr, right? Are you excited to go back?”

Me:

O.O Awkward silence. “Yeah…”

As a 19 year old, first generation college student, I am incredibly fortunate to have a circle of friends, family and mentors who are truly invested in my education and, ultimately, my success. Therefore it was not a surprise that, during the summer, questions about my first year at Bryn Mawr were a hot topic for conversation among my loved ones. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I would communicate about my shockingly successful first year–one word: GHANA–but with regards to liking Bryn Mawr, even loving Bryn Mawr, I always remained silent.

A recent graduate and dear friend of mine once told me that it took four years for her to love Bryn Mawr and it seems that my relationship with Bryn Mawr is on that same path. I appreciate BMC for its scenic and luscious campus, admire its proud and loving women, and  respect the friendships professors have built with me. However, to say that I love Bryn Mawr as a current sophomore would be lying.

There is not a day that goes by at Bryn Mawr where I am not conscience and, in some instances, self-conscience, about my most prominent identity on campus as a a black female from a working class family. In very subtle and obvious ways–did I mention that I live next to a mansion?–Bryn Mawr and all its glory is a constant reminder of who I am, where I come from, and the very harsh reality of the world we live in. Thus, it is hard to love a place where only in small pockets my image and background are reflected.

Ironically, I do not love Bryn Mawr but it does have a special place in my heart. A special place that holds every sentiment of frustration, struggle, joy, annoyance and laughter I have had at Bryn Mawr thus far. Whether it is two years from now or ten, know that I am waiting for the moment when every Mawrter experience is reflected on with love and not….awkward silence.