Tragedy contrasts with Princeton calm

Well, my friends, despite the freak snow flurries and cool breezes of late, I think it is safe to say that spring has finally sprung at Princeton University! Or at least it seemed as such the last week, the first back from Spring Break. Although he has been peeking his ugly mug back into our lives these past few days, it seems that Jack Frost is on his way to giving up nipping at our noses in favor of basking in the warm sunshine, and we can finally kiss those blustery snowcapped days goodbye! Suddenly the world seems just a tiny bit friendlier, more beautiful and more accommodating. With glorious weather comes a sense of euphoria, and there was evidence of this all over campus last week. Every patch of grass on campus was occupied by a comfortably clad student in flip-flops and sunglasses, with an expression that can only be described as sheer ecstasy. Frisbees floated about my head like bees as I traversed our fair campus, and I couldn't get three feet without running into a tour of wide-eyed hopefuls, eagerly taking advantage of the sunshine to take a peek at their potential future. If nothing else, although there is so much more, weather like this lets us forget our problems, at least for a time. Weather like this lets me temporarily shove the shadow of something to the back of my mind; the shadow of war.

As I was preparing to return to campus after Spring Break, my parents were especially adamant in their traditionally parental "Be careful's". I had wondered to myself whether they might have been overreacting. I hadn't really heard "Don't talk to strangers" since I was a child, so to hear it again, and said with such concern, struck a chord with me. I began to wonder how much my life might change as a result of war. It is no secret in my mind that I have been incredibly sheltered in my life, never really having to face a tangibly threatening obstacle. I've never lived through a war, or faced poverty or danger in any way. I've read about these things in books and heard stories from older relatives, but I never assumed that I might gain a true sense of the experience by simply absorbing others' tales. I simply figured that I would never really know, and never thought that I ever might get the chance.

On Sept. 11, I, along with most of my peers, got my first taste of real tragedy. People have said that while our parent's generation will always remember where they were when Kennedy was shot, we will always remember the morning of Sept. 11. And so I do. Yet, even then, I can honestly say that I could not reconcile it in my mind. I was lucky enough to not be directly affected, in that I did not lose any loved ones, nor was I in danger myself. My grief was real, for New York, for the people I knew that had lost loved ones, for those that lost their lives, and for our country as a whole, but I can't shake the notion that I cannot truly know their pain or suffering while I'm sitting at home, safe and sound, in the shelter of my happy, little springtime.

Now, it seems, it is time for me to remove myself from this sanctuary, and take an active role in the real world that is creeping up on me. I think that this war with Iraq has been a slap of reality in my privileged face. I found myself wondering as I roamed the halls of Penn Station, crawling with policemen and army officers, whether this might be my turn to experience, rather than absorb. To do, to speak, to listen, rather than to hear. Is this the beginning of the stories I might tell my grandchildren that they cannot yet relate to? Will this be the trying time that will define who I am in 10 years? Will it be the point at which I am forced to regard my life thus far as superficial, and be inspired to unite with my fellow Americans to stand for what I believe in, the preservation of the gift that is human life? Is this the end of my peaceful, self-absorbed existence?

I fear so. I hope so.

Noelle Muro is a freshman from East Haven, Conn.