The Dartmouth 11/2/2016

MIR ROR 11.2.2016

LIONS AND TIGERS AND AIRPLANES | 2

GUO: COCKROACH IN THE BATHTUB | 7

WIEN: HOME IMPROVEMENT | 4-5 TANYA SHAH AND ERIC WANG/THE DARTMOUTH

2 //MIRR OR

Lions and Tigers and Airplanes

Editors’ Note

STORY

We picked this week’s theme, hyped up on the excitement of the best holiday, Halloween, but more honestly, our shared enthusiasm for candy corn. As Hayley writes this sentence while eating a bag of some from CVS that she found on a random table, she is wondering if corn farmers ever eat candy corn, and, equally pressing, why all farmers’ tops aren’t crop tops. Unfortunately, it seems as though everyone else has already moved on from Halloween, which seems to have come and gone too quickly (RIP). While we may not have Halloween for another year, we are still left with its most central ingredient: fear. From failing a class that was supposed to be a layup to getting hit by an overenthusiastic biker on the Green, the potential for disaster is never far at Dartmouth.

With homecoming behind us and finals looming near, it seemed only appropriate that the theme of this week’s issue be fear. From the irrational, such as Lauren’s fear of bees and Hayley’s fear of not getting on table (just kidding, relax), to the more serious, such as Hayley’s fear of getting hit by a car and Lauren’s fear of a Donald Trump presidency, we wanted to look into what really keeps students at the College up at night. Some seek out fear, some are held back by it and some don’t experience it at all. Happy reading!

By Nelly Mendoza-Mendoza

Charlie Levy ’19 fears living with a purpose or wasting his time, not death. Haley Taylor ’19 echoed Levy, noting that the body is just a vessel for our soul. When Levy asked Taylor if she would go mountain biking with him or jump out of a plane, however, she said, “I am not afraid to die, but I am not ready to die.”

At Dartmouth, students frequently grapple with fears, sometimes without even realizing it.

Joaquin Peirano ’17, Jaime Dominguez ’17 and Mariano Russo had a hard time identifying their fears. They pointed out that fear is not a topic they frequently think about.

Peirano, who has been hit by a car and enjoys dangerous sports, may appear fearless, yet he recognized that everyone is afraid of something. On the other hand, Wyatt Smith ’19 noted that he developed a fear of flying after a turbulent 16-hour flight three years ago.

“It wasn’t an immediate thing,” Smith said. “I grew up overseas, so flying wasn’t

a big deal, but I got on one flight, and I was just scared.

It might have just been a bad experience. Two years ago, I wouldn’t go on vacation because I didn’t want to fly.”

Smith’s friends back home were surprised by his fear in light of his adventurous personality; he was never afraid of heights and even worked as a firefighter for a summer.

Since the incident, Smith has negotiated his fear of flying so that mainly overseas flights are the only ones that pose problems for him.

Smith said that his fear partly comes from the lack of control he feels when flying, but that walking around, meeting stewards on the flight and seeing how calm they are helps him cope.

Grace Replogle ’19 said that she became afraid of water after an experience in which she was chased while running through the ocean.

“It was low-key traumatizing,” Replogle said. “I haven’t enjoyed the water since.”

Replogle added that she does not fear all water, only large bodies of water, which has delayed her from completing the swim test graduation requirement.

Brenna Gourgeot ’18 expressed an emotional fear of betrayal, which arose from a negative experience with a past relationship.

“If it comes to this idea that he never loved me that’s something that I cannot cope with,” Gourgeot said. “That fear stops me from trying to

forgive him or be his friend.”

Though she fears she will find that she was never loved, it isn’t the betrayal that bothers her the most.

“That’s one thing in my life that I am very scared of.

It’s finding out that he doesn’t love me and that he is not in love with me the same way that I am with him and that he wasn’t just an idiot, he just didn’t love me,” Gourget said.

Emotional fears such as Gourgeot’s can stop us from taking risks and letting others into our lives because we lack control over others’ emotions and thoughts.

