On October 17, I stumbled across an article in the Washington Post by Sergio Peçanha called “What three beautiful randos taught me about bouncing back.” In his piece, Peçanha details conversations with strangers in a mid-sized city in West Virginia about everything except for politics. The article was refreshing among the “he-said-she-said” of the American election. As I read, I began to ponder about the relationships I have crafted over the past three years of my life, their depth, and how they came to be in the first place.
September 1, 2021. It was my first day at a brand new high school filled with over one thousand people I had never met before. While it was nerve wracking, I felt liberated in ways I had never thought possible. Going from rural schools with no more than 200 students to a high school with a population bigger than my hometown felt like the equivalent of stepping out of a tiny pit toilet into a blooming meadow. I could not believe that I was finally going to have a typical high school experience filled with football games, pep rallies, parties, and most of all, friendships.
The hallways and classrooms were teeming with opportunity. Every face was a potential friend, every group project was an opportunity to connect, and every follow-back I got on Instagram was a new person to wave at in passing. For the first time in my life, I had a chance to present myself however I wanted to in a place where no one knew who I was. Sooner or later, I made deep and real connections and felt as though I had truly made a place for myself in the few years I spent in that building.
September 5, 2023. I found myself in a strange city without the safety net of family and friends on my first day of classes at UBC Okanagan. I naïvely expected this transition to go just as well as my last big switch. While starting post-secondary was much scarier than just switching high schools, I repeatedly reminded myself that I had navigated a similar situation before, so I could do it again. However, my fresh start in Kelowna began to turn sour as I started to realise that the friends I had made at home existed out of proximity. While I got lucky enough to be taken under the wings of good-hearted peers in high school, I learned that finding people in university would now be up to me.
The challenge of crafting relationships in my new environment proved to be even harder than I imagined. I walked away from most conversations feeling awkward and humiliated for a different reason every time. I struggled to gauge my relationships with people I had spoken to once or twice. I could have surface-level small talk with most people, but struggled to dig any deeper than that without completely oversharing or feeling like I had made a fool of myself. With every passing day I began to miss my friends from home and my relationships with them more and more. On top of all of this, I felt like I could not find anything to relate to with others besides a common enrollment at UBCO.
Whether it was assignments, professors, majors, or classes, all I could talk about was the work that already consumes my internal life. I started attending speed friending events, club meetings, and campus events, and noticed a similar pattern. Beyond schoolwork, there was nothing else I felt I could talk about.
Not much has changed with my strategy since the start of my second year. Now, with midterm season underway once more and finals already breathing down our necks, the conversations surrounding academia are only becoming more and more common. I often find myself coming home from my classes feeling accomplished for talking to people around me, but noticing a lack of deeper connection beyond casual conversation. This is where Peçanha’s story came into contact with my own life, as I noticed a connection between the students’ relationships on our campus and the population handling a historic election to the south of us. It is really no surprise that all we can talk about is school and politics, because in both cases, our futures are on the line.
October 31, 2024. I found myself seated around the dining room table with five friends as they got ready to go to the bar for Halloween. I know almost all of these people for the sole reason that we lived on the same floor of the Similkameen residence in our first year of university. We were friends with practically nothing in common besides the fact that we were subjected to what we knowingly refer to as the “Simi experience.” Regardless of the difficulty of meeting people as a new student, my presence among the people sitting at the table was proof that I had succeeded.
The room was filled with chatter as we watched each other paint faces, make last-minute adjustments to costumes, and occasionally burst out in dance. I had explained the premise of this article to my friends previously, and was interested in hearing what they had to say about their experiences on campus besides the dorm we shared. Beneath the surface, I also had an interest in finding out how I ended up in that room in the first place.
Sitting beside me was Jamie, a second-year student who recently made the switch from a major in economics to sociology, but who was currently masquerading as a flight attendant. She lived directly across the hall from me in first year, and I can recall holding the door open with my back sitting criss-cross on the floor of my room some nights so I could chat with her before bed.
I asked Jamie how she makes friends on campus besides talking to them about school. She thought about it for a moment, then placed her head in her hands. From behind her, our host piped up with “alcohol!” which elicited a giggle from the table. I looked over at Renee, the health and exercise student-turned-Wolverine, as she triumphantly raised the bottle clasped in her hand.
After a moment of thought, Jamie told me that she would probably resort to sports as a mode of connection outside of academics. When I asked her why, she shrugged and told me she “feel[s] it’s a very general topic.” I knew this was true because that was what we had initially bonded over. I can recall having friendly debates over whether the Vancouver Canucks or the Calgary Flames were making the 2023 playoffs (much to my malalignment, it was the Canucks). It was something we had talked about again in the car ride to Renee’s house, and I even bought her two Canucks themed beer glasses for a gift exchange last year.
I posed the same question to Renee: “How do you make connections with people without talking about academics?”
Her face flushed. “This is so bad,” she said, ducking her head as if suddenly shy. “I’m literally the kid who goes to my classes and then leaves.” This was a habit I could relate to. I knew in writing this article I was walking headfirst into a huge challenge, as renting my first apartment has provided me with the kind of freedom from campus life that I did not have while living in student housing. This is to say that I now make my time at school as short and sweet as possible, going straight to my classes when I get to campus and then leaving as soon as they are done.
I asked her why. This time, Jamie exclaimed in mock exasperation, “it’s anxiety, Avery!” Amidst more laughter bubbling up from around the table, Renee lifted her head. “Because campus is too busy,” she said with a much more genuine tone of spite in her voice. Once more, this was a feeling I understood. The stress that comes with being on campus can be overwhelming at times. I usually do not even notice my subconscious anxiety until I step into the safety and solitude of my apartment.
The next day was rainy and grey, like most days in Kelowna when October rolls around. I got out of my class early and visited Comma Cafe with my friend Siya, along with her friends Krinal and Zarah. The four of us danced around the topic of academia the whole conversation, which was tricky. However, stories about residence living and campus food options were still on the table. We also talked about our favourite — and least favourite — features of Kelowna compared to our homes.
As we were sharing the joys and sorrows of campus life, Siya told me that the strongest friendships she has made in university are the ones she made living in student housing. I thought back to the night before, watching people I had shared a floor with prepare for our second Halloween as friends. While I knew that living in a dorm would be helpful in staying social while I was starting university, I anticipated that I would make the strongest connections with like-minded people in my program. I would have never predicted that I would be sitting in a room with the same people sharing the same memories and experiences.
I walked to H-lot in the dark with warmth in my chest. Remarkably, a simple hour-long chat sitting at a wobbly table in the Commons had the ability to make me feel that much more connected to the university community, regardless of how much it tires me some days. I am of the belief that part of the reason why I feel this way is because most of the small-talk conversations I have on campus feel robotic or scripted. Going off script is truly terrifying, but pushing myself to engage in conversation that goes beyond the usual “what’s your major?” can lead to something so much more gratifying.
There is a lot of pressure to meet people in your classes and your program. While this is clearly desirable for companionship and studying reasons alike, classes are not the only way to meet people, and academics are not the only way to make connections. Much like Siya, my closest friends at university were made through dorm living and Residence Life events, not through study groups or strategically choosing seats in a lecture hall. This is not to say that you can only craft good connections outside of the classroom, or that you will only make good friends in dorms. Making friends in university is challenging, lonely, and confusing no matter what. The strongest connections, however, might very well come from places you least expect.
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