Yup. You read that right.

I transferred into UNC in the spring of 2023. I remember it like it was two years ago; the dishes argument with my bitch roommate Sam at USC, opening the email declaring my transfer application was accepted, the frigid January air as I moved my happy ass into Morrison. I haven’t felt that joy in a long, long while.

I first heard the word in a meeting with my advisor: CLE. Campus Life Experience. It felt so innocuous at the time. I thought it was another meaningless acronym, like RA or LFIT. “You’ll stumble your way into them,” she said. “Most students don’t even have to seek them out.” That was the last time I trusted an academic advisor.

I should have spent every waking minute attending CLEs. Instead, I spent my time enjoying college and building life-long friendships, like a goddamned idiot. If I could go back and miss my best friend’s 21st birthday for a Crochet Club meeting, I would. If I could swap the time I spent perfecting my honors thesis with “A Night at the Movies: Examining the Religious Elements in KPop Demon Hunters,” I would. But we can’t change the past. God help us, we can’t.

Now, I average four CLEs a day. My GPA has dropped a whole point. I haven’t texted my mom in weeks. Anytime I type “H” into my search bar, Heellife autopopulates. They’re sacrifices, yes, but it’ll be worth it in the end when I get to walk across that stage and show Sam who the real “butt-face” is.