For example, an emotional fear of rejection can stop us from sending a “flitz.” Emotional fears can express themselves in many little ways in our life even if we don’t actively think about the object of our fear.

Ultimately, lack of control drives many of our fears.

Dominguez, while brainstorming his fears, noted that many people fear being alone at old age having never found valuable relationships.

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11.2.16 VOL. CLXXIII NO. 142 MIRROR EDITORS HAYLEY HOVERTER & LAUREN BUDD EDITOR-IN-CHIEF REBECCA ASOULIN PUBLISHER RACHEL DECHIARA

EXECUTIVE EDITOR GAYNE KALUSTIAN

’18: “Wiz Khalifa is short for Wizard Khalifa.”

’18 leaving class: “Is it weird to write about iCarly?”

Professor: “When I was at Brown, I realized every student was poor, and I gathered this becasue everyone wore rags and tattered flip flops and only talked about how tired and hungry they were.”

’17: “What are those things that are really large and irrelevant now?” ’17 2: “An encyclopedia?”

’18: “We’re best friends but sometimes when I have morals we argue.”

MIRROR //3

4// MIRROR

Home Improvement COLUMN

By Elise Wien

Once, not so long ago, this very house where you sit belonged to a wealthy family. Mother, Father and Daughter in want of nothing. Every morning they would wake and eat their porridge, every night they’d tuck themselves in. But all houses have their secrets.

One night, Daughter was playing with her dollhouse. Daughter had the choice of any toys she wanted, and Father would craft the toys by hand for her in the basement. This dollhouse was made of a brilliant white, carved ivory; the dolls’ furniture of real leather, the tiles on the roof gleaming pearls and the hair on the dolls the softest she’d ever touched.

Softer, she thought, than her own. As she was playing, she got a cut on her right index finger. Small, but deep enough to scar. She immediately stuck it in her mouth to soothe it but not before a drop of blood hit the floor and nestled into the space between the planks.

That night, just before she fell asleep, just in that window between the waking world and the one of darkness (We hear a scream.) she heard a scream — faint but distinct, recognizable only in that the voice sounded exactly like her own.

She went down to the basement, her small feet padding on the steps as she walked, ca-thunk, cathunk, ca-thunk. And though she was descending in space the air felt thinner in there, and it became more difficult to breathe. Step by step she was wheezing.

Ca-thunk, ca-thunk, ca-thunk.

Finally, when she reached the bottom of the long stairwell and her breathing was shallow, she squinted into the darkness of the basement where she could make out a figure, a small girl, hunched over. The girl turned toward her and revealed the whites of

her eyes it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

(Loud breaths in and out.)

“Sister…” said the lump in the corner, “sister,” Daughter broke out of her trance and ran to the stairs. Just before she fainted from a loss of breath, she caught sight of her father.

“You mustn’t go into the basement,” Mother would say.

“No never into the basement,” Father would say.

“Father’s tools are in there.”

“My tools.”

Mother and Father arrived with fixings for dinner.

Carrots and parsley from the garden and a fresh cut of meat, blood seeping through its newspaper wrapping.

They cleaned and chopped the carrots, threw them in the pot, and turned away to do something with the meat that daughter couldn’t see.

At dinner, Daughter poured Mother and Father glass after glass of wine, she was set on learning the secrets of the basement. She would know for sure

what lurked there and what, exactly, it wanted.

Glass after glass of wine and a single sleeping pill slipped into the last one, so that Mother and Father couldn’t even tuck themselves in, and daughter had to it for them.

She went down to the basement, her small feet padding on the steps as she walked. Step by step she was wheezing, “Sister…” said the lump in the corner, “sister,” The lump turned to stand, and Daughter stayed still, stayed steadfastly still and, the lump rose and limped toward her, it was dark, but here was a figure limp and gnarled, bald except for wisps of baby hair, naked and goosepimped, pocked and missing large swaths of skin on her thighs and forearms. Some pieces were blistered over, plump and scarred and threatening to pop. Some pieces were newly taken, the bright pink of the freshly hunted. She was in some places was so thin that the single light coming from the window shown straight through her and

MIRROR //5

blinded Daughter.

