Living in a Landmark (Ryckman)

When I first arrived at Trinity last Sunday morning, I noticed hordes of people huddled together in different sectors of the main courtyard, and my first thought was, "Shit, I'm late." As I drew closer to them, I realized they were just another group of eager American students, and that the bulk of Loyola's group wouldn't arrive until much later that day.

It's strange living in such a landmark. Unlike my time at Loyola, where I view the campus and my house (or dorm) as two separate things, I see Trinity's campus as my homebase. It's huge walls and gates provide me with the feelings of security that I am sure its architects intended. It serves as a beacon of strength and fortitude, anchoring the city. I have a feeling that the dynamic isn't quite what it once was, though, now that it's such a destination within the city. I think an object's purpose can become skewed once it develops a reputation, like people know of its reputation more than the object itself, and the tourists become a part of Trinity when they enter and are as crucial to its existence as the students.

And there are a lot of tourists. I'm fascinated at how many come in and out of the school's gates throughout the day. It's almost what I imagine living at Jackson Square must be like, except there's many more languages and nations that flow through Trinity. But because I'm technically living here, I've developed this sort of removal from the massive tourism that exists within Trinity's walls. Out on the streets, I still feel somewhat awkward, but it's as if I'm one step above the tourists that visit Trinity, existing in this liminal space between fledgling local and fumbling tourist. I feel ambivalent about it, because existing as a student here allows me to exist outside of those things, but at the same time I'd almost rather exist fully as a single thing rather than a mutant hybrid of the two. I'd rather exist within one of those spheres than squeezed between them.