Steaming chicken rice, fresh from the rice
cooker. That was my last (and most vivid, admittedly) image of Singapore as I left that sunny island in South East Asia for the small town of Hanover in New England. Clutching a First-Year booklet, I remembered the seeming utopia hinted at on the College website, where individuals smiled like they were in a television sitcom as they lay down on the Green or sat in the library. This all seemed so real as my plane touched down in the small airport of Lebanon.
Before I set foot in New England I had read about the debate surrounding the Student Life Initiative, Tubestock and even the administration's new policy on increasing diversity on campus. The arguments seemed fragmented, and gave the impression that everybody was in conflict with someone else. This contributed to my sense of apprehension -- reading the articles over the Internet on the other side of the globe, my eyes got used to scanning the screen like a hawk for every bit of detail, every piece of information I could digest. Surely they would not be hostile, but would they be friendly and welcoming?
I still remember that the wind was the first thing that blew me away. It was cold -- Hanover seemed like the North Pole in comparison to where I had been just a day ago. I frowned, and clutched at my thin cotton shirt in vain. When I stepped out of the car, the first thing I saw was a bunch of people dancing outside Robinson Hall, to some obscure tune. There is something about being an unwilling onlooker that hurts -- I had to move into my room first, and thus was left out of the Salty Dog Rag rehearsals. And when I found out my luggage had been delayed and my room was a one-room double that had previously been a single, it would have been easy to feel down. To crawl, hands over my ears, to block out everything and collapse into self-denial. (By the way, it's called the apprehension-typical-of-a-new-international-'05 sickness, for those who are intending to be doctors someday.)
But it was Dartmouth that was to welcome me, and not the other way around. And I slowly discovered through my Dartmouth Outing Club trip and orientation that the people around you were the ones that really made it special. When my trip leader did everything he could to assuage my worries of my luggage ending up somewhere in Russia, the hint of a smile started to form on my lips. When I met my friendly trippees and used orientation to familiarize myself with the people around me, I realized the sense of community is all-encompassing here. From lively debate about issues in The D Op-Ed meeting to the candlelight vigils and support infrastructure set up in light of what happened on the 11th of September, it all seemed so human. The gregarious chair -- an impressive man -- of the Anthropology department gave me friendly, personal advice even when I stopped by at the open house. (If you're cold now, the first winter will be the litmus test!) Fellow '05s badgered me with questions about Singapore, all of which I was equally eager to answer. (They speak English in Singapore? There's no Singapore-ish? Wow!) They too answered my questions about the Tennessee drawl, about life in Chicago, to even how France was like. It was an amazing exchange of information, and all of it was unpretentious.
Somehow Dartmouth seems so personal to me. Every department answered with zeal all the exigent issues I raised that seemed important to me. My academic advisor seemed enthusiastic in not only advising me on classes -- he went beyond his detailed job scope, showing a genuine interest in my background and where I had come from. My host family whom I was paired up with even willingly hauled a bicycle back from K-mart in their car where all that kept the top of the trunk shut was a single piece of elastic string. They seemed to want to go the extra mile -- the mile that I would not have gone if I were in their place. I struggled to find an adjective for this phenomenon, but a stroke of genius descended upon me. Pleasantly strange, these Americans.
Soon, I began to wear a smile on my face too, and became less hesitant about talking (and debating) about Michael Fay and the caning that was doled out to him for vandalism. It began to rank as the numero uno topic of interest for my American friends, and I duly filled in the gaps in information and gave my own opinion on the matter at hand. I began to learn more about myself too, as I found myself rethinking the opinions that came so easily when I was back in Singapore surrounded by my fellow countrymen. Could this be the start of my assimilation? Unthinkable, surely.
And yet when I contrast my experience so far with the stories of the insularity of the international students at other equally prestigious universities and colleges as told to me by my friends, a wide grin forms on my face. As I walk down the road that forms the heart (and the rest of the body) of Hanover, I am truly assured that I belong here in this small New England street -- oops! -- town. Perhaps I carry with me too much of the idealism that each '05 takes with him or her to Dartmouth, but I can only hope it continues to be this good.
