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“Are you planning on going to medical school?”
SARAH:
Dear Freshman Jessica,
The Beach
These past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. I guess you could call it a mid-undergrad crisis.
The semester is coming to a close and so is my time as a trainer for A Place To Talk. I am most proud of my co-trainer and trainees who have all done such an excellent job over these many weeks of training and grown so much. The good news is that I will be the Internal Training Director next year! So, if I have convinced you to become a great listener, apply. Spring or fall, you are most welcome. Reading this column will have definitely taught you a thing or two.
A Pakistani male artist Ali Zafar was recently accused of harassing another Pakistani female artist Meesha Shafi. Shafi claimed that the harassment had occurred on several occasions, and she had chosen to stay quiet about it because she had blocked it out.
A few days back, I found an LA Times article online: “To fight K-pop’s influence in China, a club teaches young boys to be alpha males.”
It’s not often that you get to lead with your best friend. The summer before this year — our senior year — we road-tripped up to the Jersey shore and stood on the beach with no idea of the year that was ahead of us as Editors-in-Chief. We had been close for a long time, but this was the year that we became inseparable. Twenty-plus-hour News-Letter work weeks, bookended by weekends full of laughter, reflection and nights in Baltimore and Brody. And now, with only a few weeks until graduation, we can’t help but look back on this whirlwind year and marvel at how it’s all coming to a close so soon.
About a week ago, I was sitting down in Brody Cafe interviewing another student for an upcoming feature about Earth Day in the News & Features section of The News-Letter. He explained that he and some of his peers were working on planting a butterfly garden outside the FFC. They were going to plant milkweed in that little patch of land so that migrating Monarch butterflies could stop and feed while making their long journey home.
Everybody has music that defines their childhood. Maybe if your parents were massive dead-heads, you’ll think of The Grateful Dead. For a lot of people, it was whatever was on the radio, or what their older siblings were into; usually some combination of The Killers, The Backstreet Boys or Destiny’s Child.
We don’t talk about what makes us uncomfortable, but we should. Sexual assault is not a new phenomenon. It is not, and never will be, a result of the way someone dresses or the way someone acts. Burkas and ball gowns know assault just as booty shorts do. The male gaze is as pertinent as ever; the powerful gazing upon the marginalized as if their stares can strip autonomy. It’s the 21st century and survivors are just now finally gaining space to be able to share their experiences.
As a busy Hopkins student, I’m guilty of joining my peers in a familiar refrain: “I wish I had more time to read the news!” Throughout high school, my family always had cable television news or the news radio station as a backdrop to our daily lives. Without this passive flow of information in my college routine, I’ve had to adjust how I consume my news in order to stay up to date with the latest political happenings.
In the weeks following spring break, I’ve been struck, yet again, by constant hankerings for the flavors of home. As I’ve already written in this column, these cravings include the meals my mother and the other phenomenal home cooks in my family dish out to my clamoring cousins and me. However, I also find myself longing for my favorite bites from mom-and-pop businesses all over North Jersey.
I’m not the type of person who opens up. I don’t have a lot of experience letting the people around me know how I’m feeling at any given moment. I often feel like I’m caught between who I am and who other people think I am. As a result it feels like I’m constantly walking on eggshells to be the person everyone expects me to be. That’s always been difficult for me, but I thought it was just normal. I thought walking on eggshells was human nature.
This morning I emerged from the shower, fully prepared to dress myself in the clothes I had picked out last night, and paused. “What am I getting dressed up for?” I flashed back to 16-year-old me picking out high-waisted black pants from my uniform and remembered hearing, “You’re going to school, it’s not a fashion show.” Slightly reluctantly, I zipped up my red knee-high boots, wrapped my sparkly black, white and red coat around me, and tossed my tote bag on my arm.
In this week’s issue of Art and Activism, I will be taking a break from my regularly-scheduled programming (i.e. socially-engaged film and fiction) to talk about socially-engaged theatre, specifically the Barnstormers spring musical production of Cabaret. First performed in 1966, Cabaret focuses on a cast of characters in a seedy nightclub in 1930s Berlin. The German political scene is rapidly changing as an American man named Clifford Bradshaw falls in love with one of the nightclub’s dancers, an English woman named Sally Bowles.
My grandmother grew up in an orphanage — not because she didn’t have a family but because she couldn’t find them. She was six-years-old, maybe seven, when she was separated from them during the Korean War. Raised by the Anglican nuns at the orphanage, she graduated first in her class and left at 18-years-old to pursue a college education during a time when few people, let alone women, had college degrees.
There haven’t been many moments that have shocked me much since August. Sure, moving to college and taking my first midterms — ever — were two eventful things but nothing unexpected.
Here’s a common situation: I’m sitting with my friend, Kelsey, and another person comes up to us and says, “Has anyone ever told you that you look alike?” We both tense, smile placidly and respond with something like, “No. We don’t really look alike.”