Daughter wheezed.

The figure limped.

“Put out your hands,” whispered the figure.

And she did.

The figure put its hands over its face and — a scream — tore something out, tore two somethings straight out of its face and placed them in daughter’s hands.

They were round and gelatinous like something suspended in an aspic.

“Sister,” said the figure, “sister. Take my eyes, I’d rather you have them, sister. I’d rather you keep them safe yourself, than for those terrible people to take them, sister.”

And Daughter looked up at the face of the figure and saw to gouged-out bloody holes where its eyes had been.

Daughter turned around and ran as quickly as she could up the stairs. Catching her breath, she

opened her hands to find the two eyeballs the figure had given her. One had burst as she squeezed her fist tight, blood running down her wrist and between her fingers. The other, as if accusing, stared straight.

At. Her. Daughter went out to the shed in the backyard and grabbed a shovel, she dug a hole three feet deep and put the eyeballs in, she covered it up with dirt and grass and went inside to scrub her hands raw.

Exhausted, she fell straight asleep and slept for three days.

And in that space between the waking world and the one of darkness (We hear a scream.) she heard a scream.

That night at dinner, Daughter asked her parents, “did you hear a scream?”

And Mother said, “no” And Father said, “no.”

But Daughter was sure of it so she poured Mother and Father glass after glass of wine and slipped four

whole sleeping pills into the last one — she believed they were not to be trusted.

And Daughter went down a step, ca-thunk, and another, ca-thunk, and on the third step someone grabbed her from behind and said, “Sissster. Hello sisssster. I have been calling for you, but you did not come.”

Daughter wheezed.

The figure limped.

“You did not keep what I gave you safe. You did not keep them, sister. You did not do as I asked.

You disrespected me just as the terrible people who come and mine me, one who holds me down while the other pulls out my teeth for roof tiles, strips my skin for sofas, tears my hair for dolls, and rips out my fingernails for their walls, oh, sister, I have never played with toys and now you, you give me my chance to build a dollhouse for myself. And how lovely your parts will be.”

And the wheezing daughter raced up the steps

as fast as she could, ca-thunk ca-thunk ca-thunk, and ran to the kitchen where Mother lay face-down without a pulse, and Father lay with lungfulls of his own vomit, and behind her: “Sister, sisssster, it seems like four pills were too many. But don’t worry, I have my own methods for you.” And the figure slipped seven icy fingers around her neck. (a beat) Sometimes this jealous daughter stalks the basement of this house, looking for parts she can use to build dollhouses of her own. She has hundreds by now. Rooms full of replica buildings made of parts of people too slow to get away. So use caution when you walk.

6// MIRROR

TRENDING @ Dartmouth

’20s IN FRATS This time, try not to take pictures and publish them.

ALUMS

Now we can say we’ve golden treed someone’s aunt.

LEFTOVER HALLOWEEN CANDY

Only Whoppers and banana-flavored Laffy Taffy remain.

ELECTION DAY

Until then, keep refreshing FiveThirtyEight’s pollsplus forecast.

TUCK 2 SURVEYS:

If there’s no possibility of winning a gift card, it’s not happening.

WhenBy Cristian FearCano Holds You Back STORY

I’ll admit it: I have a fear of conducting interviews.

Prior to joining the Mirror staff earlier this term, I had never interviewed anyone, but I wasn’t too nervous about writing this article. College is the perfect time to try new things, right? I didn’t expect to run into any issues.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The second I made up my mind to interview others, I became paralyzed with anxiety. “Why is this happening to me? I’m usually a pretty social person!” My mind raced to find some rational explanation for the sudden butterflies in my stomach, but none came. I must have circled Foco, Collis Café and first-floor Berry a hundred times, trying to muster up the courage to walk up to a stranger and ask them if they’d be willing to answer a couple of questions. I knew my fear was irrational, but that didn’t make it go away.

How ironic: The interviewer was too scared to ask others about times in which fear held them back.

