I will miss my backpack. That is what I will miss most about
school. My green Jansport. It’s been with me for four years
and after June 18, I will probably stash it away in my
parents’ garage. Save for the occasional camping trip or
excursion through a foreign country, my days as a backpacker will
be coming to an end and that is very sad.
I like carrying around a backpack. I’ve been carrying
around a backpack since first grade. It just says something about
you. It says you’re still a student, still young, still
learning and, heaven forbid, still idealistic. Putting that
backpack away between my dad’s power tools and our Christmas
lights is an unappealing thought.
When it does happen, I will be storing away more than just a
well-used backpack. I will be putting away part of my life. And the
worst part of it is, I will eventually forget about how it feels to
be weighted down by a backpack full of books and all its other
trappings.
I am sure over the course of my life, during holiday visits to
my parents’ house, I will rummage through the garage for
something and come across my old olive tinged backpack like someone
who accidentally recalls a fond memory while trying to remember
something completely different. And, I am sure nostalgia will take
over and force me to dust off the Jansport and strap it on again
for old time’s sake.
Strap it on and reminisce about trudging up Bruin Walk with a
full pack. Strap it on and reminisce about the days when I
wasn’t quite yet an adult burdened by real
responsibilities.
I will remember the days when me and my roommates, Brian and
Aubrey, would steal plates from Dykstra dining hall and drop them
from the seventh floor stairwell just because we were tired of
studying. Back then, it was an act of youthful mischief. Now it
would be a destruction of property misdemeanor.
My mind will travel back to a time when drinking every day was
acceptable because I was “experimenting” with
independence. When I do that sort of thing now, it is just pathetic
alcoholism.
The memories will take me back to when I could shirk
responsibilities for a nice afternoon, sitting on Kerckhoff lawn
sipping scotch. Do that now and I’d get fired from my
job.
All all of these memories will come rushing back because of a
$42 backpack.
But, you can only reminisce for so long before it gets
depressing. So, I’ll put away the backpack again and hope to
stumble upon it during another scouring session.
I used to hate loading up my backpack with readers and books for
a day’s classes. It was such a heavy load to carry. But as I
get closer and closer to concluding my time at UCLA, I realize a
backpack stuffed with books is the lightest load I’ll ever
have to carry. I’ll miss that.