The Architecture Studio :: Personal Narrative Writing

The Architecture Studio All my life I had dreamed of this day. I had spent countless hours playing â€Å"architecture firm† and designing various buildings on my â€Å"Home Design 2000† program. Today was the commencement of the fall 2003 semester at State University’s College of Architecture, Planning, and Design (or CAPD for short). I stood in studio #323, affectionately known to architecture majors as the â€Å"Loft Studio.† I felt lucky to get the studio with the coolest layout and the most space, for it was well known that other classes were sure to envy this room. With the best view because of the huge picture window that spanned almost two stories, (the lower level along with the height from the loft) we were able to see the towering evergreen trees just outside the building, and had a great view of the sky (much to our dismay, we often saw the sunrise and sunset and the sunrise again all in the same day). As I lounged in my chair, feeling completely awkward but trying to look like I fit in, my eyes scanned the room full of eager faces that I would soon consider my classmates, and hopefully, friends. Right now though, each of them intimidated me. I couldn’t help but think they had all spend their entire lives preparing for the year, when all I had were dreams and ambition. Katrina Lewis was our professor, and each of us had heard rumors of how picky she was (â€Å"anal retentive† were the exact words, I believe). There were horror stories of her always giving the class busywork, and expecting total perfection, despite our lack of knowledge or experience. I pictured in my head a short spinster who wore horn-rimmed glasses and nothing but black pantsuits, but my eyes widened with surprise as she walked in the room. A tall, thin frame accompanied by short, stylish blonde hair took the place of my gray-haired visions. She couldn’t have been more than 30 years old, and she wore cute plastic-rimmed sunglasses (which, by the way, she wore every day of class†¦and never took them off). She called us over to the area where she taught, and we all grabbed chairs, being careful not to pop anybody’s bubble. She proceeded to lecture the entire three hours of class, while each of use struggled to keep our eyes open. I knew by the end of class that the rumors were true, and this would not be an easy first semester.