Eventually, I managed to confront my fear of conducting interviews and speak to several students about their own fears. I quickly realized that my experience was not unique — everyone I spoke to had let fear hold them back at some point as well. While each person’s story is different — some faced their fears, others have not and still others never will — the hesitation and discouragement that fear creates is universally present.

Alexa Tucker ’20’s nerves about joining theatre in high school prevented her from getting involved in her school’s theatre program during her freshman year. She didn’t audition until her sophomore year; since then, she has gradually become much more confident in putting herself on the stage.

Her advice for those paralyzed by fear? Pur yourself out there.

“The only way to become better at something is to do it. Just remember that it always feels like people are judging you more than they actually are,” Tucker said.

Tucker, following her own advice, came into her first year of college committed to snuffing out the shyness that held her back in high school, and she auditioned for a show early in the term. While she was not offered a role in that production, she is not discouraged — she enjoyed the audition process, and feels pride in the progress she has made.

Vivian Ilonzo ’18 also noted the importance of fighting feelings of discouragement and trying something new. Ilonzo wanted to learn how to play the cello for a very long time, but she was afraid that it was too late for her to begin.

She decided to try anyway, and

after emailing someone in the College’s music department, she was connected with a senior who started giving her free lessons this past spring. When that student graduated, she was then connected with an junior who was also more than willing to help her learn.

“Learning an instrument is an incredibly enriching experience in itself, but my experience as an adult beginner has been even more wonderful just because I’ve been able to study under really amazing students,” Ilonzo said.She has been playing the cello for several months now and is eager to continue her progress.

Some students have yet to face some of their fears. Isis Cantu ’19’s long-distance relationship ended right before the fall term started.

She visited her then-boyfriend and his family in Miami this summer, and everything was going well until the day before she flew back up to Dartmouth. They had gotten into an intense argument that day; she said she doesn’t quite remember exactly what they fought about, but she remembers calling him selfish. Because she had to board an airplane the next morning, she never apologized — and she still hasn’t.

“I was too proud to reach out and too scared to say I’m sorry,” she admitted, adding that she fears his

reaction if she decides to reconnect mouth, he was not chosen for all of with him. Her previous boyfriend the clubs he applied to, but he is tried to reach out several days ago, doing his best to stay positive and but Cantu is unsure what to do continue to better himself.

Some fears arise from one’s since she believes she ruined their specific circumstances and backrelationship. grounds. YunxWhile iao Lin, an exsome people “There are so many change student have yet to highly qualified from China, is confront their worried that he fears, others students that you will not be able have missed won’t get everything to make signifitheir chance to do so. Hi- you want and succeed, cant progress in his chemistry remanshu Patel but that only makes search because ’20 regrets you try harder.” he is only at not applying Dartmouth for to as many one year. One colleges as he - HIMANSHU PATEL ’20 of his goals is wanted, out to have his reof concern search published that there were too many other qualified ap- in a scientific journal, but if he is plicants for him to have a chance. unable to accomplish that during While he noted that he would have his year here, he fears that he will chosen Dartmouth regardless, he have wasted his time here and have wishes that his fear of rejection to begin anew back home.

Yunxiao’s fears are not easily had not prevented him from applying to more of his top choice quelled, but he is doing the best he can to make his dreams a realschools.

“In this school and around the ity. While I didn’t quite grasp the country, there are so many highly specific details of his research, his qualified students that you won’t talk of crystalline structures and get everything you want and suc- gas absorption convinces me that ceed, but that only makes you try he’s on the right track. Regardless harder to accomplish your goals,” of whether he gets published, his Patel said. He noted that at Dart- interest in facing his fears.

Cockroach in the Bathtub

By Clara Guo

MIRR OR //7

COLUMN

The year is 2059. I have always dreaded retirement: the sudden release from commitment, the odd opportunities to spend my afternoons in pajamas. What am I supposed to do with the free time? Pick up another hobby, probably. Read more books — more non-fiction, definitely. Maybe even write a novel (plot, genre and characters to be imagined at a much later time).

