“So, you’re not a Greek? Why you never rushed?” I heard these two questions dozens of times on assignment last week while following a random freshman through sorority recruitment. Even University President Stephen Hulbert seemed surprised that I was not part of this community, to which he and his wife belong. “So, you’re a GDI,” he told me. I could hear him comment to his wife that I probably didn’t know what he was speaking about. But unbeknown to them, I had done my research on Greek life and was damn proud to be a “God Damn Independent.”For the past three years, Greek life has been “Greek to me.” I truly realized this when I attended my first Song Fest last spring. When I walked in and heard hundreds of sorority members clapping their hands and screaming chants, it brought back bad memories of junior high pep rallies that I dreaded attending. I waited for family and friends of Greeks to take out their milk jug spirit shakers.

But what confused me the most was witnessing several members crying because their sorority had not won the competition. I didn’t understand. Why would anyone get so upset about a competition that the majority of Nicholls could care less about? A co-worker explained that these sororities had spent more hours than I could imagine working on these skits. What a waste of time and energy, I thought.

To further my misunderstanding of Greeks, a friend, whose fraternity had not won the competition, called me unquestionably upset. A guy disappointed that he lost a song-and-dance competition? Then he said, “Song Fest is my life.” I thought at that time: “Wow. What a life you must have if Song Fest is the center of your universe.”

Then this week, I again saw how much pride some college women take in their sororities. While waiting outside the Sigma Sigma Sigma recruitment room, two Rho Sigmas, who belong to that sorority, went through the motions of the skits and even left the area during one particular song because their eyes were tearing up.

Song Fest memories came back, but then I realized I had no right to judge. I would be lying if I said this newspaper has not become my life. I wondered: “What do Greeks think of me?” I’m sure they don’t understand why someone would work until 3 a.m. to print the newspaper for only minimum wage. I mean, I stress out if there is a preposition at the end of a headline (that’s a split headline-big mistake in journalism) or if there are two spaces between sentences (there should only be one in newspapers). Who cares? It’s stuff that’s pointless to everyone else, but somehow important to us at the paper. I’ve even cried my eyes out after missing my deadline and not getting color on the front page of the paper. Definitely something in the same category for most people as spilled milk-things not to cry over.

What a life I must have, right? But, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. I was quick to judge other people, but I hadn’t looked deep at my own life.

I realized that if I were forced to stand outside my newsroom door and listen to my co-workers putting together the newspaper and having a good time without me, I would tear up just like those Rho Sigmas. I guess we have some sort of “sisterhood” and “brotherhood” bond in our newsroom too.

I can’t say I regret not rushing. I don’t think Greek life is meant for everyone; however, I do believe every student needs to find his or her own “sorority,” “fraternity” or “Nicholls Worth.” College is a time to become the person you’ve always wanted to be. It’s a time to grow. College life is so much less meaningful without involvement in some sort of campus activity.

The writing assignment taught me a lot, surprisingly a lot about myself. By no means do I believe I understand everything about Greek life. I’m sure they don’t understand the life of a Nicholls Worth editor either. But I’ve learned that there are some things about certain groups that you just can’t understand unless you’re a member. There are successes and flaws in every organization. There is drama in every one. I take sincere pride in The Nicholls Worth, and while I may not always understand, I respect the similar dedication others have to their own groups.

I swore to my friends that I’d never go back to a Song Fest. But then I think of all the newspapers still in the bins that haven’t been picked up or the ones thrown on the ground. All the hard work and sleepless nights that have gone into it for some students to just not care. Yeah, so this spring you will probably see me in the auditorium at Song Fest. Maybe even with a milk jug spirit shaker.