In approximately six weeks, I will be on a plane over the Atlantic on my way to South Africa; and only now is the reality of that voyage is beginning to sink in. On some level, I think of these last weeks at Georgetown as a mini-version of senior year; I’m leaving both the campus and the country for over six months, and come next fall, I’ll be living in Burleith, coming to 37th and O for class and (maybe) a trip to Yates. I find myself feeling somewhat free with my praises and criticisms of the Hilltop and, like the star of a late-90s teen movie, I feel like taking this moment of public attention to tell everyone how I “really feel.” I’m burning my bridges before skipping town, so here is my yearbook note to Georgetown, rife with things I love, the things I love to hate and the secrets that only someone leaving for a very, very long time would feel comfortable airing.

I’ll start with the bad stuff: I absolutely hate the self-perpetuating image of Joe and Jane Hoya as bland, wealthy prepsters who look like they’re a year away from registering at Tiffany’s for their wedding in Westchester County. Most of the student body is nothing like this; in fact, it spends a good amount of time disabusing others of that mistaken impression. And anyone who superficially fits that image would rather not be reduced to a sartorial stereotype; we all got into this school, after all, and there is more to a person than whether or not they pop their collar.

On a lighter note: Really Leo’s, no microwave upstairs? No toaster? I guess there wasn’t any room in the budget after you maxed it out on purely decorative whole vegetables and a fifth grade science fair presentation poster board on how a cafeteria works.

At least Leo’s manages to get food out on time, which is more than I can say for certain Corp services, namely those located on the second floor of Lauinger. If your customers wanted their coffee to take 45 minutes (an exaggeration, I admit) to brew in a single serving French press, they would make it themselves. Also, Corpies: lose the tip jar at Vittles.

And finally, to the residents of Village A D205, what in the name of all things holy are you doing up there? I like to think it’s indoor bowling or some fierce Dance Dance Revolution tournaments, but I’m dying to know the real source of all the thuds emanating from your apartment.

There are, of course, things I will miss when I’m in Africa next semester — or the somewhat-closer-yet-still-distant T Street in the fall. I love the view from the top of those stairs that look over the football field and Harbin patio (Except for all those weekends I had to stumble down it freshman year) that, on the right fall day, may be the most gloriously collegiate spot on campus. I gain a fresh understanding of Beatlemania every time the Phantoms perform out in front of Lauinger or in their all-day marathon in Red Square. And I suggest for those who feel that the erotic pulp fiction section of our official library is lacking to check out the Southwest Quad’s collection; for reasons I cannot fathom but love to speculate on, it contains countless dozens of 60s and 70s romance detective novels. I kid you not. This room easily ranks above the tunnels as the Hilltop’s most bizarre and best-kept secret.

And what would a parting speech be without a few overwrought confessions? Unfortunately I have no scandalous crushes or romantic escapades I want to reveal — I do need a little of my dignity to stick around for the next three semesters — but I applaud the spirit of such revelations and do have a few of my more benign ones to unload:

We never paid for cable in our apartment. I took countless whole loaves of bread and whole cartons of soy milk from Leo’s. I played hangman and passed notes through the entirety of my macroeconomics course freshman year, and didn’t have to worry thanks to a generous curve. I may or may not have snuck onto the roof of the abandoned Jes Res and the band Voxtrot into my dorm through the basement.

But for all the things that have frustrated and enthralled me about campus life, it’s those rules and others that I may or may not have broken (I’m maintaining some degree of plausible deniability here) that I’ll miss the most. There is something wonderful in cutting class or smuggling contraband into a dorm. The older you get, the more “real” your life becomes and the fewer opportunities you have for the freeing defiance of such minor transgressions. Sure, I suppose you can jump a subway turnstile or jaywalk in front of a cop car, but I doubt that anything will give you quite the same rush as shimmying onto the roof of a building and knowing that — damn the man! — you have the best view with your best friends in that moment of a place you love. Not, of course, that I would necessarily know.

Meg Charlton is a junior in the School of Foreign Service. She can be reached at Charlton@thehoya.com. This is the final installment of Swiped In.