I miss Bryn Mawr. I miss Traditions – Athena, I miss Traditions, especially now that it’s Hell Week. I really, really miss Hell Week, in a way that only another Mawrtyr would understand. I miss being proud of my frosh, and bedtime stories (thank you for the dream, Jane), and ridiculous partying. I miss all of the costumes and the drama of the week. I miss that huge sense of community and unity that sweeps over the campus. I miss being part of something greater. I miss being part of a community and living in a community. I even miss Plenary and complaining about not reaching quorum (and you know it’s bad when you’re missing not having quorum at Plenary).
I miss Goodhart performances, even the ones not in Goodhart. Bedtime stories: crying, happiness, and senior year I-can’t-believe-we’re-actually-doing-this all mixed together. So much Anassing — I really do miss Anassing. The Duck Pond Run – it does indeed make you a Mawrtyr. I miss my dorms during Hell Week. I especially miss Rock – three fantastic years, three incredible Hell Weeks, including my very first, the year I was a heller, and my senior year – Trials and finally, finally bedtime stories! Caesar and Cleopatra, Donald Trump and Ludacris. The seniors sledding down the stairs my first Trial. I miss it all. Increasingly ridiculous oaths from the frosh regarding our secrets. Signs, petitions, costumes, and chalked declarations of hellers’ awesomeness everywhere. Sitting in my co-heller’s tiny little room (despite the fact that my much-bigger room was next-door), creating schedules for our hellees. The frosh looking adorable, all dressed up in pajamas – even pigtails and stuffed animals – in hopes of getting us to go easy on them for Trials. The ridiculousness of the sophomores’ and juniors’ punishments and the wisdom of the seniors’ eventual punishments.
There’s something really special about Bryn Mawr, especially in the connection alums still feel. At least a couple of days a year, there are Mawrtyrs all across the globe who are all thinking about Bryn Mawr together. (Seriously, if we had access to the Archangel Network, we could do something awesome.) I couldn’t be at Bryn Mawr today, of course – and it’s not really something for the alums, anyway, but I wish that I could at least have been in Chicago — or one of the other cities that held a Hell Week celebration for alums (although Chicago would be best because I love Chicago, and I know BMC alums there). Still, Bryn Mawr was never far from my thoughts today. It’s Hell Week in my heart, and we all know that all Hell Weeks end. . . .
I solemnly swear to never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER, ever reveal the secrets of Hell Week. I swore that when I was eighteen, and I will continue to uphold that oath. Happy Hell Week, Bryn Mawr.