Reyna Choi vents about her mixed feelings on the scaffolding’s sudden disappearance.

On my way back from Duane Reade last Friday evening, I forgot to turn on 114th to enter Carman.

There was no ugly giant scaffolding to signal me back home anymore, so I had walked an extra block on accident.

Flustered, I backtracked to the intersection and fixed my mistake. I walked the path that the scaffolding had once shielded, curious at this new environment.

The moonlight poured onto my skin. The sky and its lack of stars were free for me to gaze up at.

The world had changed.

From my dorm window, which used to look down onto miscellaneous tarps and buckets resting atop the scaffolding, I can now see flows of people heading to and fro frat parties. 3 A.M. sounds of construction wake me up no longer.

In the daytime, the Carman gates greet me back home. Sunlight floods down immediately, no longer barred by ugly wood and steel pillars.

But then, the rain comes. Without a scaffolding to temporarily provide shelter from the water bullets, walks to Duane Reade feel much longer.

I’m still not sure how I feel about the scaffolding being gone.

I’m not sure if I want it to return.

All I know is that I never got to say goodbye.