alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

0.1 ➢ Delta.

Alumni ➢ 0.1
The Delta sorority house looms proudly above us, right in the centre of a few other several white buildings; tall and sophisticated and intimidating beyond belief. When I was younger, it used to excite me. Now I feel nothing but my stomach twisting in knots.

Pillars of white and picket fences of cream line the front yard of the house, gleaming and clean and neat. The Alpha XI Delta sign has been polished to welcome new guests, to make them feel comfortable in this unfamiliar environment. My mother fits right in, but I'm merely her shadow; trailing behind, keeping my head down.

This will be my home for the next few years, where I'll build the beginning of my life. This is where my mother experienced her own, and like a good, obeying daughter, I'm unspokenly expected to follow after her.

One foot in front of the other. Deep breaths.

Some people recognise my mom, some don't. My mother, who has a gentle, tight-lipped smile, the woman who is collected and confident and knows her place. My mother, Alice Olivers when she graduated and Hayes when she got married, a Delta alumna.

In the distance, I see a couple of people approaching us, and my body becomes less tense at the sight of my cousin, Chelsea, and my aunt. They both looked freshfaced and eager, traits I heavily wish I possessed.

When they reach us, Chelsea gives me a small hug and asks me how I'm doing. I engage in a short, polite conversation, knowing fully well that a distraction is what I need right now as her mother does the same with my own.

"Jusko po! Dalaga na si Sophie!" [Oh, god! Sophie's all grown up!].

Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Am I even breathing out anymore? It feels like everything's just going in.

Hah, that sounds dirty.

A laugh. A hug. My head is spinning so fast that when Chelsea's mother reaches over to wrap her arms around my frozen figure, it takes me a second to retaliate.

She smells like cologne and papaya soap. I close my eyes, breathe it in. I was always told by the counsellor in my old secondary school to do this whenever I found myself on the verge of having a panic attack, so that's what I do- or attempt to, at least.

In. Out. Concentrate on anything but the noise. Anything but the people.

They say that colleges can be scary, especially if you've never been to one before. They say that orientation's the perfect time to find out who you are and what your place will be for the next few years you decide to stay on whatever course you take. Yet I'm standing right here, slap-bang in the middle of the NYU campus, and I feel as minuscule as ever.

There are people everywhere. Some of them are lining up at the sorority booths, banging for a sign-up and vowing to make their parents proud. Some even hold smug smirks on their faces because they know they'll get in.  I wish I could be like them. I wish I had the confidence.

But I don't. I'm stuck as frozen, and as still, as I allow myself to be, which unfortunately drags on for quite some time. I hear my mother, Alice, speaking to Chelsea's mother beside me, and their hushed voices and occasional squeals cause my stomach to erupt with nerves.

Deep breaths. In, out.

It's all loud chatter and happy smiles and the typical, "They're so grown up, now!", but in tagalog. I hate that I can only understand some things. Most of what they say seems to be tagalog and I'm suddenly cursing myself for only knowing a few of my mother tongue's basics.

"You ready, Hayes?" Chelsea asks, a small smirk on her face as she nudges me, "Hey,"

"I wanna die," I blurt out, the first three words I've managed to utter this entire day, and she pauses.