Take care of my granddaughter when she’s born (this one’s a nobrainer). Mentor med students?

Teach some courses? Sleep. A lot.

I suppose the options are endless, but I still fear the day I turn in my badge, hand back my scrubs and say goodbye to the hospital that has been my second home for the last few decades of my life.

I used to say, to the utter chagrin of my med school roommate, “Cadavers instead of bugs.” Cadavers are easy — scientific and detached.

Bugs are difficult — unpredictable and fast.

Over junior summer of college, I lived in Beacon Hill, Boston with two friends. One unfortunate Wednesday night in July, I came home to a cockroach in our bathtub — not a cockroach like the ones we dissected in physiology, its body pinned and legs cut; rather, a cockroach, thin, indestructible, wildly

running faster than my eyes could follow.

I shrieked, a high-pitched squawk that must have echoed throughout the building, slammed the bathroom door, fast-walked to my room, watched “Gilmore Girls” with the volume on high and waited, quite impatiently, for my roommate to arrive home.

Half an hour later, the front door opened. I greeted Sarah with a, “Hi. I think there’s a cockroach in our tub.” (Looking back on it now, I could have broken the news with more finesse, but I was in a panicked mindset that did not allow for logic.)

Sarah’s response? The same as mine when I tried to wash my hands 30 minutes earlier. Her yell, equally as loud as my shriek, was repeated several times in shock.

We opened the bathroom door together, and Sarah stuck her head inside to confirm the cockroach’s existence. A slew of curse words exited her mouth, followed by a quick Snapchat of the roach posted to her story. We spent the next 10 minutes brainstorming effective killing methods. We could drop a cup (or a plastic storage box) over the roach — but how would we then dispose of it? We could slip a piece of paper underneath the cup

and then carry the bug outside, but which one of us would aim and do the slipping and discarding? We could just wait for our third roommate to return from her business trip and in the meantime use our kitchen sink to brush our teeth and the bathrooms and showers at the spin studio down the street.

Eventually, we agreed that the situation should be dealt with as soon as possible. What if the cockroach escaped the confines of the tub? Would we simply avoid our apartment until it died of starvation?

After our unproductive brainstorming session, Sarah and I sought outside help. We knocked on every single apartment door in the complex (there were only four apartments total), frantically asking for roach-killer volunteers. Everyone refused but preempted their refusal with empathetic “Ew’s” and appropriate expressions of terror.

Defeated, we walked back to Apartment 3. We sat in Sarah’s room, a safe distance away from our tub, our panic slowly morphing into the dreadful realization that we may have to attack the roach ourselves.

We texted friends — anyone who would be up at 8:55 p.m. and close enough to Beacon Hill to be willing

to make the trek over. Less than ten minutes later, Sarah’s friend agreed to drop by after work on his way home to Fenway.

At 9:30 p.m., he arrived. He took one look at the bathtub, grabbed two paper towels, turned on the shower to subdue the roach’s run and smacked it.

We offered him beer and ice cream as thanks (we had at least four tubs of half-eaten ice cream in the freezer, courtesy of my wisdom tooth removal five days earlier), but he refused.

At 9:35 p.m. our apartment was roach-free.

We celebrated with the following: (1) laughter, delirious with relief and the knowledge that, in a day (or, most likely, a week), we would look back on July 13, 2016 and relive the past few hours not with fear, but with amusement; (2) social media, specifically snapchats of us taking out the trash that housed the dead roach; and (3) ice cream at JP Licks, despite the tubs at home, because we deserved a pretzel cone and unique (and slightly overpriced) flavors with embedded pineapples.

I don’t remember when my fear of bugs began. My fear of heights, I can pinpoint to our sixth grade family vacation to Yellowstone,

when I distinctly remember walking down a path a few feet wide, one side sharply dropping away and the other alternating between cliff and emptiness. I never did cross skydiving off my bucket list.

It seems like such a silly thing to fear bugs. I’ve thought about the evolutionary drive behind this phobia — perhaps it originated as a protective mechanism against poisonous animals, just as we are evolutionarily designed to detest the overtly bitter.

