I told myself I’d never venture down this godforsaken path again. I swore an oath with my right hand on my last column that I’d never write another NARP Meets World for the rest of my time here at Dartmouth College. Yet I find myself sitting in the deepest abysses of the stacks, attempting to procure a comedic smattering of entertainment from this tangled mess I call my brain. I am by every precedent and definition washed up, but I am here to dabble in the devil’s craft once more.
You might have been wondering to yourself throughout this term, “Where is the legendary NARP, Matt Yuen?” To be honest with you, I’ve become a recluse of some sort, stepping out of the limelight this glorious column has placed me in the center of. From the shadows I have been keeping a watchful eye on the events unfolding within and beyond the bittersweet boundaries of Dartmouth. And similar to a groundhog that is frightened back into its warm burrow by its shadow, I find myself taken aback at the current state of this entropic mess we reside in. From the inauguration of the president with the smallest hands to ever step into office to the inevitable erosion of my youthful and aesthetic appeal, I can unequivocally pronounce that things cannot get any grimmer.
But don’t be fooled for a second. I have not been shirking my responsibilities as a columnist for the sake of pursuing social capital within the freshmen-infested confines of SigEp’s basement or obtaining knowledge from my ever so intellectually stimulating classes. In fact, I haven’t been to any of those places, if that is a testament to both my social and academic activity on campus this term. The fact of the matter is as much as I considered rekindling the tantalizing romance between myself and NARP Meets World throughout this term, I resolutely decided against it each time because I needed a break.
As a genius columnist behind an even more genius column, I fully understand the significance this column has grown to have in each and every one of your hearts. In the midst of an increasingly destructive and chaotic world, it only makes sense that NARP Meets World has become some sort of a mental crutch in this demoralizing journey we call life. I would be severely remiss if I were to say that being placed in this position of honor was not the best thing to ever happen in my life. But week after week, the constant responsibility of providing unique and entertaining content to my fans has taken a toll on me, as I am not Atlas. I’ve been cracking under the pressure of holding the entire sky on my back.
Throughout the existence of NARP Meets World, I’ve watched myself slowly morphing into the character I had created in this column. I watched my patterns of speech slowly devolve into its ultimate perversion, as I could not go through a single conversation without bantering. I watched as my hairline slowly retreated further and further back, as the pressure of this column combined with the side dish of academic rigor got to me. The fine line between reality and NARP was beginning to blur, and I knew I had to remove myself before I was in too deep. Following my role model Henry David Thoreau, I retreated into the woods until I truly was a voice crying out in the wilderness.
And seven weeks later, I find myself reemerging from my burrow a new man. In other words, I have never been as much of a NARP as I am today. People say Thoreau was a genius for his transcendentalism, but I say that he was naïve for stopping there. Throughout my time in hiding, I have reached an even higher level of enlightenment. I call it ... transcend-NARP-alism. With my eyes clear and my heart full, nothing can stop me now.
Some may call me a poser who only writes this column for stardom and fame, while others may call me out for writing this column only because my editors have been consistently pestering me to contribute to this paper. I say yes to both claims. But don’t be misled for a second at all. While my intentions may be as muddy as the melting snow outside, the effect is the same. I find myself naturally gravitating back to this column by a force, one as old as time itself: fighting the good fight.
I’m back baby, and it’s time to see truth as it is.
