COLUMN: Coping with the stress of finals

From Shireen Santosham's, "If I Was Your Woman," Fall '97 From Shireen Santosham's, "If I Was Your Woman," Fall '97 Ahhh!!! They're back. Final exams. It's that time of year again boys and girls. It's time to play catch up. Remember all those nights you decided to go to a party, clean your room, or just stare at the walls. Well, they're back to haunt you. They're back in the form of Vivarin, the never-ending cup of Joe and the ever popular all-nighter. There was a time, when I didn't really care about grades. I always thought grades didn't matter; the substance lay in how much you had learned in the class. Unfortunately, my time at Penn is slowly wearing down my mentality. With only two midterms and a final, learning becomes second on my list of priorities. Basically, getting the grade comes first. Every exam, I attempt to see how much information I can cram into my wired brain. Inevitably, the hour after my exam is finished, all is forgotten and I move on to the next subject. A shell-shocked, hungry animal chasing after allusive prey. These days, even the thought of finals sends shivers down my spine. When I was younger, learning seemed a lot more fun. School was actually a refreshing experience. I still feel that way sometimes; but usually, especially around finals, I think college killed that feeling. Not only killed it, but beat it into the ground until it just refused to get up anymore. The only moments of pleasure I relish are the sounds of notebooks snapping shut when the clock strikes 10 to the hour. The end of class is a relief, a great burden relenting. This feeling, however, becomes less and less satisfying as finals approach. The final exam is the waiter at a restaurant who gives you attitude. All you want to do is have a nice, relaxing satisfying meal. But no, the waiter won't let you enjoy yourself. He keeps bothering you, messes up your order, and is triumphant in only one regard -- he severely pisses you off. Despite all the tyranny, finals inflict on students, some very strange relationships are forged during exam time. Around this time last year, a group of disgruntled and somewhat strange freshmen bonded over Bio 101 notes and a pile of frustration in small corner in Van Pelt. The four students-- the jock, the nerd, the girl, and the pseudointellectual -- spent the night ranting and raving over their notes and labs and problems in general. It was the typical all-nighter, coffee and jitters, which brought them together. At best, it was a bad version of the Breakfast Club; at worst, it was desperation. Regardless, it was a night to remember. Never in my life have such different people -- people who would probably take pains to avoid each other by day -- come together over a mass of biological tension. For a brief moment, I actually felt that we all can, "just get along." The feeling soon died. By the next morning, reality hit me. I would never see these people again; nor would I really miss them. Finals brings out the worst in people. Everyone becomes incredibly ill-tempered and self-centered. Class notes become the most coveted object on campus. Only during finals will people sink to the level of sabotage -- stealing notebooks, checking books out of the library, refusing to help classmates study. I think somebody invented the holiday season, with all of its good cheer and charity, to make up for all the malice which occurs during finals. Basically, nothing real or substantial comes out of finals week. Have you ever looked back at your academic career and thought, "Gee, I wish it was finals week?" As a close male friend of mine described it, "when exams come around, I get PMS for two weeks straight." Living on caffeine and sugar, everyone around us becomes a zombie. We are walking raw nerves. Why do we do this to ourselves? What kind of life are we leading? I say, this semester, BOYCOTT ALL FINAL EXAMS! Oh, never mind, everyone will go anyway. Go pray to your caffeine god. I have to go to CVS and pick up some Vivarin.

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