So it didn't really hit me that I'm graduating in less than two weeks until two days ago, when I went for a late jaunt on campus.

It was a cool spring night. As I headed out my door, I took the same route I've taken every day for the last two years to campus. Past the wooden Buddha, past the Chi Omega fountain where a group of kids were playing in the water. Past the Campanille tower, whose white hat seemed to match the moon.

And then I realized...I'm actually, really, 100%, going to graduate. And the next time I come to campus, I won't be a student. I won't be a high school kid going on a campus tour and I won't be a second grader going on a field trip to the Natural History museum.

Nope. I'll be a wistful KU graduate, and I'll probably feel like a ghost, as one beloved professor puts it.

It's kind of overwhelming having to cram all of my valuable lessons, nutty experiences and stories from these past five years into 300 words, but what better place is there to reflect than at the finish line?

I've learned to love transitions. During my favorite year, I went from living in a boarding house full of girls and lounging on the beach all summer in Brazil to living in a sorority for a semester, from the sorority to a house full of boys, then from the house full of boys to a residence hall in Argentina.

I've also learned to love the unexpected. I survived a microburst, danced in funk parades, came close to death on a dirt road in Bolivia when our jeep nearly flipped over, got hissed at by a penguin, saw a penguin on a beach in the summertime (which totally turned my world upside down), and pet fuzzy alpacas on Machu Picchu (I later found they were installed there on purpose so dopes like me would take pictures). And not too long ago, I saw Mass. Street overflow with 50,000 fans after we won the national championship.

It seems like there shouId be some kind of culminating moment after these five years. But I kinda already "fake graduated" last May so I could walk down the Hill with my friends. So this year, there will be no fancy processions, no cap and gown, and no teary goodbyes.

I guess I'll just take a late-night jaunt past the wooden Buddha, past the fountain, past the Campanille, down the road I know, for one last time.