Greek life

What does Greek life mean to you?

To me, it brings back memories of walking dusty streets of Plaka in Athens, drinking creamy chocolate milkshakes and carefully wandering on a rocky beach by the Mediterranean. It also means playing on the swings in the hilly suburb of Daphni and driving around in a convertible Jeep with the top down, smelling the salty air.

To most Americans, especially college students, it means being part of a fraternity or sorority.

At my alma mater Quinnipiac University, there are Alpha Chi Omega, Phi Sigma Sigma and Kappa Alpha Theta for the girls and Sigma Phi Epsilon and Tau Kappa Epsilon (“teek”) for the guys.

Greek chapters are “(f)ounded upon the principles of friendship, community service, scholarship and leadership” and “provides students with an enriching and rewarding experience,” according to Quinnipiac’s Web site. It also forms friendships that “last a lifetime.”

The girls often plan fundraisers and do charity work. The guys have drinking parties. That’s really what it comes down to.

I was never part of a real sorority. Since I was the student newspaper editor, I found it a conflict of interest to engage in student clubs that we would later write about. At Westchester Community College, however, I was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa – an honor society for “achieving” students. At the four-year school level, the same group is called Phi Beta Kappa. It’s more prestigious and impossible to get into.

So, while I cannot call myself a “Greek,” I can definitely say I’m a fan of Greek life. The life Greek people live in Greece, that is. Drinking parties and charity work I can live without.

'Just another year'

When I came to the United States, it was only supposed to be for a year.

It was August 1998, and I stepped off my KLM flight from Amsterdam and walked through two sliding doors into a disgustingly humid summer night at JFK airport. The hotel room I was sharing with three other au pairs-to-be had air conditioning, but neither of us knew how to turn it on.

I complained to my host father that night on the phone. I said “I don’t know if I can take this heat!” Laughing, he told me I wouldn’t have to worry about being hot in his home. I soon learned that he keeps the entire house at a comfortable 70 degrees Fahrenheit year round. “You’re gonna like it here,” he said.

It wasn’t long before he predicted I was here to stay. “I’ll make a bet with you,” he said, “that you’ll still be here in five years.”

“No way,” I told him. “This is only for a year. Then I’m going back to Sweden.”
He smiled, nodded, and said, “We’ll see.”

Around Christmastime, I was thinking that perhaps a year wasn’t sufficient for all I wanted to do. Being placed near New York, I hadn’t had a chance to see the West Coast yet. The Grand Canyon, of course, was a must, and I should really try to visit Texas, Florida and Alaska as well. Then again, there were enough things in New York City to keep me busy. I just couldn’t get enough of this fast-paced area that’s never asleep.

I approached my host father about this problem. He was ready with a solution. “You should go to school,” he said. “Take some college classes, and get a student visa to stay for another year.”

So, in the summer of 1999, I took two weeks off to go home to Sweden, get a new passport and get a new visa. My grandmother asked me why I was going away again, and I assured her, “It’s just one more year.” Then I was off again.

Community college was exciting. I took classes during the day and was home at 3 p.m. when Little Mike got out of school. We did our homework, played some Nintendo, had some dinner.

Of course, you don’t get a degree at a community college unless you go full-time for two years – 64 credits. Since the first year was so easy, I decided I should really just stay and get an associate’s degree. The visa was already approved for another year, so why not? It was just another year.

But living with a family that’s not your own, no matter how close you are, can get bothersome. I realized that to really be able to focus on school, I should move into my own place. I got some student loans from Sweden, and I found myself a roommate. And my third year was on its way.

Now, an associate’s degree doesn’t really count for much in Sweden. You need a bachelor’s degree, at least, for the school board to consider it. That takes two more years. Again, I had to make some decisions. I could go back to Sweden, or I could stay and finish my degree. I chose to stay.

Money was, of course, always the issue. With guidance from my host father, I sent out six college applications. All of them were accepted. Three schools offered me scholarships. Quinnipiac University offered me two scholarships, so it was obvious I was headed for Connecticut.

With student loans and the two scholarships, I was still about $5,000 short of a year’s tuition. I therefore decided to work in wealthy Greenwich for a summer with a nice family that had four children, a dog, a cat, a bird, fish and a lizard. In the fall, I went to Quinnipiac and my fourth year in this country was on its way.

It was pretty obvious that I should stay and finish my degree, so the fifth year there was never an option of going back. And once you have a degree, you are allowed work in the United States for one year to do what is called “Optical Practical Training.” At this point, in 2003, I had stopped saying “just another year.”

It’s now 2007, and I will reluctantly admit that my host father was right. Perhaps, after nine years, I can say that I am here to stay, after all. But it was never my intention. It was just what life had in store for me. Sometimes, I guess others can predict your future better than you can.

Introduction

I came to the United States in August 1998 as an au pair. It was only meant to be for a year. Then I started going to college. When I graduated with an associate's degree from a community college, I decided I might as well go for a bachelor's degree. It was easy and fun.

Nine years later, I am still here - with a full-time job, an American boyfriend and a master's degree.

This will be my blog about all the strange things I've encountered over the years. It will be about living in a foreign country, learning a new language, and trying to start a new life. It will also be about what is left behind, and how to maintain a Swedish identity in a crazy new world.