After four long, and yet so short years, I’m starting to have flashbacks as to what it feels like to be a senior. Four years ago, I was a senior at a small international high school in Mexico City, buzzing with questions:
“What food can possibly be crappier than the Tuck Shop’s pizza?”
“How will I get into a good college?”
“Where will I hang out for drinks after The Dubliner is miles away?”
Now, as a senior at a university in Coral Gables, I find myself asking similar questions:
“What food can possibly be crappier than Chartwells?”
“How will I get a job, any job?”
“Screw drinks, what am I going to do without the gliders at the Rat?”
And yet, as I carefully slave through classes to make sure I clear with enough credits to walk, as I prepare r