Magic in Your Major
Written by Aria Eyde & Lubaina Kapasi. Graphics by Aria Eyde.
Name? Major? Where are you from?
I’m sure we’re all sick of the same three questions — of asking them, of repeating the same answer. I know I am. But I’ve come to realize these questions are more than just icebreakers meant to ease the tension of meeting a new person. They are, instead, a polite way of asking a question that would seem far too daunting on its own: Who are you?
Your name and hometown are easy. They tell the story of where you came from, but a major is different. It isn’t always as simple as what you love, although I am lucky enough to love mine. A major, in simple terms, tells another story, the story of where you are going.
But no matter where you are going, whether you love your major or not, it’s easy to feel tired, unmotivated or lost during these long winter months. During this transitional period between fall and spring, I go back to the beginning.
When I first realized I enjoyed writing, I was around 16 and completely sick of high school. Weirdly, I started writing about songs. Late at night — three or so in the morning — I would listen to music to try to ease my failure to sleep, or at least quiet my thoughts. The songs would turn into stories I had to write down. I would get up and scrawl out whatever came to my head, writing something that was barely legible once morning came. I did this for months, running to my notebook while listening to music — in class, on the bus, during lunch. I probably looked crazy, but I loved it.
All of my writing then was based on songs. That is to say, all of my writing was stories of other people — stories I saw myself in, stories I needed to figure out, if only so I could know who I was. What I didn’t know was that these late nights would be the start of something I’ve come to love more than I can properly explain.
What was once a secret, quiet interest I kept to myself has turned into nearly all I do. Pursuing it in college has made it more serious. Suddenly, my entire future seems to depend on whether I am good enough at writing. Everything I create carries a pressure to be perfect — a pressure that neglects the spark I felt when I first realized I loved it. But that’s not to say I don’t still love it — I do.
During these winter months, when so much of my writing seems to be done for someone else, I go back to the beginning. I write about the songs I love now and the stories of the people around me. I still have the small side projects I keep to myself — where my writing can be as bad as it wants, because only I am there to judge it. Even if your major has nothing to do with what you enjoy, keep doing something you love. Keep that part of yourself alive.
