My grandmother’s funeral was sad, but not because her life was cut short; 85 years, six children and seven grandchildren prove that. Her funeral was sad because we had all assumed that it would happen another day. Not today. I didn’t visit her in the nursing home because adjusting to college life was more important. Because the Metro stop was too far away. Because I was young and busy and had all the time in the world. Because there would always be more time. Tomorrow. So now tomorrow is today, my grandmother is no longer here, and I can never tell myself that I will visit her later.

I didn’t believe in the Wash. U. bubble at first, because the campus seemed small and the city beyond it seemed huge. Now, though, there are classes and exams and parties and a million other activities to fill my time. If I can’t fit everything into today, then I will stay up all night until today becomes tomorrow. The Wash. U. bubble keeps us so fully wrapped in our own lives that sometimes we forget about life outside. Outside the Wash. U. bubble, there are wars. There are earthquakes. People die. This is not to say that nothing of importance happens within the bubble; of course our lives here are significant, and our purpose legitimate. While we are gaining knowledge and growing into ourselves, however, life outside the bubble goes on.

If I realized yesterday what I know today, I can’t say that I would have acted a whole lot differently; I still would have been busy, stressed and sleep-deprived. But I would have gone to visit my grandma. I would have reminded myself that just because it was my brother’s 22nd birthday did not make us safe from death. So I may have no authority to say this, but I will anyway. Take full advantage of what the bubble provides, but don’t forget the rest. Call home. Visit your grandparents. Skype your friends from high school. Today is here, and there is time.

Kate is a freshman in Arts & Sciences. She can be reached via e-mail at kemarcal@artsciwustl.edu.

I recently moved off campus to a block north of the Loop, which is considered to be a dangerous, poor neighborhood. It has been one of the more eye-opening things I’ve experienced. After only four months, my perception of it changed from a crime-ridden, imposing menace to what I’m learning more about every week—a fairly average neighborhood, full of lots of families and with excellent parks.
The preconceptions we have that aren’t always challenged are the ones that are especially important to examine. For instance, everyone complains about the “Wash. U. bubble,” but it doesn’t seem to me like anyone ever gets very far in dissecting this elusive problem. Could it be we’re approaching it wrong?

I won’t use the imagery of a Wash. U. bubble anymore, because I personally think that the metaphor has become clichéd to the point of meaninglessness.  Instead of talking about this abstract idea that we can’t quite pin down, why not take it apart further?  What do people mean when they talk about a bubble?  It means people aren’t going off campus, aren’t interacting with the neighborhood.  So that pins it down a little—why aren’t people going off campus? Why aren’t they interacting with the neighborhood?

I honestly believe that, for 90 percent of people, the answer is simple—the drinking age, unfortunately, is 21 in that killjoy dimension of reality that is St. Louis minus Wash. U.  And also, we are busy, either working or pretending to work. We have our own communities within Wash. U. I completely understand. Trust me.

However, I think that even beyond those very valid reasons, there is hesitancy that deserves to be examined. Think about this: The Schnucks on Olive, which is clean, well stocked, orderly, well-lit and down the street from a swimming pool, tennis courts and a bike trail, is colloquially called “Ghetto Schnucks.” Why? The store isn’t as big as the one in Clayton, the food is cheaper, the store is older, and it has a different clientele than what a lot of students are used to. Are these good reasons for being dismissive?

Moving into the area and using primarily Olive Schnucks for my shopping made me re-evaluate the validity of that label. It was an excellent, albeit possibly painful, way of actually challenging myself to rethink the way I see people and places. At the same time, I became more self-aware about my attitudes, some of which are subconscious. I was surprised at how radically my views changed and at how many prejudices were narrowing my options without my being aware of it.

No, University City is not 100 percent safe, but then again, you can’t always have WUPD looming over your shoulders on Segways. Besides, I’m not trying to paint it into a utopia of bliss. It is a very real area and a very foreign one to most of us. It doesn’t always fit into what we are comfortable dealing with.

It’s worth remembering that different ways of life don’t always come packaged nicely into festivals where we can gorge ourselves on ethnic food. There is economic diversity as well as cultural diversity. Yet if one deserves respect and understanding, then the other does too. So, go back to ghetto Schnucks—you know, the one some of you only use to buy alcohol because it’s cheaper and you assume that they’ll go easier on your fake, because they’re somehow sketchier—and maybe notice something else about it, such as its utter normalcy.