I wasn’t really a big fan of Coldplay’s title track to their latest album Viva la Vida when it was first featured on the iTunes commercial a few months ago: The song didn’t seem to have much of a hook or rhythm, and my inner elitist is always skeptical of any band that gets compared to Radiohead. But Chris Martin’s vocals achieved a new significance as New Student Orientation’s coordinators, captains and orientation advisers belted them out at the welcome session. McDonough Gymnasium erupted as the NSO staff cheered in eager anticipation of meeting their new students. I stopped to look around at the sea of pink, green and blue shirts that bobbed up and down in the stands to the music, awed by the splash of color that has changed the way I see myself in the Hoya community.

This was my second experience as an orientation adviser, the fond memories of last year having compelled me to reapply. Each year’s training session is a reflection of a new team with its own vision, and so even veteran OAs and captains had plenty to learn, from new mantras and approaches to a ridiculous number of inside jokes.
Those we saw as self-conscious students last year were now confidently ready to welcome in a new class, while those of us returning brought a renewed appreciation from another year at Georgetown. But there are also some permanent fixtures in the NSO experience that continue from year to year: Sleep is still a luxury rarely afforded, and our voices are still completely shot from fight-song marathons.

One of the expectations of the NSO staff that continues to carry over is that we “respect the shirt.” This means that when we don our “Camp NSO” garb, we acknowledge that we represent our program, our fellow staff members and our Georgetown community. This is a responsibility not to be taken lightly, as our behavior during and beyond NSO sets the tone for how the newest Hoyas engage with their campus. Even as we would celebrate a hard day’s work with our fellow staff members wearing elaborate costumes at themed parties, we’d still remember to keep things “NSOppropriate” and to always respect the shirt.

At one of the last events of orientation, a program about student health and safety called “The Hoya Report,” Dr. Todd Olson, vice president for student affairs, issued an interesting addendum to our “respect the shirt” mantra. Pulling up four volunteers from the audience, Dr. Olson handed out T-shirts for them to wear, each representing a different aspect of a Hoya’s identity. One from Southwest Quad, for example, illustrated a pride in one’s dorm and living environment, while another from National Coming Out Day showed a commitment to causes on campus, especially those that express solidarity with fellow Hoyas. Dr. Olson concluded with a bold challenge to his audience: “Earn your shirts.”

I’m not sure why Dr. Olson’s words particularly resonated with me. Perhaps it is because of my tenure as a shirt designer at Georgetown — I have gotten the unique opportunity to create images for a number of campus organizations and events. But this new slogan, combined with our traditional NSO directive, also summed up my feelings about my fellow staff members and the goals we wanted to achieve.

NSO brings together many diverse elements of Georgetown, as the staffers frequently wear all kinds of shirts throughout the year. We come from various sports teams, performance groups, clubs and backgrounds, and are passionate advocates of all that we stand for to the new students we meet. Yet for one week before classes begin, our “Camp NSO” shirts trump them all. While holding onto all of the identities we represent individually, we come together in a colorful display of unity and pride in our home on the Hilltop. We build lasting connections and friendships within NSO that might have never existed if we didn’t surrender ourselves to the power of the shirt. It is this enthusiastic embrace of our community that we endeavor to share with our new students, reminding them that from now on, We Are Georgetown.

As our staff gathered after the NSO Pep Rally for our last hurrah in our official shirts, we again trumpeted our newly adopted Coldplay anthem. I hope that as our new students embark on the Georgetown journey with us, they will join in our song: Viva la Hoya.

Walking through the ballooned archway for the first time last Friday, I knew why college to me seemed the stuff nightmares are made of — I just hadn’t seen Healy Hall yet. Healy, with its stone and spires, evoked the Hogwarts of our make-believe pasts — not the Azkaban so many might have feared as young readers. And later, the sun, as though proud of its distinct honor to illuminate a Georgetown gathering, shone on celebrants throughout the Mass of the Holy Spirit on Copley Lawn.

The buildings and sun of Washington, D.C. aren’t the only welcoming aspects of Georgetown: The people I have met, seen, received smiles from and played could-have-been-awkward NSO icebreaker games with are what makes Georgetown Georgetown — and the Jesuits wouldn’t have it any other way. The “Jesuit commitment to the whole person,” a near-tagline and pamphlet favorite, looks good in print, better in person and best if you’ve survived a “spare the rod, spoil the child” grammar school education from the few, the proud — the nuns.

At the New Student Convocation, we learned yet another Jesuit lesson as we put on our graduation robes. When we wear them again, we’ll be the same people who wore them the first time, but never again the same. With them came a sense of reality, an urgency indeed to put our noses to the grindstone but never to, as Professor James O’Donnell, Classics Department Provost, concluded his address, miss the magic that is Georgetown University.

When did I become a Hoya? Well, officially it was at convocation, when I was welcomed as a new student. True, I did feel excited when I saw the professors marching into McDonough in their gowns, looking very scholarly and Harry Potter-esque. And it brought a smile to my face to see the explanation of the professors’ gown decorations, because I knew then that there would never be a moment at Georgetown when I would cease to learn new things. And yes, somewhere between the various speeches and the alma mater, I did have a moment — a small but unmistakable twinge of emotion — when I knew that this community would soon become dear to me as not only a school, but as a home, and that someday I would miss it the way I now miss my first home. But it was during the one of the more grumbled-about NSO events that I realized the depth of this shift.

The HOYAS photo, taken on the Multi-Sport Field on Sunday evening after convocation, was an NSO requirement, and most likely not the most popular event this week. Granted, the free T-shirts and the resulting photograph were nice. For me, though, the HOYAS photograph — with hot wax dripping on everyone’s hands and many collective groans of tedium after standing for a while — created a shared experience that gave way to new friends and comfortable surroundings.

Early Sunday morning, my parents had left for good, and I couldn’t help but think of what a huge mistake I had just made. I was alone, apprehensive and completely skeptical of the whole fascination with college. Why did everyone think this was so great? If I, secure and comfortable with who I am, could not take this plunge outside my comfort zone, then how could millions of others across the country survive the same shift to collegiate life?

But NSO, despite the daily fever-pitch dancing that had me feeling like I was in a musical, actually had a few hidden tricks up its sleeve, not least of which is keeping freshmen from having too much free time. By staying busy with various events, there was no time to look back, and by the time the HOYAS photo rolled around that same evening, I found myself standing amongst people whose names I actually remembered. Somehow, in the span of one day, I had gone from anxious and unsure to excited and relaxed. I started to truly feel like a Hoya when I was standing with my peers, complaining about the wind blowing out the flame and the melting candle.

Sometimes the structured playtime of NSO can create superficial bonds between people; you can only ask a few essential questions before the conversation peters out. But with a shared experience — the pain of hot dripping wax, or getting barked at by eager orientation advisers to stay inside the lines drawn on the field — the Hilltop starts to feel a little more like home, and these fellow Hoyas start to feel a little more like friends.