“Hey Matthew, how was your day?” “My name is Matt.”

My roommate’s name is Matt. Strictly Matt—nothing more, nothing less. He prefers that I call him ‘Matt’ and not ‘Matthew’ because he is under the impression that the latter sounds too pretentious and formal for college. Matt and I have a roommate relationship similar to that of an elderly couple; for the most part we get along famously, but there are those moments where we just want to beat each other—not quite to death—with a blunt object.

 

One continual source of tension in the room is Alice, who Matt and I are perpetually at each other’s throats over (figuratively speaking of course).  Alice is the houseplant that grows quietly in her plant-bowl on Matt’s desk. Much to my dismay, Matt wasn’t born with a green thumb or any glimmer of green on any of his other fingers for that matter. Thus, I have defaulted into the caretaker of a plant [that Matt’s parents gifted him] that isn’t even mine.

It’s amazing how well we get along even though I’m from Lagos, Nigeria, and he’s lived in Killingly, Connecticut, all his life. The University of Rochester really lived up to my expectations when it came to the diversity of its student body. There are students from all over the place. Ethiopians breakdancing with New Yorkers, Chinese ballroom dancing with Indians—the nice mix of students from all around the US and the world makes for a particularly unique learning experience.

On another tangent, I speculate that whoever constructed the idea that counting sheep will help you fall asleep probably never attempted counting sheep himself/herself. I personally find nothing vaguely sleep-inducing about counting sheep. In fact, the thought of untended sheep wildly diving over fences bothers me slightly. It was 1:37am and I couldn’t fall asleep while Matt effortlessly dozed in the bed across from mine.

 

As I listened to Matt solve math equations in his sleep (story for another day), I turned my attention to the spectacle outside my window. At this unscrupulous hour of the night, believe it or not, a score of young, shirtless college students were playing Frisbee on the football pitch in the rain. I was as confused as Jack Sparrow in all four Pirates of the Caribbean movies. In short, I was very confused.

It was strangely nice watching them play, though. It reminded me again of the interesting mix of students we have at the University of Rochester. I literally discover a different kind of U of R student every day (every other day would be more accurate actually), which is why I look forward to every new day here.

Slightly cheesy I know, but it’s the truth.

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