COMPLETED. A university student. A professional hockey player. They've proved they can be friends. Can they be more?
Although they're both in their early twenties and living in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, their lives couldn't be more different. Cami...
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You know the saying the more things change, the more they stay the same?
I do. In fact, I was living it.
Comparing my first year of university to my fourth and final one seems like night and day. Back then, the classes were large enough to fill the convocation hall, I had no idea what a syllabus was, and the possibility of doing great things was palpable in the air. Now, it was common to have seminar classes with a total of thirteen students, I knew how to read a syllabus like the back of my hand, and you realize—slowly, painfully—that a lot of university students don't exactly know what they're doing at the institution, let alone in their classes.
And yet, over the course of those three plus years, it feels like I've lived this exact night a million times. I'm on the couch, legs stretched out in front and laptop sitting on my thighs, with a full cup of caffeine-free Diet Coke (I'm really fun at parties) brimming with ice on the stool beside me. Even though I've tuned out the sounds from the flat screen on our living room wall, I can tell by the hammering noise that one of those home renovation shows my dad is obsessed with is on. It's how I often spend my Friday nights; home with my parents and doing some of the "lighter" work I have, the kind that doesn't involve too much thinking but that needs to be done in a timely manner. Tonight, I'm emailing potential participants for my thesis project.
"Will, do you mind putting that a little lower?" my mom asked my dad.
They were sitting next to each other, my dad holding my mom's feet, on the other couch in the room, opposite of the one I had to myself. Perks.
"Yeah, sure," my dad responded as he put it a few notches down.
My mom smiled her thanks but instead of returning her attention to her e-reader like I thought she would, she trained her eyes on me.
"What are you working on there, Camille?"
"Just sending a few emails," I murmured.
Neither of my parents were in the academic loop. My mom stopped her education after earning her bachelor's degree whereas my father went to college. Even though they were both more than capable of keeping up with my studies, sometimes it took more effort than it was worth to explain what I was doing all the time. It was tough enough to complete all the work; I didn't enjoy reliving it by telling others about it, as well.
"Can it wait until tomorrow? Let's see which movies are on Channel 100," my mom suggested.
I shrugged, corner of my mouth turning downwards, and looked to my dad for support. I had planned to finish this particular task today and I was a stickler for my own rules. The nap I took this afternoon after lunch was probably the furthest thing from productive, but wasn't life all about choices? Do it now or do it later, and I chose later.
My dad was hard on himself as well—but realistically, still probably not as bad as me—so I expected him to say something along the lines of "Let the girl work, Maia." After all, that was what he usually told her.
