Why I won’t be at commencement

Tomorrow’s graduation ceremony is a prestigious event, with caps and gowns, bright faces in the crowd and a photo memory for a lifetime to show your kids and grandkids down the road.

And I will not be a part of it.

After careful contemplation and some reluctance to cough up the $101 cost of the post-deadline cap and gown, I’ve decided that this age-old tradition means nothing to me.

There are certain sentimentalities that I’m always going to give in to, but commencement is not one of them.

Sure, I’m not alone in the decision. Tons of students at IU are giving up their opportunity to stand for the ceremony, either for financial reasons, for scheduling reasons or for sheer laziness. I’m none of those things.

I’ve decided not to stand in the ceremony because, quite frankly, I have a bittersweet relationship with this University. I am not entirely excited or proud to have come from IU.

That sounds harsh. I’m proud of my accomplishments here. I’m glad to have had the privilege of a college education, and I’m thankful to have worked with so many astounding professors while here. I am thankful for the resources it has provided me, I’m in love with this publication and I’m in love with this little town called Bloomington.

I’m about to make a lot of blanket statements. Whether you fall underneath the blanket or not, I don’t really care.

Whether you find these statements true or not does not make them any less true to me.

I have never identified with this school’s student body, nor the principles it’s grounded on. This school caters to a singular type of student, ignoring perhaps thousands that don’t fit into the mold of the quintessential IU student.

That is, the student who is pledging into the greek system, going out every other night and studying maybe two hours a week, if that.

This is the student that adores frat parties, who has visited the majority of the bars on campus and blacked out at least once since he or she’s been here (“It’s college, right?”). They probably voted for YOUniversity, an all-greek ticket with a large chunk of its platform built to facilitate drinking culture.

You probably participate in class, but you don’t do the reading. You only went to required attendance courses during Little 500.

When you heard that Kappa Delta had thrown a “homeless-themed” party, you said something like “well I’ve heard of more offensive party themes than that.”

This is IU’s golden child. This is what people think of when they think of IU.

I’ve felt isolated since the minute I stepped onto campus.

All around me, people were going to parties that I couldn’t get into. Out of all the courses I’ve taken, there have been two where I felt the majority of the class was as engaged as I was. People think college is a get-out-of-jail-free card.

I’m the student who thought that these four years actually counted for something.

I am a part of a large group of students that feels unchallenged here at IU.

It’s worth mentioning that IU wasn’t my first choice.

I used to go to school at DePaul University before I transferred here, and since arriving, I’ve had a few panic attacks (literal anxiety attacks) about whether I had made the right choice. Where were the students like me?

Where is the student that doesn’t think college equals drinking?

I am the student who thinks college equals education.

I am the student who drinks maybe every other weekend. I am the student who wants to go to a party where I know everyone in the room.

I am the student who has never even been in a fraternity.

I am the student who has had to self-create two individualized courses just to get something out of these vague courses. I am the student who read “The Great Gatsby” in high school, yet two required courses made me read it again when I could have been reading something fruitful.

I am the student who has to create his own agency in order to get the education I need. I am the student with extracurriculars not sponsored by IU. I am the student who goes to office hours to make up for how deindividualizing this institution is.

I am the student who wrote an honors thesis and still felt neglected by the program. Thank goodness for good advisers.

I am the student who moved off-campus as soon as possible.

I am the student who studied abroad just to get away.

I am the student who owns maybe one piece of IU paraphernalia that I got for free.

I am the student who wishes that the highest-grossing bar on campus wasn’t voted “The Undisputed Bro Champion of the World” (No. 1 out of 100 on BroBible.com).

I am the student who is disappointed in professors who cancel class during Little 500. I am the student who would rather not go to the race, would rather not even go to the bars during that week, if I could help it.

I am the student who wishes to live outside this bubble.

I am the student who put his education at the bottom of his resume. I am the student who is glad to leave this place.

I am the student who won’t be at commencement.

And yet, I am the minority. And I am just one type that doesn’t fit in, when there are many other subcultures who share the same sentiments.

To associate drinking culture with poor academics is oversimplification. People can drink every night and still get straight-A grades.

But after college, you don’t get grades. People will give you credit for hard work when you actually do hard work. Imagine that.

I have settled my score with IU, but I am fed up with it. I am fed up with working harder than everyone else and still being rewarded the same as everyone else. I am fed up with trying to be the difference.

To quote my friend and co-columnist Allison Stone, “I’m tired of being told I’m overreacting for wanting to see change.”

And now I am not a student here. I can’t wait for my hardwork to be seen as valuable.

­— ftirado@indiana.edu