Climbing
the last part of the stairs to the men's third floor of the house, almost
being overthrown by the weight of my backpack that carries pretty much
everything but the dead body in it, my brain is assimilating to the good
old smell of Cosmo. I have been away from "the house" for the
winter break, and probably for the last time in my college years here
in C-U, I am returning to it. So, I breathe this aged smell of old carpet
and dusty walls, mixed with delicious kitchen odor. I breathe, with my
lungs full, as I want the smell to stay with me forever.
This white colonial style house, hidden between the red bricks of fancy apartments and fraternity houses, with its humble look but rich spirit, became my home. How can one associate a residential place with one's home, the place of birth and childhood, the place where one's family gathers every day?
Cosmo and its people, with the great help of my mentor and Cosmo's director, had helped me to become a person with a meaning. I came to the U.S. as an exchange student in high school, after which I enrolled at the community college. Although having a wonderful family to live with, I was desperate for a life surrounded by young people, students of similar origins, someone who I can associate with and learn from. Cosmo had it all. My first year, I entered the house as a "baby."
Far
the youngest person in the house, a freshmen surrounded by mostly grad
students, I felt like someone threw me in a cold pool of water and asked
me to please wake up. It didn't take much for me to realize that I had
finally surrounded myself with people who are what I am; lost strangers
in the deserts of corn and blue skies. Living with students of different
cultures, race and age, had shaped my character, my views on life and
today's society. Among many, I often think of my friend, an African gentleman,
whose presence in the house had shaped not only my life, but many other's
lives who enjoyed his wisdom, spiritual leadership, and kindness—kindness,
probably the nicest, most prestigious characteristic one is able to develop—and
share it with everybody, not just those who deserve it.
Cosmo, just a plain old house from the outside, humbly hides its rich multicultural existence, its humanitarian mission, and its bright leaders. And now that I have to say goodbye to Cosmo, should I be sad? No, there will be another "Ivan" moving in soon. Maybe he will be from Pakistan, New Guinea, or Italy, it makes no difference. The same stories will be repeated, same laugh will echo the hallways, the smell will not change either.
Cosmo, just a plain old house . . .