The Kitchen Sink

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October is finally here and all seems right in the world. Well, except for that whole possible terrorist threat throughout Europe, but let's toss that one aside to the media hype. Suddenly, there's an insatiable craving for anything pumpkin flavored, the brutal wait for an outbound train is even more hellish and it's finally acceptable to admit that you're wearing long-johns underneath your jeans … well, maybe. Life - if only for a mere 31 days - slows down. The hassle of back-to-school assimilation is over and there's a solid amount of time before the holiday madness begins. But there's a distinct somberness breezing through the autumn air.

 

This time last year, we lost three students in the span of a month and a half. In fear of another bereavement notice, opening our university e-mail became a cringe-inducing challenge and the palpable sadness throughout campus couldn't be ignored. Campus was eerie for a while. Whether we knew the girls personally or not, students and faculty appeared to be in a trance, simply going through the motions of attempting to conduct a "normal" day.

Now, a year later, the same solemn feelings seem to have resurfaced. While remembering the students we've lost, it's difficult to stifle the sadness.

Five years ago, I began compiling my most beloved possessions and stashing them away in the little pocket of my bag.  Each held its own sentimental meaning; photographs of my parents, notes from family members and friends and a menagerie of miscellaneous items that I couldn't seem to part with. What began as a minor compulsion soon manifested into toting around a hoarded, material version of the past. Physically carrying around sentimental parts of my past brought a sense of security and the comfort of knowing that remnants of my memories were at my side was oddly comforting.

After moving to Chicago, I toyed with the idea of nixing carrying around the bulk of my most cherished possessions. That thought was merely fleeting. I blame stubbornness. And when my bag was stolen this summer, there was no one to blame but myself. On the plus side, I can now think of myself as a true Chicagoan.Or at least that's what I heard. Whether out of truth or an attempt to placate me, I'm unsure.

 

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