A warm, golden hue emitted by lamps and fairy lights strung over windows stretches across the room; music and conversations of party-goers are muffled, despite the thin walls. Loud, infectious laughter fills the small space as the night is defined by exchanges of secrets and stories. For the past three years I’ve been at Brown, this is a moment that is recreated over and over again.
When I think about the best nights of my college experience, they aren’t the ones out partying. They’re the evenings spent with friends where casual conversation suddenly takes a dive into the deep end. What begins as a group study session on a random weekday becomes an hours-long conversation about imaginative what-ifs, our greatest motivations, and the things that keep us up at night. Regardless of an early class the next day or an urgent deadline the same night, we’ll talk until one of us finally glances at the clock and realizes it’s 3 a.m. Having lived in three different dorms on campus already, I find it enthralling how these moments repeatedly emerge regardless of the rooms I’ve inhabited over the years. All it takes is a question, no matter how absurd it may be, to set us all off on a tangent.
During my freshman year in Keeney, my friends and I would crowd into a friend’s dorm—made perfect by a roommate who was basically non-existent. We’d gather in a circle on the cold, faux-wood vinyl floor, shoes kicked off, all of us seated in a position where we’re propped up on our hands and our legs are sprawled out (unless, of course, you were lucky enough to claim the grey, lumpy bean bag). The soft glow of a desk lamp would envelop the room as everyone talked about their day and complained about classes. Until suddenly, a question was raised: “Do you guys think you could survive a zombie apocalypse?” There was a short wave of silence and then, “Well, we all agree that Crystal would be the first to go, right?” The room then erupted into laughter and the next hour was spent going back and forth about who had the best survival skills (or lack thereof). Zombie apocalypses were not the only topics of conversation, however. We’d naturally become inquisitive about our backgrounds, our families, our interests, and our views about the world. What began as playful conversation suddenly became an exchange of the many things that make up who we all are. These conversations would typically emerge during a night we’d claim to get work done, yet ultimately never do any at all. I’d never regret not getting any work done though, because years down the line, I won’t remember the score I received on an exam I should’ve studied harder for; I’ll remember the long nights with my friends full of meaningful discussions and shared emotions. It was also this year that we filmed podcasts where we talked about our life experiences thus far (as much life experience as you could have at eighteen years old, anyway), and while they were never uploaded online, they now serve as time capsules for us to fondly look back on.
Entering my sophomore year, I transitioned into a room in Caswell, and the conversations naturally found a new home there too. My roommate and I hosted numerous movie nights, crowding our friends onto an air mattress with a mismatched collection of pillows, all eyes fixated on our projector screen. We cried to dramas like Beautiful Boy and held our breath to thrillers like Leave the World Behind. As the credits rolled, the mood would shift. Conversations would sometimes erupt into loud, ridiculous debates about plot holes, but as the night went on, we inevitably entered a raw and honest territory. We’d talk for hours about our struggles with friendships back home, the weight of complicated family dynamics, and the exhausting reality of learning to navigate the world as young adults. However, there was something deeply comforting about realizing that struggle didn’t have to be lonely. I learned that sometimes, it’s better to spill your guts to the people who care about you than to keep choking them down in secret. Vulnerability became a strength, and it showed itself on full display as we’d shared things that we’d never express—not with anyone else and, most importantly, not anywhere outside of that room. This has become a sacred practice between us, one that we’ve unknowingly sworn to uphold forever.
Now in my junior year, I’ve moved into Minden and have become quite adjusted to the spontaneity of these late-night talks. They come about during study sessions, casual hangouts, or right before going to bed. Today, our conversations now anchor around a plush, red couch positioned in the middle of the room I share with the same roommate and friend—a second-hand piece we inherited from a group of friends. It felt almost like a baton that was passed down; I often catch myself imagining the insightful conversations held on this couch before us, and I love knowing that my friends and I are keeping that cycle alive. Lately, our conversations have been revolving around the uncertainties of post-grad life and the anxieties of approaching our final year at Brown. We discuss our lives before arriving at Brown, and how much our experience here has shaped and transformed us. We realize how Brown has not only impacted us, but how we’ve all impacted each other too over the past three years. We often wonder what our lives would’ve looked like if we hadn’t been admitted or found each other, and I am endlessly grateful that the universe led me to them.
At times when I walk past the dorms late at night, I’ll look up and glance at the windows where rooms are lit up by warm lights and sunset lamps. I’ll think about the odds that everyone in those rooms are in the midst of their own deep conversations, all happening in the same building, at the same time. It brings me comfort hearing footsteps above the ceiling or laughter muffled from next-door neighbors—knowing that these heartfelt conversations of connection are happening all at once. Finding my own community where I feel valued and heard about the things I have to say is truly what makes being at Brown worth it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
