Ending Credits
By Christine Jeong
I am twenty-two. Maybe you are scoffing at the fact that it is ridiculous for me to say I am growing old because everyone is. I might not be an expert at growing old, but as a June birthday, I have been the oldest person in the classroom for so long, so maybe I do have some credit to share my wisdom.
Each September, every reunion with people on campus starts with: “How do you feel about being a (fill in the applicable class year)?”
I reply with either “Oh, you know how it goes” or “It’s okay…” (Can you tell I am not good at lying in social situations).
I am truly dismissive of these moments where we articulate the passing of time. We are all experiencing it together, and there is nothing we can do to hold onto our title of being (fill in the applicable class year).
But, becoming and being a senior was different from other years.
My responses started changing every month starting from the end of junior year: going from “Oh god, don’t even mention it” to “It’s almost disgusting” to “I’m not ready” to “You know, it’s about time I be a senior.”
It has been strange to be able to do certain things just because I am a senior. Every time I mention that I quit all my extracurriculars, everyone accepts it as a given without any curiosity or questions. I asked myself this question too: I decided to quit with the train of thought that it would give me more time to enjoy my final few days in undergrad—funny thing is that it did not. I do not get to see the people I used to love seeing as often as I used to; I do not get to think about anything outside of academics or recruiting; I am, quite frankly, still busy without them. So, I guess my first lesson that we should learn from this is: our past selves try to make the best decisions for our present, but we fail from time to time.
In contrast, some moments teach us that our past selves reward our present. I think of handing off my Editor-in-Chief position of VISIONS Magazine to ones I trust the most – thank you, Rachel and JO. They were the ones who saw my mistakes and trusted my leadership even when I was not sure of myself. When they invited me to their first meeting with the new members that they handpicked themselves, I was grateful to be remembered. In a room filled with old and new faces, all greeting me as a ‘retired’ member, it felt surreal that my time with this community was suddenly so limited. When a junior told me, “Please come to our meetings! We want to see you more often!,” it felt so nice to be looked after as a senior.
In these tender moments, it is so easy for me to reflect on my starting years at Brown:
I still think about the walk Jenn and I took after thinking we did horrendously on our CS midterm and ended up running back in the rainstorm, soaking wet. Gosh, I couldn’t even keep up with her speed. Wait, it’s so crazy to think that the first time Anna and I karaoked together was to NCT 127’s “Kick It” in Alex’s room. We have such a history with this group, don't we? Anytime I see a funnel cake or sugar powder, I giggle to myself thinking about the time Jaehun inhaled the powder into his throat and started coughing white dust everywhere.
Oh my god, I remember how Sedong, Jason, and I all kneeled on the cold hard tile at Andrews doing our APMA 1650 problem set. Why did we do that? It was a weekly ritual, almost. I think about my first defeat in Super Smash Bros with my Kirby against Chris’s Bowser. That was historic – no offense. My mentors Sedong and Jason would be so proud of me to see where I am now.
I only saw Toshi once in freshman year, and he taught me how to play poker. I have never seen him play poker after that – what’s up with that? I still think about how Raph called me Darius (a game character in League of Legends – I only played that game once in my life) with his group of friends. I don’t know if Michael and I ever talked about this, but I sometimes wonder if he was ever freaked out when Sedong wished him “Happy birthday, Michael!” every time we Zoomed when they barely even knew each other.
One of many nights as James, Toshi, and I were coding our night away in the lobby of the engineering building during sophomore year, James asked Toshi and me,“What’s your definition of closeness?”
I never thought I would have to think about that – closeness wasn't exactly a love language for me. When can I know someone is close to me? I gave him a very unsatisfying answer that I cannot remember.
For over a year, without him knowing, I pondered and pondered, and I was so happy to share my (tentatively) final answer a year later: “Someone I can share my good news with.”
I think sharing always meant a lot to me.
When I played hot seat with a crowd I only vaguely remember and Alyssa asked me, “What do you want out of college?”
I said something along the lines of, “Having stories to tell and share.”
Maybe I get it from my friends from home, Hailey and Sophia, who love oversharing. They would always prompt me, “Don’t you dare miss out on any detail. Okay, go!”
I do not know where that answer came from or how genuinely I meant it – are drunk words truly sober thoughts? I might have been sober though.
I would answer this question similarly but differently now. At the end of college, I want to have stories to share, but I want people to whom I feel close with to have stories to share about me.
I have been thinking about ending credit scenes a lot. Why do the directors include them at the end of the film? If they want these contributors’ names to be remembered and honored, why do we put them at the end and not the front? The directors put in the effort to have a track over their end credits, but why would they scroll through those thousands of names so fast that we cannot read a single one?
I will think about the VISIONS meeting a lot. It felt so nice to think that they enjoyed our time together, and to think that some of our moments shared will live on through the way I touched people and the way they touched me in ways we did not notice at the time.
I carry these moments with me.
I carry the parts of my friends whom I am happy to call close.
These moments and the fragments of their lives will continue to live within me,
and I hope they also carry these moments and pieces of me.
I see myself watching the movies of those beside me. No matter how long the films are or how fast the ending credits scroll, I will stay put in the bright and empty theater room as others leave because maybe I will catch a glimpse of my name – I hope it is somewhere in their credits because theirs will be on mine.
Maybe it’s not about growing old, or about going up a grade, or about carrying the title of being (fill in the applicable class year).
Maybe we just hate the idea of changing.
I like ending credits because they do not change the fact that I was there for at least a fragment of someone else’s life. My name will be engraved like a scar.