“Who decides what comfort is, anyway?” I find myself asking this question multiple times a day when a member of the chosen ones—the students who live on Upper Campus—decides to make fun of my current living situation.
If I dig deep into the archives of my memories from four months ago, I can recall with perfect clarity the moment I was assigned to my Newton Campus dorm. Nearly choking on my dinner, I noticed the concerned glances of other restaurant patrons as I shouted at my email. Little did they know, my world had essentially just imploded, collapsing in on itself at the thought of daily bus rides. I’m sure many others have similarly fond memories of receiving their housing notifications.
“So, where were you when you got your housing notification?” is a question I’ve heard muttered several times while waiting for the Newton bus. The one thousand-yard stare it elicits seems to be a great start to many trauma-bonded friendships.
When I arrived at International Orientation, the faraway land of Newton seemed eerily deserted. I swear I saw a tumbleweed cross my path, and the Duchesne Hill loomed over me like an insurmountable obstacle. What sort of cursed lottery ticket did 40 percent of my class win? I detested my dorm, despised the TransLoc app, and couldn’t stomach the thought of having a different zip code than many of my friends.
That was, however, until a friend made a joke about my new home.
“I actually really like it.” I shot back. “It makes for a great work-life balance, you know? Having class away from my dorm helps me unwind.”
I didn’t believe a word I said, and neither did my friend. Even so, I sprung up in defense of my temporary residence during her daily mocking remarks.
“My room is essentially a foot bigger,” I said smugly.
“Our gym isn’t small, it’s just cozy,” I muttered.
“The Duchesne Hill? Oh, it’s making my legs look great! Thanks for asking!” I exclaimed.
“Stuart is indisputably the best dining hall,” I said. “I bet you don’t have Sweet Treat Tuesday, do you?”
Ever so slowly, my words sparked a fire in me that hadn’t been there before. Somewhere along the bus rides to and from campus, Newton became my comfort place. Not a single Upper campus resident believes me, but it’s my truth all the same.
As laughter reverberates through its corners, Stuart Dining Hall’s homey ambiance makes each meal with friends feel like a family dinner back home. I revere the runaway rays of sunrise that filter through Stu’s east-facing windows, brightening my morning. I savor omelets that—unlike the eggs at Corcoran–are always made to perfection. I catch up with Dorita, who feels like a mother figure to us all. And, as if by some strange act of fate, the lava cakes from Sweet Treat Tuesdays always seem to find me on the days I need them most.
On the Newton bus, I find stolen moments of joy. I cherish those almost fifteen minutes—mere instants when the world slows down—when I can enjoy the guilty pleasure of simply looking out the window. I relish getting utterly lost in my thoughts and some good music, or gossiping way too loudly with friends.
I simply adore how most of the friendships I’ve made these past few months are just a short flight of stairs away, nestled in a building I used to dread entering. Walking in comfortable silence to Newton Center with girls I didn’t know this summer have become prized possessions I fiercely guard. Holding in childish giggles each time we play “ding-dong ditch” feels like uncovering a treasure hidden by a once-loathed map, marked with an “X” at zip code 02459.
I’m convinced that Newton dorms are only for the strongest of soldiers—the ones who can look past the inconveniences and focus on what makes it so special. After nearly a semester on Newton Campus, I can safely say I can’t picture myself anywhere else. It’s the fertile ground for the richest of friendships and the loyal guardian of my fondest memories. It may not be comfortable, but it brings me comfort—a distinction that makes all the difference.
