It’s 3 a.m., and yet again, I’m the only one awake.

I gaze from my Henle Village apartment onto the Leavey Center; some lights are still on, but other than my colleagues still working at THE HOYA office and a few revelers straggling back from one last party, not much is happening at this hour.

Maybe it’s a holdover from my semesters as an editor, but I never go to bed any earlier. It’s not that I don’t feel tired, nor do I have insomnia: Sometimes I just can’t bring myself to go to sleep and let the day slip away.

I’ve spent much of my Georgetown experience awake at 3 a.m. At this hour, I have no appointments, no classes and no phone calls. This time is mine.

I remember the first night I stayed up late at Georgetown. It was the second night of freshman year, and my roommate and I lay awake discussing everything from politics to our dreams for the years ahead. When we realized it was 2 a.m. and decided to go to sleep, I remember the sense of freedom I felt. No one was there to remind us of the time or advise us to go to sleep; we could have stayed up the entire night. The time was ours, and it was full of potential.

Working at THE HOYA during sophomore year, I spent many nights awake past 3 a.m. Once the issue was put to press, I would walk back across a deserted Red Square. I loved how its emptiness spoke magnitudes – a crumpled flyer in the corner attested to a past event, and freshly chalked words underneath my feet invited me to a play. Red Square at night had a beautiful vitality in its emptiness; it spoke of an inert energy I love about Georgetown.

I would go back to my room in Copley and work into the night. I’d gaze out my window at the Capitol Dome, shimmering in the distance. Part of me still couldn’t believe I’d come all the way from a small town in Vermont to live in Washington, D.C.

Sometimes I’d stay up until daybreak, when I’d hear the squeaky brakes of the G2 Metrobus at Healy Gates as it resumed its route for another day.

During my junior year in Cairo, the whole city teemed with life during the night. In contrast to the scorching heat of Cairo afternoons, nights are breezy, and many Egyptian families stay out late at cafés, movie theatres and on boats traveling the Nile.

There’s a certain magic at 3 a.m., a sense that anything is possible when a new day is breaking and the old day is well spent. I’ve learned a lot in the night.

At 3 a.m. on a night train through Poland last winter, I learned to cherish the friends who valued me and my crazy ideas enough to spend a month traveling with me.

Over conversations held at 3 a.m., I’ve learned about friendship, love, trust and life.

At 3 a.m. in Cairo, as I walked back to my apartment with my roommates after a long evening of smoking sheesha and drinking tea, I learned that one’s comfort zone is relative and that happiness can be found anywhere in the world. I realized spending a year abroad was the best decision I’ve made at Georgetown.

Even if they meant sleeping through my alarm clock and drinking coffee until I trembled to get through my afternoon class, all of my long nights were worthwhile.

Now, at 5 a.m., I’m pondering the passing of two hours when I feel like it’s only been a few minutes.

Three a.m. can’t last forever. Neither can four years at Georgetown.

Dawn will break and the G2 will resume service, but I’ll be beyond earshot of its squeaky brakes soon.

Morning comes sooner than expected, so I’ll go to sleep and wake up to new days, new nights and new opportunities.

Kerry McIntosh is a senior in the School of Foreign Service. She is a former opinion editor, news editor, contributing editor and member of the editorial board at THE HOYA.

It’s 3 a.m., and yet again, I’m the only one awake.

I gaze from my Henle Village apartment onto the Leavey Center; some lights are still on, but other than my colleagues still working at THE HOYA office and a few revelers straggling back from one last party, not much is happening at this hour.

Maybe it’s a holdover from my semesters as an editor, but I never go to bed any earlier. It’s not that I don’t feel tired, nor do I have insomnia: Sometimes I just can’t bring myself to go to sleep and let the day slip away.

I’ve spent much of my Georgetown experience awake at 3 a.m. At this hour, I have no appointments, no classes and no phone calls. This time is mine.

I remember the first night I stayed up late at Georgetown. It was the second night of freshman year, and my roommate and I lay awake discussing everything from politics to our dreams for the years ahead. When we realized it was 2 a.m. and decided to go to sleep, I remember the sense of freedom I felt. No one was there to remind us of the time or advise us to go to sleep; we could have stayed up the entire night. The time was ours, and it was full of potential.

Working at THE HOYA during sophomore year, I spent many nights awake past 3 a.m. Once the issue was put to press, I would walk back across a deserted Red Square. I loved how its emptiness spoke magnitudes – a crumpled flyer in the corner attested to a past event, and freshly chalked words underneath my feet invited me to a play. Red Square at night had a beautiful vitality in its emptiness; it spoke of an inert energy I love about Georgetown.

I would go back to my room in Copley and work into the night. I’d gaze out my window at the Capitol Dome, shimmering in the distance. Part of me still couldn’t believe I’d come all the way from a small town in Vermont to live in Washington, D.C.

Sometimes I’d stay up until daybreak, when I’d hear the squeaky brakes of the G2 Metrobus at Healy Gates as it resumed its route for another day.

During my junior year in Cairo, the whole city teemed with life during the night. In contrast to the scorching heat of Cairo afternoons, nights are breezy, and many Egyptian families stay out late at cafés, movie theatres and on boats traveling the Nile.

There’s a certain magic at 3 a.m., a sense that anything is possible when a new day is breaking and the old day is well spent. I’ve learned a lot in the night.

At 3 a.m. on a night train through Poland last winter, I learned to cherish the friends who valued me and my crazy ideas enough to spend a month traveling with me.

Over conversations held at 3 a.m., I’ve learned about friendship, love, trust and life.

At 3 a.m. in Cairo, as I walked back to my apartment with my roommates after a long evening of smoking sheesha and drinking tea, I learned that one’s comfort zone is relative and that happiness can be found anywhere in the world. I realized spending a year abroad was the best decision I’ve made at Georgetown.

Even if they meant sleeping through my alarm clock and drinking coffee until I trembled to get through my afternoon class, all of my long nights were worthwhile.

Now, at 5 a.m., I’m pondering the passing of two hours when I feel like it’s only been a few minutes.

Three a.m. can’t last forever. Neither can four years at Georgetown.

Dawn will break and the G2 will resume service, but I’ll be beyond earshot of its squeaky brakes soon.

Morning comes sooner than expected, so I’ll go to sleep and wake up to new days, new nights and new opportunities.

Kerry McIntosh is a senior in the School of Foreign Service. She is a former opinion editor, news editor, contributing editor and member of the editorial board at THE HOYA.