Two years into college, I sat at the outdoor courtyard working on a public speaking draft at the University of Oklahoma. Two sentences into my assignment, I watched a group of frat bros rip their raspberry crush vapes.
“You going out tonight bro,” the backwards-hat lanky white boy asked his friend.
It was the middle of finals week.
Dwelling on my entire existence, I pretended like I hadn’t watched them snort a line of coke last night at the campus bar. I knew I no longer wanted to be in my toxic and exhausting relationship, commit to superficial sorority requirements, or pretend to like going out on $2 Tuesday bar nights in LuluLemon leggings and a Pi Beta Phi sweatshirt.
Why did everyone around me love this lifestyle, I asked myself a million times. I desperately attempted to love southern football games in the 103 degree weather, slamming white claws and shotgunning Coors Light at Sig Ep’s frat house.
Every. Single. Weekend.
Goodbye Sig Ep frat house
I knew it was time to spread my wings elsewhere. Europe, I thought. Being familiar with Saint Louis University’s Madrid Campus, I browsed their website and clicked on “application.”
Thirty seconds later, I had pulled up my moms’ contact from my phone, to which I texted her:
“Applying to SLU Madrid, just to see.”
Almost immediately, she replied back with : “OK honey.”
After two hours at the courtyard, I had submitted my application.
My parents came from different worlds, my father grew up in Oklahoma City and my mother in Madrid. They made sacrifices so that we could live every summer in my grandfather’s ancestral village near the Mediterranean coast of Spain while living the rest of the year in East Dallas.
I had never realized that my two different cultures were what made me, me. When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate the fact that I lived two completely different lives in two different continents.
Until it was time to decide on where to go to college.
“Are you sure you want to rush a sorority,” my mom asked.
I thought I knew what I wanted. Yet at the same time, I had no idea what I wanted. The question lingered around in my head for weeks, but I knew that 3 hours (the length it takes to get to the OU from Dallas) was just the right amount of distance that my anxiety-filled brain could handle.
I initially aimed for the University of Texas at Austin, but, getting in from Texas without being in the top 6% of your class is super tough—I was in the top 12%.
It wasn’t until two years later that I acknowledged my lack of confidence. Reflecting on it, I recognized how I had mentally braced myself for potential rejection by devoting extra effort to my University of Oklahoma application.
For those that don’t know, OU is (almost always) the backup plan for those who get rejected from UT Austin. That, or you just have a weird liking for Oklahoma.
I was lucky that my dad was from Oklahoma, it made for the perfect excuse for my reason for wanting to go.
On December 10, 2021, as I was lying in bed feeling unwell with COVID robbing my taste and smell, I opened an email from the University of Oklahoma’s dean:
“Congratulations, you’re accepted!”
Yay?
Well, I thought I would be happier.
I knew I was going to accept. I knew I was going to rush and have the southern football school experience. If I didn’t, I would have always wondered what-if.
Accept.
August of 2021, I had pledged Pi Beta Phi amongst 85 other girls. In the beginning, everything went smoothly. All of us were in the same boat, we wanted to make friends. Naturally, girls formed into 10 different friend groups, each with their own unique vibe each clicking to specific fraternity’s. My friend group loved Beta and Sig Ep.
One of my best friends from high school, (name to not be included), had also pledged Pi Phi with me. We would make plans together to go to frat and sorority mixers, or go out to campus corner bars (with our fake IDs, of course).
My friends and I stayed friends, but I often felt like the odd one out. There were moments when I’d realize I was left out of group chats between our friends, which hurt. Plus, I had a boyfriend, and we spent a lot of time together, which sometimes made it hard to keep up with everyone else. At least that was her excuse on why she didn’t invite me to some things.
Freshman year had flashed before my eyes. Sophomore year came along, and it was time to live inside the Pi Beta Phi house.
I lived with a girl named Kate in a small bedroom, our beds stacked on top of each other. She constantly sat on my bed with her outside clothes on, she lingered to her cheating boyfriend and sometimes could not get herself to shower. She became a burden on me when she depended on me for plans since no one else liked her because she flirted with everyone’s boyfriends.
She often wore my clothes because she had not done laundry herself, she even let other people wear my clothes without asking me first. I knew she was crazy when I noticed her with my monogrammed Airpods that clearly read “AJH” on her lap after I thought I had lost them for 3 months.
Her initials are “KCT”.
Because I disliked living in the Pi Phi house so much, my boyfriend’s house became my comfort zone. I spent most nights at his, he quickly became obsessive and a bit controlling when we would go out or if I wanted a night just with the girls.
When I was with him, I felt like no part of Spain belonged to him. I wanted to be drunk off of tinto de verano in the streets of Plaza Mayor, fry myself in the Mediterranean sun, and dress head-to-toe in Zara to my classes.
I knew there was no future with him. I stayed, anyway. If not, who would I go to for comfort?
My friends always mentioned that “I looked really European.” Questioning on whether or not I could trust whether they were being nice about it or not, I decided to take it as a compliment. I loved dressing up just to get out of the house. I loved my Spanish brands. I noticed they often asked me where some of my clothes were from and they had no idea about any of the brands that I was talking about.
I just felt different.
Hello, tinto de verano
Sitting at the courtyard that one day I had decided that enough was enough. In early May of 2023, I received my acceptance letter to SLU Madrid. I told my parents, my sister, and my Spanish cousin Carla. They were thrilled for me. They asked me what my decision was.
I did not decide that I was going to transfer to SLU-Madrid until mid June. I avoided the conversation with my boyfriend, barely told any of my friends (except for my best friends from Dallas).
I broke up with my boyfriend via Snapchat text a few days after telling him I was leaving OU.
Not my best move. I felt like a 12 year old.
“So you’re just leaving me,” he said.
I did not feel like I was leaving anyone. I knew that for the better of my character and quality of life, I had to make the selfish decision to leave. So, I left. I did not care what anyone said about my move. Honestly, I did not want to know what they thought.
One year into SLU Madrid, I can’t believe that I did not make the transition sooner. My friends value me for who I am and never make me feel like an option. That, and, I get to travel to Italy on the weekends, wear all of my Spanish brands to class, and drink a tinto de verano whenever I feel like it.
