May 20, 2011: According to universally debunked scientific theories and globally mocked doomsday scholars, this Saturday will be significant for reasons other than Georgetown’s commencement. Allegedly, the world will end at 6 p.m. tomorrow. I had to laugh when I first heard that prediction. The universe really had to wait until after finals to collapse upon itself? The sun couldn’t barrel into Earth before I turned in my thesis?

But on the other hand, warning signs also flashed across my mind. The all-too-familiar pangs of nostalgia brought a lump to my throat, followed by butterflies in my stomach as I realized what May 21, 2011 actually means.

Even if the earth is still spinning on its axis on Sunday, the world as I know it will end when I graduate on Saturday. The world of logical next life choices, compulsory education, homework, The Tombs, meal plans and late-night Tuscany is still going to come crashing down. On some level, these sensationalist headlines of “Apocalypse Now!” ring true for me and about 1,600 of my classmates.

Feeling particularly pessimistic, I began to cope with this shock with some of my usual tactics: a Chicken Madness, followed by some Thomas Sweets ice cream with a cup of Corp coffee to top it off. All these comforts will soon be miles away from me. The thought of giving up Wisey’s cold turkey was enough to send me deeper into a whirlwind of self-pity and sheer terror. As I walked across campus full but unsatisfied, I made an effort to slow my stroll and reminisce about the buildings and memories along the way.

I passed Reiss, where I tried in vain to provide moral support to the pre-med who desperately wanted to ace the bio final during our freshman year. Then came the Intercultural Center, where late-night study groups often gave way to regrettable YouTube dance parties. Finally, I came upon White-Gravenor, where I attended my first class of college (which turned out to be the wrong first class). The building looked majestic as it towered over Copley Lawn, where I have dropped too many Frisbees to count during my four years.

So the apocalypse is coming, like it or not, and these postcard-worthy buildings will no longer frame my daily life. But this nostalgic, self-guided campus tour (set to Vitamin C’s “Graduation” in my head for effect) left me with a quiet sense of contentment toward the impending doomsday. My time on the Hilltop is irreplaceable, unforgettable and coming to a close. I’ll leave here to make a life for myself, while trying to always maintain the friendships I’ve made here and always looking back on our memories together with fondness. I will be hundreds of miles from my home on the Hilltop, my peers will almost certainly wear less Vineyard Vines and my meal schedule will no longer revolve around half-price Qdoba Mondays and Chicken Finger Thursdays at Leo’s. But there’s comfort in knowing that Georgetown will go on and a new generation of Hoyas will fill the same halls and look forward to the same classy fare as we did back in my day.

Of course, I’d be hugely disappointed if the world really does end Saturday. Yet, metaphorically speaking about my world for the past four years, I’d welcome an apocalypse. It’s easy to fall into the trap of woefully noting every last benchmark in our Georgetown careers, especially now as we wrap up our last week before the world as we know it ceases to exist. But these final days and the “impending doom” that is graduation are moments to be celebrated. They are the culmination of an entirely unique series of choices, classes, encounters, friendships and experiences that we will all carry with us across the world throughout the coming decades. Though our college years are over, our Georgetown truly is forever.

Bring it on, Apocalypse.

Brad Glasser is a senior in the College, the former president and chief executive officer of The Corp, and a Baker Scholar.

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