Forty-three years later, I’m happy to say that my fear of bugs has diminished greatly. I’m sure I’d still jump in fright if I ever saw a cockroach scurry my way, but I doubt I’d need 1.5 hours to cleanse my home.

My childhood fears have ebbed with age, but others have replaced them. Fear for my children’s safety, of a botched operation, of stagnation. Fear of retirement, unsure of my productivity and wisdom.

These are the fears I hope to one day confront and vanquish, although I have yet to discover a foolproof strategy that fights the recurring abstract.

I still have two years, maybe three, until I say goodbye to the practice. Plenty of time to explore new hobbies and subdue old fears.

8// MIRROR

Mirror Asks: Fears

Which of our writers are afraid of peat bogs, driving in the rain, snakes and getting stranded underwater?

What is your biggest fear?

Nelly Mendoza-Mendoza ’19: My biggest fear is solitude or being forgotten; the possibility of not finding real love and about the possibility of living without people that really care about me scares me. I enjoy the company of others, so knowing that others are around to support me makes me feel comfortable and loved. Along with this comes the fear of hurting those that I love because I place a lot of value to relationships.

Anna Staropoli ’20: My biggest fear is definitely snakes. When I was younger, I lifted a rock while playing in my backyard and accidentally touched a snake. I’ve been terrified of them ever since.

Hayley Hoverter ’17: It used to be not living up to people’s expectations of me, but now it’s more not being able to find personal fulfillment. Also not being happy.

Leina McDermott ’19: My biggest fear is probably losing someone that I love.

Alison Hagen ’20: My biggest fear is probably heights and falling from tall heights. I could never see myself sky diving and I hate how large height drops feel on amusement park rides.

Julia O’Sullivan ’20: I am most afraid in life when I am jumping on a trampoline with other people because most people are bigger than me and think its funny to bounce into me.

Lauren Budd ’18: Pursuing a career in my passion and failing and having to go work for a bank or something awful like that.

When has fear kept you from doing something?

Mendoza-Mendoza: Telling someone the truth, since I know I might hurt them. But it’s something that I have gotten better at as I have grown older.

Staropoli: Fear has kept me from leaving my comfort zone and doing activities I’m not used to. For instance, I’ve been afraid to take certain classes and join certain groups at Dartmouth because they’re unfamiliar and not necessarily things I’m good at.

Hoverter: A lot. I’ve been scared that I wouldn’t be able to get something that I wanted, so my fear of failure caused me not to try.

McDermott: Freshman fall fear definitely kept me from touching the fire.

Hagen: My fear of heights has stopped me from going on some roller coasters and even the Tower of Terror in Disney World.

O’Sullivan: The other night, I needed food for sustenance, but I was afraid of contracting frostbite, so I ordered Dominos.

Budd: When I was 11, I had the opportunity to live abroad for a month without my family.

In hindsight, I wish I had done it, but at the time I think it was the right choice.

What’s an irrational fear that you have?

Mendoza-Mendoza: I am afraid of being in a car accident. When I drive I try to be very careful of other people because I am aware that some people are very irresponsible when it comes to driving. For example, I cannot tolerate people who text or use their phones while driving or who think that they are “good enough” to drink and drive.

Staropoli: I have an irrational fear of underwater tunnels. Whenever I’m in them, I always think that if something were to break in the tunnel, I’d be stranded underwater and unable to get out.

Hoverter: I’m afraid something is going to go horribly wrong and I won’t be able to graduate on time.

McDermott: My younger sister is super into bogs, and this summer she told me that if you get sucked into a bog you don’t decompose you just get pickled, so now I find bogs pretty scary.

Hagen: I can’t think of any irrational fears that I have.

O’Sullivan: Because I hail from the California drought, I’m afraid that I will entirely lose my ability to drive at the sight of rain.

Budd: Bees are my biggest fear, despite never having been stung, to the point where I used to lie about having an allergy on medical forms in order to be taken seriously.

TIFFANY ZHAI/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF