Issue 2 Spring 2024

TUFTS OBSERVER

Contents

Katarina Knott FEATURE

Bears the Burden?

Non-professionals

Supporting Mental Health Campus

Table of Table of Contents

Miles Kendrick OPINION

Dressed to Suppress: How Academia Seized the Progressive Movement

POETRY & PROSE

Cinderblossoms

William Zhuang

CAMPUS 10

Dewick Mac-Falling Off

Samara Haynes

Mariana Janer Agrelot ARTS & CULTURE Love Language

The Ancient World is Not a Monolith

Cate Tam POETRY & PROSE

TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 25, 2024

Cherry Chen & Aviv Markus CREATIVE INSET

Chloe Thurmgreene ARTS & CULTURE

indie sleaze data breach monday morning

Caroline Lloyd-Jones VOICES

more justification, just sweet liberation

Giving the Green Light: Mandated Green Training Yu CAMPUS

NEWS

Youngest

Electorate: Engaged and Aware Breslow

Elizabeth Chin VOICES 28

Bittersweet Molasses

Lush

To grow luxuriously, and exist abundantly. A sunlight-stippled rainforest floor, lily pads overzealously overlapping in heat of their summer growth spurt. SZA amongst long blades of grass and TV junk as she sits poised on the cover of Ctrl: Mother Earth provides generously to her children. Also that store with the bath bombs.

Editor-in-Chief

Emara Saez

Editor Emeritus

Juanita Asapokhai

Managing Editor

Veronica Habashy

Creative Directors

Unmani Tewari

Aviv Markus

Feature Editors

Ashlie Doucette

Miles Kendrick

News Editors

Kara Moquin

Sofia Valdebenito

Arts & Culture Editors

Alec Rosenthal

Liani Astacio

Opinion Editors

William Zhuang

Emma Castro

Campus Editors

Madison Clowes

Anna Farrell

Poetry and Prose Editors

Mariana Campano

Erin Zhu

Voices Editors

Ivi Fung

Madison Greenstein

Art Directors

Cheyanne Atole

Amanda Chen

Creative Inset Designer

Cherry Chen

Designers

Dana Jeong Ahmed Fouad

Rachel Li

Kaya Gorsline

Jazzy Wu

Joey Marmo

Ruby Offer

Staff Artists

Elika Wilson

Stella Omenetto

Adina Guo

Annica Grote

Erin Gobry

Elsa Schutt

Kaya Gorsline

Isabel Mahoney

Jaylin Cho

Avril Lynch

Ruby Luband

Ella Hubbard

Lead Copy Editors

Chloe Thurmgreene

Mia Ivatury

Copy Editors

Kerrera Jackson

Talia Tepper

Mallory Ewing

Wellesley Papagni

Liliane Newberry

Publicity Directors

Aatiqah Aziz

Francesca Gasasira

Publicity Team

Madison Clowes

Mathilde Vega Angela Jang

Mia Ivatury

Podcast Team

Tamara Setiadji

Isaac Ulloa Antonio

Justin Deberry

Ryan Hachey

Emma Selesnick

Dominic Matos

Danielle Campbell

Anya Glass

Eli Marcus

Website Managers

Clara Davis

Eli Marcus

Multimedia Team

Andie Cabochan

Soraya Basrai

Dylan Perkins

Evelyn Yoon

Staff Writers

Layla Kennington

Sacha Waters

Samara Haynes

Ethan Guo

Almer Yu

James Urquhart

Ela Nalbantoglu

Dahlia Breslow

Kate Weyant

Ben Choucroun

Jillie McLeod

Connor Howe

Caroline Lloyd-Jones

Danielle Campbell

Roddy Atwood

Elizabeth Chin

Katarina Knott Ramirez

Treasurer William Zhuang

Who Bears the Burden?

The Non-professionals Supporting Mental Health on Campus

By Katarina Knott Ramirez

At the beginning of the 2023 fall semester, while anxious freshmen hauled heavy boxes up and down residential quad, the Tufts Resident Assistant Union picketed across campus for more equitable working conditions. Amid the chaos, questions of fair compensation and hidden job expectations for Tufts staff in general came to the forefront of campus conversation. One of the hidden expectations that RAs brought up was their role in supporting the mental health of their students, a role not explicitly stated in their job description.

These hidden expectations point to a greater question of responsibility on campus: who bears the burden regarding student mental health? As Tufts sophomore RA Yoda Ermias puts it, “I don’t think it’s fair throwing a 19-20-year-old [RA] in the situation where someone might be dealing with a suicide attempt or something [related]. I think that’s well above someone’s pay grade. We’re not trained professionals.”

Since the pandemic, the rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideations on college campuses have never been higher. However, the availability of resources has not increased at the same rate, resulting in various shortcomings within university mental health resources. RAs represent a group that has felt the weight of this disparity, but there are many others.

in students post-pandemic,” said English Lecturer Megan Crotty. “In my… personal experience, I have noticed a lot more depression. Even suicidal ideation… [comes] up more readily and more frequently in the last three years than it had when I started teaching in 2012.” With mental health struggles on the rise, professors and instructors have joined the ranks of non-professionals bearing the burden of students’ wellbeing. “I feel a large responsibility to all of my students to make sure that they’re doing okay,” said Crotty.

But how qualified are they to provide such support? While the expectations for faculty and staff in terms of supporting students are not always clear, some level of training is generally provided. Crotty explained, “There’s a messaging [program] for professors… where you can send messages if you have any students of concern, and administrators will reach out to them with resources they might need.”

works as a computer science TA in addition to being an RA, described a different experience in terms of the training he received on mental health. He said that “there isn’t really specific mental health training as a TA. I can’t speak for other courses, but at least in CS 11 and CS 15, it was more so that it’s not really your job to deal with making students feel better. Of course, if you feel comfortable, you can try.”

Across spaces at Tufts, then, this system of delegation seems to be the default solution to helping a struggling student. In a written statement to the Tufts Observer, Executive Director of Media Relations Patrick Collins said, “We do not expect RAs, faculty or staff to assume additional responsibilities outside the scope of their assigned roles.” Instead, he said, “Mental health treatment is the responsibility of mental health professionals.” Yet, some question the efficacy of this approach, particularly for students of marginalized identities. Jana Copeland, a thirdyear PhD student in Tufts’ psychology department, emphasized that “one of the factors that contribute to poor student health on campus is this expectation that there’s a traditional way

As people who dedicate their time to mentoring and engaging with students, professors have noted a similar shift in their role and job expectations regarding mental health.

“Most of the instructors that I’ve spoken to in the last couple of years have noticed a significant change

RAs are similarly encouraged to seek assistance from people who may have more training and background in handling crises. Ermias noted that they “do receive training with [helping students with their] mental health crises,” but are also taught to “reach out to one of the residential life coordinators [if the situation is serious].” In this way, they serve as a student’s first point of contact, placing an additional responsibility on RAs to identify concerning behaviors and report them.

Similarly, teaching assistants at Tufts are also expected to report concerning behavior they notice in their students. Mariana Gonzalez, a TA for Introduction to Psychology, explained that the professors running her class briefly mentioned to TAs that “if you see anything or hear anything that is of concern to you, make sure to report to your professors.” Ermias, though, who

to approach mental health care, being counseling and therapy services.”

Junior Arielle Ortega, an intern and member of the Tufts Indigenous Center majoring in community health, said that “within the indigenous community, we don’t really seek

out healthcare providers in general.”

She explained that while “everyone [at the Indigenous Center] knows about the services… there’s a lot of mistrust and just feeling like a lot of counselors are probably white and… not going to really understand the perspective.” Because of this skepticism, indigenous students and other students of color often look for guidance within their own communities.

Ortega noted that members will call the Indigenous Center director, Vernon Miller, their “therapist,” as he listens to their mental health-related stresses and “gives [them] advice and gives [them] direction.”

This sense of responsibility placed on indigenous faculty to support the mental well-being of their community demonstrates a larger trend within marginalized communities.

Copeland explained that, from the perspective of a faculty or staff member, “[when] a student has an identity you either also belong to, or [are] an ally to, there’s this level of wanting to make sure they’re okay.” The sense of onus can be further intensified if there is anticipation that a student of a marginalized background may not receive effective treatment from other university resources.

Copeland emphasized the significance of cultural competence in providing mental health support to students, citing the risk of students being “[recommended] something that’s not helpful or [that

spreads] pessimistic views [that] end up harming the student.” She went on to explain, “how people handle crises can vary based on the identities of the individual experiencing certain crises, which can lead to marginalization in different ways.” This potential for a student to experience further marginalization while seeking help may make faculty and staff feel less comfortable sending them elsewhere and more inclined to provide themself as a resource for students to lean on.

The fear that a student might not receive culturally competent mental health care at Tufts or elsewhere is not baseless. According to the American Psychological Association, the American health service psychology workforce is 88 percent white, compared to just 59 percent of the total American population. Kia Alson, a Counseling and Mental Health Service counselor and liaison to the Africana Center,

“[When] a student has an identity you either also belong to, or [are] an ally to , there’s this level of wanting to make sure they’re okay.”

explained that “BIPOC students are less likely to seek out mental health support from professional counselors on college campuses due to a number of factors, including… lack of racial/

ethnic diversity among college counseling staff… and lack of culturally and linguistically responsive mental health services.”

As Alson alluded, these factors can pose a significant barrier for students at Tufts. For example, a lack of linguistic diversity among professional counselors becomes a prevalent issue on Tufts’ campus, where 42 percent of the admitted class of 2027 either do not speak English at home or did not learn English as their primary language. On this issue, Copeland explained, “Thinking about language, if [students] don’t have anyone in mental health services that [they] can go to, say, for instance, a student doesn’t speak English as their primary first language, they might not even have an option for care through that traditional route.”

Another aspect of this problem is that student mental health responsibilities are not evenly distributed among all of the campus staff and faculty, as certain pockets of Tufts are more likely to hear about student struggles than others. One discrepancy can be observed between faculty members in the humanities and STEM departments. Speaking from her own experience, Crotty explained, “Because I teach writing, I myself and other writing instructors get wind of mental health struggles far more frequently than other professors do. Because if you’re taking chemistry or math, you’re not going to do a free write about how you might be struggling.”

Additionally, people with intersecting marginalized identities are described as more susceptible to feeling responsible for matters beyond the scope of their jobs. For example, Copeland explained that “women of color have a tendency to feel more

responsible [for students’ mental health], like this kind of matriarch role gets bestowed upon us [and] we have to take care of students and make sure that… [they] know that [they’re] safe in this classroom.” Given that women of color are already at increased risk of developing mental health problems, taking on the emotional labor of helping students with their mental health may have a compounding negative effect. The same can be noted about faculty who “have [their] own mental health concerns and know how that feels,” and therefore may be more empathetic to the students’ struggles. This sincerity on professors’ parts is a double-edged sword: the factors that incline them to offer themselves as resources for students regarding mental health might also put them at risk for degrading their own well-being in the process.

In the face of a dearth of mental health resources, students are calling for more creative solutions to manage mental health issues on campus. For Tufts’ part, Collins listed CMHS, Counselor on Call, CARE, Student Support, and Ears for Peers as potential avenues for students in need.

Senior Avalyn Dixon-Gardner, a member of Ears for Peers, explained that the program is a helpful resource to Tufts students needing “an open and listening ear,” but it’s not the only resource for students on campus. “Let’s Talk,” Copeland highlighted, “[has] a liaison from CMHS in every identity center [at Tufts]” offering informal 15-20 minute therapy sessions with professional mental health counselors across campus.

In a written statement to the Tufts Observer, director of Tufts CMHS Julie Ross wrote that “[CMHS] has taken a number of steps to lower barriers and increase student access to our services.” She pointed out that diversity initiatives within CMHS are constantly working to “better understand [the] needs and concerns” of marginalized community members at Tufts. For example, CMHS is in the midst of planning a collaboration with the Africana Center to create a mental health survey. With these efforts in place,

CMHS staff seem confident that untrained professionals will face lighter burdens in years to come.

As students, faculty, and staff navigate rising mental health concerns, it’s evident that a re-evaluation of existing support structures is imperative. While some initiatives aim to address these issues, such as the efforts of CMHS, the complex interplay of cultural, linguistic, and systemic factors continues to complicate the landscape of mental health care on campus. Tufts must recognize what Copeland articulates as a simple fact: “Students are people first.” This sentiment can likewise be applied to faculty and staff who feel both the weight of their own experiences and those of the students they are teaching, advising, coaching, and caring for. Ultimately, many community members believe Tufts should strive to provide more equitable solutions to alleviate the burden on those tasked with supporting student well-being.

Dressed to Suppress:

By Miles Kendrick

eyes of my fellow classmates. Before me sit 12 white students, each typing away on $2,000 MacBook Pros or sipping quietly on $10 cappuccinos. I clear my throat and switch to the first slide. The bolded title—“The Sexualization of Black Bodies in Popular Culture”—is projected starkly at the front of the room. The class becomes engaged and the professor seems pleased, but as I move through the presentation, a sense of unease falls over me. Contemplating the experiences of Black bodies with my fellow white peers, asserting authority over a topic so far removed from my own awareness, leads me to a pertinent but uncomfortable conclusion:

Academia has co-opted the progressive movement. Through the manipulation of “politically correct” terminology, universities like Tufts—and the wealthy students who populate them—have managed to appear socially liberal while retaining traditional power dynamics of wealth, class, and race.

Unraveling the layers of progressivism helps expose this manipulation more clearly. According to the Progressive Caucus of the House of Representatives, the “progressive promise” works to advance universal justice, dignity, and peace; tackle systems of racial and economic discrimination, and pursue “transformative change” on local and federal levels.

Throughout the 20th century, grassroots activists led the progressive movement through language. Specifically, they employed “political correctness,” a rhetorical rule of thumb that, at its most basic, aims to give the least amount of offense to marginalized communities. First appearing in Marxist-Leninist literature following the Russian Revolution of 1917, the term “politically correct” was originally used to encourage obedience to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Throughout the 1930s and 40s, progressive

positional forces. While moderate liberals and conservatives began attacking political correctness as early as the 1970s, their attacks were almost always aimed at grassroots progressives.

Today, however, criticisms of progressivism and political correctness have shifted to target elite institutions. In Florida, Governor Ron DeSantis recently announced his plan to defund diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives on college campuses, eliminate critical race theory, and limit majors like gender studies. In Texas, a similar law prohibits the establishment of diversity initiatives in public institutions of higher education. In Ohio, Senate Republicans just passed a bill targeting “woke” culture in public universities throughout the state. In the wake of such a shift, academia has become the new epicenter of progressivism—and America’s left seems to be fine with it.

Clouded by an instinct to conform to partisan debate and reject conservative reactionism, so-called progressives like myself have for years adopted an ideologically uncharacteristic position. Instead of looking to grassroots organizers to define progressive language, we have somehow found ourselves on the side of elite capitalist institutions.

By definition, institutions of higher education are, well, institutional. They have no stake in combating systemic inequalities in race and economics because they themselves benefit from these disparities. Tufts, for example, depends on the existence of income inequality to fund new projects and manage day-to-day operations. With America’s fifth-highest annual tuition and tenth-highest percentage of students belonging to the top 1 percent, Tufts could not exist without systemic inequalities that favor the rich and disadvantage the marginalized.

Still, universities like Tufts spew progressive language in almost all of their public-facing materials. Tufts’ Office of the Vice Provost for Institutional Inclusive Excellence home webpage, for example, reads, “Tufts has always aimed to be inclusive. The university’s Universalist founders envisioned an institution that would embrace those at the margins of society, and offer admission to students from all cultures, religions, ethnicities, and socioeconomic backgrounds.”

The question, then, is why, with seemingly nothing to benefit from changing the status quo, does academia discuss progressive values so often?

To Nikhil Vootkur, a junior race, colonialism, and diaspora major at Tufts, the answer is clear. “There’s a reason why Bud Light and every Fortune 500 feels the need to signal some kind of progressive politics,” he said. “It’s because there is a level of capital to be earned from cycling these things.”

As social politics increasingly infiltrate our daily lives, American consumers are becoming more discerning about the businesses they support. In a 2017 study by Sprout Social, researchers found that, despite anti-corporate sentiments among liberals, 78 percent of respondents who self-identify as liberal want brands to take a stand on social issues, and 82 percent of liberals feel brands are more credible when they do. With these statistics in mind, private universities, like all corporations, have made distinctive efforts to adopt progressive language.

DESIGN BY RACHEL LI, ART BY ELSA SCHUTT

But there’s a difference between mak ing progressive statements and taking pro gressive action. As Vootkur put it, “[Tufts] could invest money into RCD and invest money into questions about the academy’s role in these conversations to begin with… or they could hire a new vice provost of DEI.” While the former would signal a genuine interest in taking progressive action, the latter is sometimes all universities like Tufts need to secure social and economic capital. “[Tufts] is getting the caché they need from the ones with the money by saying that they’re implementing the right things, that they’re standing for the right issues, that [they] are a ‘beacon of progress’ but… the moment it breaches [their] convenience, [they] won’t engage with it anymore.”

The result, then, is a cheapening of the progressive movement. When pro gressive language is manipulated by in stitutions for their own capitalist gain, its original connection to marginalized groups and their fight against systemic inequality is lost. What’s more, the manipulation leads to the exclusion of marginalized communities altogether, subjecting them to the authority of highly educated elites.

Nowhere is this phenomenon seen more clearly than in the academically embraced term “Latinx.”

Intended to provide a genderneutral alternative to the genderdominated Spanish language, the term “Latinx” has been championed by institutions of higher education despite the fact that its origins are largely unknown. At Tufts, Latinx Studies and the Latinx Center demonstrate the term’s absorption into campus discourse. Among actual Latin Americans, however, the term is rarely used.

it hard to say in regular speech,” explained Gonzalez-Guzmán. “I prefer [the term] ‘Latiné’ instead because I think grammatically it makes more sense.”

When access to politically correct terms becomes dependent on positions of power, progressive language becomes term-exclusive regardless of its original goals of inclusion. “Because it likely didn’t start with someone who actually speaks Spanish,” explained Gonzalez-Guzmán, “a lot of that cultural sensitivity and awareness is thrown out of the window.”

ing the Nazi Ministry of Education’s academic restructuring and Mussolini’s censorship of school curricula. Furthermore, minority groups have for years fought for the right to be represented on university campuses, and eradicating these spaces would do little to recenter marginalized voices within the progressive movement. Neither, then, would eradicating scholarly writing on politically progressive topics solve the issue. In a world dominated by uninformed Instagram stories and halfhearted retweets, there must be a space where complex issues of race, wealth, and ethnicity can be explored in detail. While Vootkur agrees that scholarship must originate from lived experience, he points out that “You want a term to be accessible but you also want it to maintain its structural integrity.”

“It was here, actually, like sophomore year, when I first heard it,” said Ana Gonzalez-Guzmán, a fifth-year master’s student in the Tufts Department of Child Study and Human Development and a graduate intern for Tufts’ Latinx Center. “I was pleasantly surprised to hear the term,” she said, “but my parents and their generation… have a… hard time understanding and using it.”

The consequence, then, is an “elitification” of the progressive movement. To be progressive today, you must be politically correct; to be politically correct, you must seek higher education; to seek higher education, you almost always must be privileged. It is no coincidence that today’s progressive left is 68 percent white, with nearly half having at least a four-year college degree.

To combat this sequence of elitism, progressives must resist the urge to defend institutions of higher education and their role in defining progressive language. If we fail to do so, we risk jeopardizing the very nature of the progressive movement, one that is anchored in the grassroots efforts of marginalized communities.

But how? As a college student myself, one whose family pays $85,000 a year for

Instead, and perhaps paradoxically, the only way to decrease the influence of higher education in the progressive movement is to increase the number of marginalized students within those institutions. Political correctness and the progressive movement from which it originates exist to center the experiences of those most oppressed. If academia is to be the place where this language gets created, it must be created by those with lived experience. Thus, the progressive prescription for political correctness on college campuses is the exact opposite of the conservative prescription. While conservatives argue that academia must forfeit its efforts to increase diversity on college campuses, progressives must argue something radically different: by taking real, tangible actions to eliminate college debt, lowering the price of college tuition, increasing diversity within universities, and eliminating legacy admissions on college campuses, universities may actually begin to reflect the communities they so often discuss in class. O

Cinderblossoms

By William Zhuang

Beyond the concrete canals wholly claimed by spray paint and the rain-slick train tracks crossing like ballpoint cursive, wildflowers by the rails roots held by thin dirt mourn for wilted stems.

I once saw two girls, legs bare, skin exposed,

Dewick

The routine of getting a meal at Dewick-MacPhie Dining Center, and the distinct sensory experience it provides, is known to every Tufts undergraduate student. From that all-toofamiliar waft of fishy air the moment one walks through the door to being cut in line trying to get to the presumably permanent pasta bar, each meal at Dewick evokes a rollercoaster of emotions in all who pass through.

While some zealous students never miss the chance to try that new clam chowder and others make their own flavor of iced coffee every morning, it is universally acknowledged that the quality and variety of food fluctuates at Dewick. This has prompted a signature ritual of students asking their friends: “Is it a good Dewick day?” Recently, there have been increasing reports of dissatisfactory Dewick experiences. This drop in caliber seems to be especially consistent throughout this semester. From replacing chicken breast with chicken thighs to cutting out entire stations, students find that Dewick is just not the same as it once was. The steady decline is more than just a catalyst for student dissatisfaction, but also a symptom of a greater problem altogether: Tufts Dining not only devalues the needs of students with dietary restrictions, but prioritizes profit and business over student experience in many aspects of the Dewick process.

“I find the vegetarian options to be particularly repetitive and lacking, which is particularly bad as an athlete,” said Yayla Tur, a second-year on the ultimate frisbee team who is a vegetarian.

Even student-athletes without dietary restrictions who are adamant about their

Mac-Falling Off

By Samara Haynes

love for Dewick recognize that there are limitations to its offerings. “I would definitely say if they didn’t always have the cheeseburger patties I wouldn’t love Dewick as much because that’s a go-to fall back,” said sophomore Emma Lyle, a member of the crew team. “Sometimes [it’s] a weird day, and I wish they would spread out the more adventurous options instead of having them all at once.”

Administration-to-plate, the food at Dewick represents the accumulation of many factors. These changes appear to be due to holdups such as short-staffing, the cyclical nature of the menu, and budgetary constraints in food sourcing. The impacts are widespread, most notably including the extended closure of Beans, Greens & Grains, the kosher vegan platform, at Dewick.

“More and more I was being pressured to find food elsewhere.”

For kosher students, this station’s extended closure, stretching from the beginning of this spring semester to its intermittent reopenings, represents the loss of a main source of food on campus.

“It’s a very different story between last semester and this semester. Last semester I had options between going to the Dewick kosher station and Pax et Lox,” the on-campus kosher deli, said Yakir Brawer, a first-year student who keeps kosher. These changes have forced him to look to other options for food on campus. “More

and more I was being pressured to find food elsewhere, like the vegetarian section which I was less comfortable with, but I ended up doing because there was no other option.”

On its website, Tufts Dining boasts that Dewick is home to “the largest vegan and vegetarian selection on campus.” Beans, Greens & Grains, which, in 2023, won Tufts Dining the Grand Prize for the Loyal E. Horton Award in Residential Dining Concept, is a vital source of food for not only kosher and vegan students, but many others, including vegetarians and more plant-based eaters. But despite its many accolades and evident sense of pride in the station, Tufts Dining consistently chooses to shut down this option for students at the slightest prompting.

The decision to temporarily close the platform is attributed to staffing shortages. “In January, there were a couple of people who had been on leave who thought they’d be able to return and unfortunately, they’re still out,” said Patti Klos, Senior Director of Dining Services.

This has become more of a problem as Tufts students increasingly tend to choose vegetarian and meat-free options. Beyond those with strict dietary restrictions, students rely on this platform, and Dewick as a whole, to provide them with diverse and healthy foods that support their needs and lifestyles. Despite all of this, Beans, Greens & Grains was the first station to be eliminated in the face of staffing shortages.

“I have started to get tired of the monotony. Dewick is very repetitive and it can be hard to find good sources of protein [as an athlete]. I like the rice and garbanzo bean curry but they’ve stopped making it,” noted Tur.

“We faced a choice of focusing on the platforms where we serve the most people,” Klos said. While there is much crossover amongst the items served at some of these other stations, the closure of kosher vegan effectively eliminated Dewick as an option for many students. “We did focus on the main platforms, and the vegan station did go unattended for longer than we would have liked,” said Klos.

Tufts mandates that first-year students purchase the premium meal plan, and that sophomores purchase at least 160 swipes. For students with dietary restrictions, station closures effectively halve their food options, while still charging them the same amount of money. These blanket costs, paid at the beginning of the semester and not impacted by how often students actually use their meal swipes, indiscriminately charge students for food that they may not even be able to eat. These closures have caused students who are paying for a fullservice dining plan to find options outside of Tufts Dining for food.

“I have some stuff that my mom brings me,” said Brawer about when he cannot find suitable options at Dewick. “I have food in my dorm as well, but I think it

is unusual to be able to have full meals in my dorm.”

Decisions about dining and the menu are attributed to a variety of sources, including a four-week cycle of menu items, budgetary constraints, and seasonal availability. Financial constraints impose a huge barrier to the quality of food in Dewick. Budgeting and fiscal responsibilities are the primary considerations for Tufts Dining’s decisions. “We want to please our customer[s], but not at the expense of the whole thing,” Klos said.

Special events are also factored into Dewick budgetary planning, including Dewick Italian Night, Lunar New Year, Caribbean Dinner, and other cultural nights. “We do know we’re going to spend more on that meal, but we can balance it all out because we’re planning in advance,” Klos said. This may be a reason that food quality goes down on preceding and following nights, to compensate for the cost of such events.

The budget similarly impacts ingredient sourcing, and plays a major role in the quality of food brought into Dewick. “Because we buy large quantities and want to use the university’s money wisely, we primarily use food distributors,” Klos said. “We strive for an average cost per meal per day, and over the course of a week.”

These food distributors, primarily sourced from major broadliner Sysco, focus entirely on profit and not on the qual-

ity of food. They appeal to institutions, such as Tufts, that are primarily based on providing a profit-margin competitive advantage, not a high-quality and nutritious experience.

This focus on maintaining financial viability has imposed a barrier to meeting student demand, and limits Tufts Dining’s possibilities to only what can be purchased at a minimal cost.

Another example is the constant demand for berries. “Students always say, more berries, more berries, more berries. They’re not seasonal. They’re super expensive,” said Klos of feedback that she often gets from students.

Tufts administrators receive a variety of student feedback, including surveying students to determine approval ratings and specific preferences for dining halls. Commenting on recent survey results, Klos said, “How satisfied are students with variety [in Dewick]? [It’s] not our top score.” She declined to share the specific results of the survey, stating that Tufts Dining is looking to one day share findings with students, but not at this time.

Looking forward, Tufts Dining claims they hope to improve Dewick and build a better meal experience for their students based on feedback. Until then, kosher, vegan, and vegetarian students—as well as those without dietary restrictions—continue to struggle to find satisfying meals with the dining plan they are mandated to pay

THE ANCIENT WORLD

IS NOT A MONOLITH

By Mariana Janer-Agrelot

Cato the Elder’s famous exclamation “Carthago Delenda Est!”—which translates to “Carthage Must Be Destroyed!”—acts as a response to the threat of the Carthaginian invasion of the Roman sphere of influence. The outcome of the Second Punic War created tensions between Carthage and the Roman Republic which led its leaders to embrace genocidal tactics in order to end the threat of the Punic civilization upon Roman territory.

This means that the Romans were able to write their history and perspective as the winners, establishing the Carthaginians as enemies to their own war of expansion and erasing Carthaginian history. Perspectives of “winners” oversaturate many of the sources read within the field of classical studies. In a written statement to the Tufts Observer, classics master’s student Mikayla Barreiro said, “A vast majority of ancient texts are written by the ruling elite for the ruling elite,” in particular during the “zenith of modern European colonialism.” As such, Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece have been overrepresented in Western

studies of the ancient world. However, this perspective is beginning to be challenged in the academic sphere.

In September 2023, the Tufts University Classical Studies Department announced that it would be phasing out its Classical Studies major and redefining it as “Ancient World Studies” to represent a focus “on the entire range of human experience across the globe between ca 3000 BCE – 800 CE.” This rupture in tradition would challenge how “pure” classics, referring to the study of Roman and Greek literature and history, fares in the 21st century, as liberal arts education moves into “new directions.” Although Tufts’ Classical Studies program already includes courses on Ancient Egypt and Persia, amongst others, the major’s re-branding represents the courses’ official inclusion to the field. The concept of “pure classics” cannot capture the complexity of the Mediterranean and the rest of antiquity by only focusing on the evolution of two civilizations that have been loosely defined by academics.

Classical studies and third-year student Romy Arie said that reclaiming ancient history in Western academia from its Eurocentric perspective is essential to this change in their major. Arie continued, stating that “the perspective that has defined this area of study has left it susceptible to [having] its ideas taken and later converted into white supremacist rhetoric.” This is evident in the way that Western governments and their elite have used the traditional classics field as a way to create imperial and genocidal narratives to subjugate non-Western nations and minimize their contributions to history. In a New York Times Magazine article, author Rachel Poser states that white supremacists have used classics to confirm a white past of Europe that is historically inaccurate. Poser named figures such as American neo-Nazi Richard Spencer have misused the history of the Roman Empire to advocate for a “white ethno-state on the North American continent.” The author later adds a quote from Dr. Paul Kosmin that during the creation of the field during the Enlightenment period, many prominent thinkers were swayed by “Aristotle’s belief that some people were

slaves by nature.” This statement was used by America’s founding fathers before the Civil War to defend the practice of slavery during the rise of abolitionism. Certainly, the extent of the misuse of historical narratives is evident in modern history, which is a result of the exclusion of other civilizations in academic contexts.

Historically the study of classics has downplayed the cultural and historical contributions of ancient societies peripheral to Greek city-states and Ancient Rome. However, Barreiro said, “One will not understand Greece or Rome without understanding, at least on the surface level, the broader historical context.” She continued, stating that students who major in Ancient World Studies will “inevitably study some cultures more than others” and that the study of “classics/Ancient World Studies mostly just want to produce functional human beings who are good citizens in both local and global communities by teaching them how to analyze and criticize the human experience.” This new wave of Ancient World Studies is marked by the dogma of not “putting these societies on a pedestal” but rather being able to identify their troubling features and analyze their faults and contributions critically.

Despite the proposed expansion of scope, the Ancient World Studies department will have to also expand its academic resources at Tufts to fully provide an interconnected and complete navigation of the ancient world. The field, especially at Tufts, is heavily concentrated with academics focusing on Greek and Roman ancient studies. As such, the question arises of whether the newly reformed Tufts department will get support from the university to acquire the necessary staff and resources to truly make this new major comprehensive in its survey of antiquity.

Dr. Andreola Rossi, a senior lecturer and a classicist focused on Roman and Greek literature, highlighted that this change will cause the pedagogy of the department to shift in a manner that it may not be ready to face, due to its focus on European civilizations. Rossi stated that “we need to be careful in defining what we do teach when we teach the ancient world because the world is quite big, right?”

Dr. Rossi expanded on these concerns, stating that the classics department “is trained to teach a specific area of the ancient world; in the future [the department] needs to create synergies with other departments who can really implement the teaching of other parts of the world.” This includes working alongside professors in the history department who specialize in other areas of the world in which there is a focus on ancient civilizations such as Ancient China and pre-Islamic Iran. However, she added that it is not clear yet if new faculty will be hired in the near future. Fourthyear art history student Grace Rotermund expressed hope that the change will open doors for academics from other classical civilizations, such as Persia and Celtic peoples, to be highlighted and given a larger role within the teaching of antiquity.

Barreiro resonates with this academic shift as it reflects a change across the humanities “towards interdisciplinary, multicultural awareness, and diverse viewpoints.” The changes made by Tufts University present a shift that aspires to mend the damage done. Although some may claim that these changes are a political move by the university, these changes are embraced by students and faculty alike within the department. As Barreiro states, “If having more knowledge influences one’s political belief, then that was probably the belief which should be changed.” O

DESIGN BY RACHEL LI, ART BY ISABEL MAHONEY

love language

by Cate Tam

Five to eight fish in the tank used to mean he was having a good week. Last month, when he opened every compartment of his pillbox and took all his week’s medication in one go, it was down to two. These days she’s lucky to find even one, valiantly swimming away its last days over chunks of plastic coral. Still, out of habit, as she toes off her shoes, she checks the soft cool glow of the glass tank in the condo’s entryway, the tangle of half-submerged plastic tubing inside. The water is empty and still. ,” she calls. The hallway is dark. The last time he phoned her with an emergency, she found him lying prone in the overturned contents of the portable toilet, unable to stand on his own; the use of his walker has been a point of contention between them for several years.

the remote is broken,” he says in Mandarin.

inhales with some effort and braces the heels of her hands against the kitchen counter. “Yeye, you said there was an emergency. I was at work.”

broken. How am I supposed to watch the game?”

grandfather’s condo feels like the offspring of a loveless marriage between a hotel room and a hospital waiting area: clinical and expectant. She works the beaded cord at the window until the blinds tilt up to let in some light. batteries are broken,” he says as she takes the remote from his hands. can’t be the batteries,” she explains in English. “Look—I can still access the menu. Something’s wrong with the TV, or the satellite.”

crawls behind the television set and into the snake’s den of thick black cords, skimming her fingers over the glossy pages of the manual, unplugging and replugging cables at random. The day is unseasonably warm, the air stale, and her shirt has stuck to her back.

“Your brother would be able to fix this,” her grandfather says from the armchair.

“I know.” She sits back on her heels. “You should call him next time you have this kind of problem.”

“Your brother has a wife, a son. He was promoted last month. You would have me bother him for this?”

After a phone call to the satellite company and then to the company that made the TV, she gets the game up onscreen in time for the end of the fifth inning. The batter strikes out and the crowd roars. finds herself unable to leave without doing something to justify the hour-long drive. On the bathroom counter sits a Dixie cup containing a filmy half-denture. She tips it into a bowl along with warm water and a tablet of cleaner, which instantly begins to hiss. She watches it shrink for a moment, then bends to scrape the trail of dried toothpaste and spit off the edge of the sink. When she lifts the toilet seat to wipe it, a glimmer of bright orange coruscates off the water and she recoils. Floating inside is a dead goldfish, its brilliant little body flat as a leaf on the surface of a pond. makes lunch with what little she finds in the kitchen cabinets—peanut butter spread over sliced white bread, a handful of saltine crackers, and a hard, wrinkled tangerine that she has to peel and section before he can eat it. Her thumb breaks the membrane of the fruit and the juice stings. Watching him chew with his soft, leaking mouth, she searches for any trace of her own face within his—in the corners of his eyes, the shape of his chin—while the juice dries to a sticky glaze over her fingers.

she can stand to clear the coffee table, he reaches down to where she sits crosslegged on the carpet and rests a hand on her arm. are important to me,” he says in English now, and she is humiliated by how immediately her eyes begin to prick. gives her arm a firm pat. “You are important,” he repeats, and he is lucid today, his movements steady and his eyes focused. Pith from the tangerine is wedged between his front teeth. “Because you are the one who is going to take care of me.”

extracts her arm and stacks their dishes together. The plates rattle against one another as she lowers them into the sink. Never in her entire life has she wanted to hit someone before now.

in her apartment, she goes through the stack of accumulated envelopes and magazines on the dining table. The first is an invitation from her university’s alumni fundraiser. She sets it aside without opening it. The second is a postcard—she can’t remember the last time she received a postcard—featuring a faux-weathered photograph of a palm tree casting its shadow over a squat blue lifeguard tower. The handwriting on the other side is an exuberant cursive-calligraphy hybrid, and she runs her fingers over the shallow indentations that the ballpoint pen has carved into

Anna, VeniceBeachiseverythingthatpeoplewhohaveneverbeentoCalifornia thinkCaliforniais—eventhemannequinshavebiggerboobshere.Iwantedto callyouassoonasIlanded,butthenIrealizedthatthiswastheperfectopportunitytowriteyouthatpen-andpaperletteryou’realwayssodesperatelyyearningfor.Feelfreetosavethispostcardinashoeboxforthosetimeswhen youfeeltheurgetoclutchahandwrittendeclarationoflove(whichthisis,becauseIdoloveyou)toyourbosomwhile staringmelancholicallyattherainthroughyourbedroomwindow.

Athousandepistolarykisses,andallmylove.

S

She rereads the postcard twice. She wants to be with Simone more than anything, wreathed in smoke and the smell of spray paint with a crust of half-dried sand over her toes, unwrapping free lemon verbena soaps and stretching the full span of her body across the immaculate expanse of a king-size bed. Nobody in Venice Beach is flushing goldfish down their toilets.

On the right side of the postcard, below the mailing address, is a tiny footnote:

I’mheadedtoFlorenceandthenPorto(!!!)inafewdays,soourfuturecorrespondencewillhavetobethroughtheusualunromanticchannels.

Later, showered and in bed, she lets her wet hair bleed over her pillow and composes two emails on her phone. The first is to her manager, something along the lines of “sorry I left in the middle of my shift, it’s just that I am the only thing standing between my grandfather and death,” only she says it in more words, and more apologetically. The second is to Simone.

Simone,mylove,

Thankyouforthepostcard.ItmademehappierthanIcansay.Ihopeyou’renotinhalingtoomuchsecondhandsmokeonthebeach(orthatyouare,whicheverismore preferableforyou).

Ireadthisarticletheotherdayabouthowfilialdebtinsecond-generation AsianAmericanwomencultivatesbothbitternessanddocility

She watches the cursor blink, then deletes the half-formed sentence. She continues typing:

Didyouknowthatthewordfor“tomato”inChineseliterallymeansforeign eggplant?Orthatanovaryisaseedhouse?TranslatingEnglishtermsintoonelanguageandbackagainasliterallyaspossiblehasbecomeoneofmyfavoritewaystopass thetime.

Sinceyouleft,there’sonephraseIkeepcomingbackto.TheKoreanversionissimpleandtothe point:Iwanttoseeyou.IbelieveJapaneseisthesame.

InMandarinitistechnicallyIamthinkingofyou,thoughIhaveneverheardanyoneinmyfamily actuallysaythis.Mymomtellsmeshemissesmeallthetime,butonlyinEnglish.

IaskedNimaaboutthePersianandshesaidit’ssomethinglikemyhearthastightenedforyou.Physi ologicallyitdoesn’tfeelfaroffthemark.Ithinkit’sgoodtoberemindedthattheheartisamuscle.

Still,myfavoritehasgottobetheFrench,whichasyouknow(butmaynotbeconsciouslyawareof)is youaremissingfromme.TheFrenchturnofphraseissosimilartotheEnglishthatIdismisseditatfirst.I realizenow,withyousofaraway,howignorantthatwas.Idon’tmissyouinthesamewaythatImissthetrain: youusedtobeapartofmeandnowyouarenot.Thereisanemptinessinsideofmeshapedexactlylikeyou.Skip thesecondlegofyourtripandcomehome,please.(Kidding.)(OramI??)

HavefuninFlorence!SayhitotheDavidforme.Tumemanques. Anna

Not an hour later, Simone’s name appears in her notifications.

Anna,

ItgoeswithoutsayinginanylanguagethatImissyoutoo,butyou’realright,aren’tyou?Yourmissivewasalarminglymushyand mademypostcardlookdownrightprosaic.JusttellmeifI’mreadingtoomuchintoitandI’llshutrightup.

Istherealanguagethathasawordfor“Iwishyouwereherewithmesobadlyitmakesmephysicallyill”?OnthewaytotheapartmentfromtheairportIsawaveryattractivemanholdinganincrediblyuglydogand—

The phone shudders in her hand as the display darkens, and in the place of Simone’s email is the name her grandfather chose for himself when he first came to this country. Below it is a green button and a red button.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, noncommittal. The cheery synth tune chimes eight times before falling silent.

She presses his name under the recentcallstab and lifts the phone to her ear. The dial tone drones on for a long while, just slightly out of time with her own breathing, before thenumberyouaretryingtocall—she hangs up and tries again. Again and again, four times.

She kicks off the sheets and paces the length of her bedroom. One weekend, months ago, the tank had been home to six healthy goldfish, and her grandfather had cooked her a dinner of tofu skins and mushrooms of all kinds. She dials her brother, who lives an hour closer to him than she does, and doesn’t bother leaving a voicemail.

She tries her grandfather one last time. Thenumberyou—“Fuck,” she says aloud, to no one. She looks up at the ceiling. Even as she begins, automatically, to recall where she put her car keys, she is wishing for some merciful god to induce in her a sudden and violent case of food poisoning; to stop her in her tracks; to spring several leaks in her bathroom, or to give the tectonic plates beneath her house a firm nudge, any justifiably urgent emergency to keep her here, to keep her away. But no calamities are forthcoming.

DESIGN BY CHERRY CHEN, ART BY KAYA GORSLINE

DESIGN BY JOHN DOE, ART BY JANE DOE

ART BY AVIV MARKUS

Aindie sleaze data breach monday morning

by Chloe urmgreene

re you actually from Burlington, Vermont, or did your Spotify Wrapped just tell you that? Were you deemed a “Luminary” or a “Shapeshi er” by the algorithm? And… was it weirdly accurate? Spotify is the largest music streaming music platform in the world and is heralded as the best at recommending new music to its users while also providing fun interactive experiences for them, like the annual Spotify Wrapped. It is no secret that music is a key aspect of the modern college student’s experience. Music is ingrained into almost every part of life at Tu s, from providing the soundtrack to nights out to accompanying students on their walks to class. One look around campus during a transition between classes yields a view of hundreds of students walking around campus with

headphones in, bopping their heads to melodies and mouthing the lyrics to their favorite songs. However, something students might not think about when listening is their listening data. What does Spotify do with it? How long do they keep it? Should users care?

Each December, social media users ood their feeds with screenshots of their Spotify Wrapped, a music recap made by the streaming service that tells users their top songs, artists, and genres. is past year, along with raw listening data, Spotify provided users with their “listening characters,” like “Hypnotist” (a user that mostly listens to albums from start to nish) or “Time Traveler” (a user that prefers re-listening to their favorite tracks rather than discovering new music). A techno-colored map revealed one’s “Sound Town,” which matched users with similar tastes to a singular location. Many consider this type of content part of what elevates Spotify above other streaming services, as their unique, hyper-personalized approach to music streaming has only furthered engagement with the app. So, how does Spotify produce such accurate and customized features, like Artist Radios and the “daylist”? e answer is simple: their recommender system.

Recommender systems are the backbone of media streaming companies like Spotify, Net ix, and YouTube. ese algorithms keep users hooked and engaged, and constantly attract new users. Before the rise of streaming in the 2000s, companies relied on explicit ratings from users to build their recommender systems. Explicit ratings are feedback that the user directly gives the company. For example, when Net ix was still a DVD service, users would send star ratings back along with the DVD. From this rating data, Netix would produce recommendations for the next movie that the user should rent. However, explicit ratings can only get you so far. When Net ix introduced streaming in 2007, an entirely new data set became available to the recommendation algorithm. Instead of just explicit ratings, users were now providing implicit data as well, such as how much of the movie they watched or what parts they skipped. is type of data proved to be much more useful in creating accurate recommendations, especially because the user’s response to a recommendation only further informed and improved the algorithm. As for Spotify, they take in data like what songs a user skipped or what kind of music they listened to at a certain time in order to make their recommendations.

Assistant Professor of Anthropology and Director of Tu s’ Science, Technology, and Society Program Nick Seaver said the algorithm is an ensemble model, “which means that it draws on a bunch of di erent signals…how a song sounds, some data about your listening history, some data about genre.” While these algorithms may seem harmless at rst glance, they have provoked questions about sur-

veillance and data privacy amongst users of services like Spotify.

Surveillance in the United States has ramped up since the events of 9/11. Section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, passed in 2008, allows the US to monitor communications, like phone calls and emails, between people outside of the US to prevent terrorism. Inadvertently, this also gives the government access to communications between Americans. However, this surveillance is not popular with the public. A recent poll by the Associated Press revealed that only 28 percent of adults are in favor of the government monitoring phone calls without a warrant. is demonstrates more broadly how attitudes towards surveillance have shi ed as the public has realized how their privacy is being infringed on.

Attitudes toward data privacy have been changing as companies have sought to expand their digital reach. In 2017, former Chief Marketing O cer of Spotify Seth Farbman stated that he strived for Spotify to be the third largest player in digital advertising, behind Google and Facebook. is has sinister implications for the use of users’ data in the present moment. While Google claims in its Privacy Policy that they don’t sell user data, the company makes money by sharing that data with advertisers and having them bid for advertisement space. An article by the Electronic Frontier Foundation explains that by auctioning, companies “share sensitive user data—including geolocation, device IDs, identifying cookies, and browsing history—with dozens or hundreds of different adtech companies.” Although this doesn’t strictly classify as a sale of data, it still publishes private information about vulnerable and unknowing users. If Spotify plans to follow suit, users may want to think twice about how much information they share with the system.

Along with the sale of data to advertisers, other dangers arise when it comes to the collection and storage of data by Spotify. Eitan Hersh, a professor of Political Science at Tu s, explained one possibility. “A data breach… such that people’s listening would be publicized, could be personally damaging for people who listen

to

unpopular content, or content deemed problematic,” said Hersh. Music is o en very personal to people, and a leak could subject them to opinions that they did not consent to. Users may want to consider these privacy concerns before listening to music on Spotify.

So, what do Tu s students think about Spotify and their privacy? Do they think about it at all? Sophomore Jack Brownlee, editor-in-chief of Melisma Magazine, Tu s’ Journal of Music, admitted that he thinks about music and surveillance more than the average person. He said, “I don’t love Spotify, but I rely on it… there isn’t an easier way to listen to music without a streaming service.” His disdain sprouts from the impersonal aspect that Spotify inserts into music sharing.

“While these algorithms may seem harmless at frst glance, they have provoked questions about surveillance and data privacy amongst users of services like Spotify.”

excess of personal information available online related to more sensitive areas like nance and healthcare, users tend to worry about privacy concerns related to those areas rather than music. Brownlee said, “ ere’s an inkling in my head [that] it’s a little weird and freaky, but it’s far less weird and freaky than the big ones.” Given attitudes like Brownlee’s, data privacy concerns have not slowed Spotify down. As of February 2024, Spotify boasts over 574 million active monthly users, an increase of 85 million since December 2022.

Even if a user did worry about their privacy within Spotify, there is not much they could do about it. “I don’t think there’s a way to use Spotify or any of those streaming services and opt out of the tracking. [ ings] like private listening sessions [do] not opt out of the tracking,” explained Seaver. Of course, there’s always the option to listen to music on vinyl and CDs or download songs o of iTunes onto MP3s. But even then, one cannot escape being surveilled. “You will get pro led, probably, depending on where you buy the album from, you’ll get pro led by the iTunes Music Store, you’ll get pro led by Amazon, if you buy a CD o of Amazon, you’ll get pro led by the record store, if you go to the record store,” said Seaver. Google and Amazon use the same implicit data that Spotify does in order to improve user experience. When it comes to real life, stores can track customers through credit card data or loyalty programs. In a world that seems insistent on tracking your every move, maybe less privacy is the price to pay for easy access to music.

While he admitted that the recommender system is pretty good, he said that, “there’s more to music discovery and recommendation than any one app will ever pick up.” is problem can be easily overcome at Tu s, a university that boasts a plethora of music-themed clubs, like Applejam Productions, an organization that puts together on campus live shows, and WMFO, the college radio station. As for the privacy aspect, Brownlee shrugged and said, “I have bigger sh to fry, in terms of web privacy, than Spotify.” Given the

MARMO, ART BY AVRIL LYNCH

No More Justification, Just Sweet Liberation

By Caroline Lloyd-Jones

Content Warning: Discussion of restrictive eating habits, complex relationship with food

As the daughter of two physicians, I’ve always embraced the concept of maintaining a balanced approach to the various aspects of my life. Our household’s governing principle, “everything in moderation,” was fairly straightforward yet rigorously enforced, particularly when it came to food: no dessert unless you finish your vegetables; you can drink soda, but only on Saturdays; you can have Goldfish Crackers as a snack, but make sure to have a piece of fruit on the side. While my parents were comparably more lenient than some, occasionally permitting the indulgence of Domino’s pizza or McDonald’s chicken nuggets, the overarching belief in restricting the intake of such indulgences remained steadfast.

This ingrained philosophy, however, translated into a disordered perception of what indulgence truly meant. While I occasionally allowed myself to delight in a DQ Oreo Blizzard or a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, I always harbored the conviction that I needed to earn such treats. Indulgence wasn’t a right, it was a privilege bestowed upon the deserving. I fully believed that I needed a reason behind everything I put into my body, and this mindset led me down a precarious path throughout middle and high school, wherein my existence was governed by an imaginary scale that relentlessly weighed every morsel as either “healthy” or “unhealthy.” A balanced scale at the day’s end was a badge of honor, while even the slightest tilt toward the “bad” side induced

a profound self-loathing that manifested in weeks of severe self-imposed restrictions.

I have always had a sweet tooth. Pastries, cakes, ice cream, chocolate, and, above all, sour candy have brought me a unique joy for as long as I can remember. However, my insatiable desire for control, a persistent whisper echoing the virtues of perceived “health,” overshadowed the sheer joy these treats promised. In the intricate balance between indulgence and restraint, each gram of sugar became a heavy burden, a tangible manifestation of guilt that clung to any possibility of enjoyment. The transformation from a carefree young girl who was always ready to eat to an anxiously avoidant teen was gradual but inexorable. The sweetness I once embraced with open arms became a twisted reflection of itself, a source of inner conflict that cast long shadows over the simple act of savoring life’s delights. Every indulgence became a battleground, a struggle between the desire for gratification and the relentless pursuit of control.

As the weight of guilt intensified with each delicacy, I found myself compulsively distancing myself from the very confections that had once been a source of unbridled joy. The vibrant hues of candies lost their allure, the aroma of freshly baked pastries became a bittersweet memory, and the thought of a scoop of ice cream no longer elicited the excitement it once did. The thread connecting me to the delight of these culinary treasures had frayed, leaving me in a self-imposed exile from the world of sweet treats.

All of this changed in March of 2020, a pivotal moment coinciding with the onset of the pandemic and the enforcement of statewide quarantine measures. It was during one of my father’s unprecedented stockpile grocery excursions that, for the first time in 15 years, outside of special occasions, a 24-pack of Coca-Colas made a triumphant entrance into our home. He said that, because of the catastrophic global events, we all needed something sweet to push us through to the other side.

And on that fateful Thursday, for the first time in my existence, I savored the effervescence of a sugary soda without the incapacitating weight of guilt.

This singular experience served as a catalyst for a profound transformation in my approach to food and life. The previously black-and-white categorization of food into the dichotomy of “healthy” and “unhealthy” began to dissolve into the syrupy bubbles of an ice-cold Coke. Instead, a newfound appreciation emerged as I began to recognize food for what it is: fuel.

The paradigm shift extended beyond the contents of that fizzy beverage. It became a symbolic bridge, leading me to a more balanced understanding of nourishment. I learned to appreciate food in its diverse forms, understanding that whether it wears the label of “unhealthy” or not, it still serves the essential purpose of sustaining and energizing the complex machinations of the human body. The rigid confines of my belief system unraveled as I embraced a newfound compassion for my body, recognizing that I deserve sustenance even

if it may not come in a conventionally “healthy” form.

“I’ve learned that, for me, indulgence is not about justifying my choices but recognizing the effort I put into simply existing. It’s about giving myself permission to enjoy the small things, even if they come in the form of a dining hall ice cream cone or a Thursday night Mr. Crepe run.”

As the pandemic trudged on, my mom and I began reaching for the recipes we had long abandoned, baking becoming one of our shared coping mechanisms. I found my comfort zone stretching further and further with each pastry, as I began to embrace flavors that had once seemed beyond my reach. With each decadent bite, I felt a newfound sense of empowerment and defiance against the lingering echoes of self-doubt. Sweet treats have since become more than mere acts of indulgence—they are an active celebration of my self-acceptance and a refusal to let past constraints dictate my present joy. As I savor each morsel, I am reminded of the richness life offers when we allow ourselves the pleasure of enjoying the simplest goods. I have come to understand that an

act of indulgence is not truly indulgence if you can’t actually enjoy it.

It is here and now, in college, with its demanding assignments and the everpresent weight of deadlines, that I need this epiphany the most. Whether it’s grabbing fried Oreos from Late Night or exchanging a meal swipe for an assortment of sugary snacks at Hodge, these small pleasures have become my lifeline. I often find myself struggling to get through demanding work days, so I incorporate indulgent moments as a means of breaking up the workload. I utilize sweet treats as little checkpoints throughout my day, treating them as mental breaks after successfully completing an assignment or dedicating extended hours to studying. These moments serve as tangible reminders that I am working hard, putting in the effort, and most importantly, that I deserve acknowledgement from myself for my daily obstacles. As I continue to embrace this newfound philosophy, the act of enjoying these small pleasures becomes more than just a routine, it becomes a conscious celebration of resilience and self-love.

In the realm of my mental health, these treats are not just momentary pleasures; they are metaphoric pats on the back, acknowledging the resilience it takes to trudge through each day with constant anxiety. I’ve learned that, for me, indul-

gence is not about justifying my choices but recognizing the effort I put into simply existing. It’s about giving myself permission to enjoy the small things, even if they come in the form of a dining hall ice cream cone or a Thursday night Mr. Crepe run.

Of course, the guilt-ridden voice in the back of my head still criticizes me for not “eating in moderation” from time to time. But that voice is drowned out by my new philosophy: you never have to justify a sweet treat. Indulgence is not a privilege; it’s a right. And it has become a tool that helps me navigate the challenging terrain of new experiences that college offers. I’ve realized that small pleasures like a sweet treat can make the journey through bigger challenges just a bit more bearable.

So, as I savor the taste of a Flour Café cinnamon roll or delight in the crunch of a Kindlevan cookie, I celebrate the progress I’ve made. The exhausting dance with an invisible scale no longer dictates my life. Instead, I revel in the joy of indulgence, understanding that regardless of the form it takes, it is an integral part of life and a source of comfort in the face of stress. I’ve broken free from my guilt and achieved a balance that is uniquely my own—a balance that allows me to savor the sweetness of life without constantly fearing the scales tipping in the wrong direction.

By Almer Yu

Giving the Green Light: TCU Mandated Green Dot Training

For most students, the fall semester of 2023 was their first time getting Green Dot trained. Green Dot is a student-led program at Tufts aimed at preventing sexual misconduct on campus by educating the Tufts community about proactive bystander intervention. In fact, according to Conor Moore—one of the co-coordinators of Green Dot— last semester marked a record high for Tufts Green Dot, which trained leaders from 138 student clubs, with 73 percent having never been trained before.

This dramatic expansion is the result of an amendment to the Tufts Community Union constitution in February 2023, which mandated Green Dot training for all TCU-recognized student organizations. Since Green Dot does not have the power to mandate training, this decision was primarily spearheaded by the TCU. Moore said that this was a decision that Green Dot fully stood behind. “We’ve obviously always been wanting to increase the amount of training we do, and we’re really happy to do it,” explained Moore. “But in terms of mandating all groups, it was something we didn’t really think was possible.”

In the past, Green Dot offered two different trainings: Green Dot 101 for students new to the program and Green Dot Refresher for groups who want a brush up on or deeper dive into the content of the training. In light of the amendment to the TCU Constitution, Green Dot now offers a third iteration: TCU-mandated training for student organization leadership. The mandate outlines two requirements: that all student organizations are required to attend a Green Dot training at least once per academic year and that, for every 10 members, at least one member of the club’s executive board must attend a training session and provide attendance records. Those who fail to comply

will be ineligible for recognition by TCU. Without TCU recognition, student organizations lose a number of privileges including space reservation permissions and eligibility for funding.

These meetings differ from the other trainings offered by Green Dot because they are attended by student leaders from multiple different organizations. According to Moore, these meetings are more of a “blanket” that cover a little of everything.

However, this model means that it is trickier to tailor each meeting to the needs of specific groups. To some community members who had opted into Green Dot training previous to the mandate, specificity was a key element of their Green Dot experience. For example, third-year student Sophia Nuñez—the head captain of the Tufts Club Cheerleading team, as well as a member of the Alpha Tau Omega (ATO) fraternity—highlighted that she appreciated the difference in training for the two organizations that she is part of. She shared that, “The [cheer] trainings are somewhat different from the ones I’ve seen at the fraternity and I really appreciate that Green Dot tailors their trainings to the groups that they are working with.” Nuñez points out that, because cheer doesn’t have a house on campus that regularly throws parties or serves alcohol, they are not in the same position of power as a fraternity. For example, ATO has lots of conversations with Green Dot about drink safety and how to serve someone a drink to show that it has not been spiked, whereas cheer discusses how to look out for teammates at events—such as parties thrown by other groups—where they are not hosting.

Max Bennett, a third-year student and the head of communications for Tufts Burlesque Troupe, was trained for the first time this year and also noticed that, because each session consisted of

leaders from multiple different groups, some of the scenarios that they went over were not as relevant to a group like Burlesque. But Bennett maintains that, even so, he had a very positive experience with Green Dot. Bennett said, “I really appreciate how student-focused it was. So much of what we think about is how we can support one another and what I really appreciated about Green Dot is that they gave us the tools to help us get there.”

Nikola Muromcew, a third-year student and the Vice President and Risk Manager of ATO, is a proponent of Green Dot training because of how involved it is. Muromcew cites that the training requires students to problem solve on their feet and be proactive, not just passively listen to a PowerPoint lecture. Their fraternity requires that all existing and new members complete training each semester. According to Muromcew, ATO also conducts implicit bias training for their membership and “The skills that you pick up in a Green Dot training translate and are very applicable when it comes to implicit bias training. It’s the same angle of community responsibility, bystander intervention, and active care to the people around you, not just a sense of apathy that someone else is going to deal with this.”

Though the TCU-mandated meetings necessitate more universality, there is a positive trade-off as well. According to Moore, the mandate has allowed the program to dramatically expand the number of student organizations it reaches.

For example, Bennett shared that Tufts Burlesque Troupe met with Green Dot for the first time this year due to the mandate. In the past, they primarily collaborated with Tufts Action for Sexual Assault Prevention—another student-led organization that raises awareness of sex-

ual assault—but Bennett felt that Green Dot supplemented their existing efforts.

“Beforehand, in the culture surrounding Burlesque, there was a lot of discussion about consent and how to make everyone comfortable in the space. That’s always been innate in the club,” said Bennett. “But having a relationship with Green Dot has taken the pressure off the board and choreographers to carry so much weight on that front.”

In particular, Moore noted that “We have a lot of groups that we train who aren’t the obvious targets to getting a Green Dot training.” One such group is Tufts’ American Society of Mechanical Engineers, which did not formally train their members in the past. But Chris Yen—a third-year student and the treasurer of ASME—still found the training valuable, despite ASME being a pre-professional club. In a written statement to the Tufts Observer, Yen said, “We recognize that the field is still predominantly male, which could leave us more susceptible [to gender discrimination] than clubs with a more equal gender ratio.” Moore agreed, maintaining that Green Dot training is universally beneficial regardless of the type of organization: “There are groups that might not be having social events who still have membership who go to other social events.” This sentiment is shared by Muromcew, who believes that there is no downside to having more people trained. She believes that when the responsibility of bystander intervention is not falling on just a sober monitor, there’s more trust in the community. “It creates an awareness that in any setting, there is a community responsibility for each other,” Muromcew said.

But even still, there are many clubs that have not yet been reached by Green Dot. While training 138 clubs last fall was an enormous feat, the issue is that Tufts has over 300 student organizations. This means that roughly half of TCU-recognized clubs are falling under the radar. Yen expressed that, in his experience, organizing a training session was very easy and he hoped that other

clubs would follow suit: “To be honest, I’d be extremely disappointed if clubs remain untrained by choice.” The TCU mandate outlines that the consequence of not complying with the mandate is that student organizations will be ineligible for TCU funding and recognition, but is that realistic? While Green Dot facilitates the training themselves, this, along with other administrative logistics, is left for TCU to figure out.

Looking ahead, Green Dot is determining how to update their training for next year. Moore said that there are many nuanced questions that Green Dot is figuring out how to address, including how to get more groups involved and expand their conversations. In the past, they’ve been conscious of training students with different levels of experience with Green Dot by offering both 101 and Refresher

meetings. Since this year is the pilot program for the TCU-mandated meetings, Green Dot will be faced with the reality that by next year, most people will have been trained in some capacity. While this is a major step towards their goal, it also opens up the need to keep their trainings fresh and relevant for new and returning students alike.

But Nuñez believes that Tufts requires more beyond Green Dot. She is an advocate for Tufts Health Services— which offers rape test kits, fentanyl test strips, and Narcan—being open on the weekend, when most parties happen: “I feel strongly that if anything were to happen, the school

should keep the supplies they purport to have readily available.”

Muromcew agrees that Green Dot is only one of many resources needed to combat these issues. She is a proponent of better alcohol training for students, more places on campus where there aren’t mandated reporters, and an improved relationship with TUPD. Many students in danger often hesitate to call TUPD or TEMS for help, even despite Tufts’ amnesty policy which promises that students’ use of alcohol or prohibited substances will be treated as a “health and safety matter, not as a disciplinary incident.” Muromcew believes that this hesitation is a consequence of TUPD’s historically “antagonistic and biased behavior.” According to her, “The fact that the number to call TEMS is the same number for TUPD links these two entities, meaning that students have to weigh the risks of TUPD presence against the need for medical assistance.”

But ultimately, while there are improvements that Muromcew would like to see at Tufts, she believes that resources like Green Dot represent an ethos of care that dominates the Tufts community. She said, “There’s such an emphasis on peer to peer education and peer to peer support. I think it’s really great that Tufts has a strong culture of students helping each other out.”

DESIGN BY AHMED FOUAD, ART BY ELLA HUBBARD

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THE YOUNGEST : ENGAGED & AWARE

By Dahlia Breslow

This November, 8 million newly eligible young people will have the opportunity to cast their vote in the 2024 presidential election. With each election, as new waves of young people age into the voting population, we can better understand the ways in which young voters behave and the influence they hold. The 2024 election marks the second time Donald Trump and Joe Biden will be facing each other in the presidential race, and all eyes are on the youngest voters. Will youth turn out with the same force as in 2020? Can President Biden count on their support?

Youth turnout forecasts for the upcoming election offer guidance on the answers to these questions. 57 percent of young people ages 18-34 say they’re “extremely likely” to vote in 2024. According to CIRCLE, Tufts’ Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement, the number of young people who express that they’re “extremely likely” to vote often accurately matches the real turnout of young voters. “That is a promising sign that speaks to the level of interest in participation among many newly eligible voters, many of whom will still need to be registered and mobilized,” CIRCLE wrote in a 2024 election forecast report. During the 2020 election, in which the ballot featured Trump and Biden, 50 percent of eligible young people turned out to vote. This turnout by far marks young people’s biggest showing and offers a promising trend that could continue this election.

Youth voting patterns indicate that young people turn out just as much, if not more, than previous generations. Ruby Belle Booth, CIRCLE’s election coordinator, noted that most generations have tended to vote at similar rates during the first elections in which they are eligible to vote. Booth added, “Actually, Gen Z voted higher than a lot of previous generations in their first midterm election…so this genera-

tion of young people are really showing up, and I think it’s been sort of this continued trend of higher engagement that right now appears to continue into 2024.” The 2024 election offers another opportunity to demonstrate their voting power, one that young people seem poised to pounce on.

Young voters also appear to be shifting from other generations’ voting patterns in what draws them to the polls. As opposed to strong party or candidate loyalty, young people are moved to vote by the issues they care about.

“When we asked young people in November about what might motivate them to vote in 2024, some said that supporting candidates they believe in or firing politicians who have harmed their community was a motivating element, but the majority cited that they would vote to make a difference on the issues that matter to them. That finding underscores our general understanding that young people are really deeply motivated by the issues that matter to them,” said Booth.

Reflecting strong civic engagement and awareness of current events, a survey by CIRCLE found that young people are chiefly concerned with economic issues, such as inflation, the cost of living, and securing a job that pays a living wage. These top issues were closely followed by gun violence prevention, climate change, and the expansion of abortion access. While these social issues are particularly important to young people and have proven paramount for youth mobilization, CIRCLE recognized that young people hold diverse interests and remain concerned with a broad range of issues. Booth adds that the youth’s concern over these diverse issues translates to their increased turnout. “Young people who are really engaged around issues and care really deeply about certain issues, for instance, climate change, are more likely to

vote and are more likely to participate in other ways.”

Keshav Srikant, a sophomore involved in ACTION, a student-led club that promotes local youth civic action and engagement, said in a written statement to the Tufts Observer, “I vote because our votes affect so much in our lives from the quality of our roads, to the pollution in our air and water, to how we tackle issues I care about such as climate change.”

Young people’s passion around the issues that matter to them also represents a shift away from party-centered politics and voting habits. “One change that speaks to this being a slightly different approach [from past generations] is that young people are a lot less tied to political parties,” said Booth. “Now, more young people are independent and are more likely to be thinking about candidates based on issues that matter to them as opposed to their connection to a party.”

For Democrats, the younger shift from candidate or party-based voting habits presents a problem for the upcoming 2024 presidential election. Biden’s falling approval rates with young people highlight the generation’s frustration with his handling of issues important to them. Indeed, 69 percent of young people planning to support Biden indicate their vote is more in “opposition to Donald Trump becoming president again” than in support for Biden. In an NPR interview with CIRCLE’s director, Kei Kawashima-Ginsberg, she clarified that although “Young people have not been as enthusiastic supporters of the Biden administration [even] before President Biden was elected,” young people continue to use their vote to speak up, “regardless of how disappointed they say they are in the government.”

This trend was reflected in the primary turnout on Super Tuesday, which highlighted the influence of Israel’s war in Gaza on the

presidential election. Anti-war Democrats are frustrated with Biden’s Israel-Palestine policies and advocate for the United States to cease financially supporting the Israeli Defense Forces. Many campaigned for voters to select “no preference” or “uncommitted” for the Democratic ticket in order to send a signal to President Biden that their support is not guaranteed. In the Michigan primary, a week before Super Tuesday, over 100,000 people put their weight behind this “protest vote,” leading other states to join the effort. 9 percent of Massachusetts Democratic voters chose “no preference,” demonstrating a significant push for Biden to reevaluate his support for Israel. Notably, several Massachusetts municipalities saw even higher support for the protest vote. In Cambridge, 16 percent of voters voted “no preference,” while Somerville saw 22 percent.

The protest vote in Michigan and other states demonstrates how young people “run towards the conflict and create change,” said Booth. “A lot of young people and older people decided to show up at the polls and vote uncommitted as opposed to not showing up at all, which I think exemplifies this idea that people are still thinking about how they can use voting and elections as a tool in this movement.”

While primary elections typically exhibit much lower turnout than general elections, with youth participation often falling further, these results demonstrate the influence of Israel-Palestine on the 2024 election. For young people, the issue is especially salient. A December 2023 survey found that nearly half of young people said they were following the war at least somewhat closely. Tracking young people’s attitudes on Israel-Palestine proves increasingly important as young people tend to vote more when engaging on issues they care about. About half of youth (49 percent) said they believe “Israel is committing genocide against Palestinian civilians,” and 28 percent want an “immediate ceasefire,” the highest of any option presented and higher support for a ceasefire than any other age group. These significant statistics point to concrete ways in which young people hold views in opposition to President Biden’s current policies.

However, the war in Gaza, and the ways in which young people relate to it, are complex. Political science professor Ei-

tan Hersh questions how big a motivation Israel-Palestine will actually be for youth voters. “I just don’t think there’s many students for whom it is a single issue,” said Hersh, acknowledging that young people are motivated and engaged by a diverse array of matters. “I don’t think there are many students who are on the left and oppose Biden’s relationship with Israel, thinking that they’re gonna get a better deal from Trump.” Young voters on the left who are deeply motivated by the war in Gaza are paralyzed by the two-party political system, sandwiched between Biden’s disappointing policies and the terrifying alternative of Trump. Yet, the protest vote in Michigan and other states demonstrate how young people find strategies to remain engaged without toeing the party line and compromising their beliefs.

Youth initiative regarding Israel’s war in Gaza points to a larger trend of strong youth participation in social movements and community organizing. “With community service, people can feel a greater sense of efficacy,” said Hersh. As movements like Black Lives Matter prompt youth involvement, the past several years have witnessed a huge rise in the number of young people who reported having participated in a march or protest. These changing methods of political participation raise questions about young people’s attitudes on voting: do youth engaged in protest movements still believe their vote matters?

A CIRCLE study on the connections between youth movements and voting cited how young people’s participation in movements, such as climate change and gun violence prevention groups, created opportunities to engage in electoral politics and voting. These young people collaborated with voter turnout organizations and led campaigns encouraging individuals to register and to vote. Additionally, participation in climate change protests contributed to an increase in voter registration. Thus, participation in youth-led community organizing movements led young people to, as CIRCLE explained, “view voting as a vehicle for youth power and a tool for achieving their goals.”

While young people often recognize the limited power of voting to create meaningful change, they hold space for both voting and cultivating community-based social movements. Throughout every issue young people are passionate about—ranging from protecting abortion rights and prison abolition to climate change and Israel-Palestine—young people continue to demonstrate an awareness of their collective power and strong engagement with mechanisms for change.

BITTERSWEET MOLASSES

By Elizabeth Chin

Maintaining its solemn promise to rid us of all the hurting in the world, love compresses, wrapping its arms around the sticky pool of molasses that is your pain and worries tight, tight, tight into a tiny globule the size of a single atom. This is what I was taught to believe in: love, the great healer. But over the years, I’ve begun to see the cracks in that logic, for the globule of black spindles still seems at large even in the presence of love. Love has become an entity, an ephemeral medicine given out in doses—one which manifests for me in the form of recognition.

I find a particular joy in my own inspection. I am curiously charmed by the act of another picking out my mannerisms and idiosyncrasies. This type of intimacy—the act of knowing—makes me float. I feel loved when others know just how I like things. In my house, our main set of silverware includes two sizes of forks, one the elongated version of the other. My family members all use the larger ones. In truth, there is no discernible difference to most, but the smaller of the two fits more proportionally in the cusp of my hand; I have found myself rather attached to it. My parents know this, and each time they set the table, they always make sure to leave a shorter fork at my place setting. My friends make a habit of pointing out the way I laugh, the physicality of it, how I tend to throw my body around into any surface around me. I like that my presence is known. I feel as though I am an object of their study, as if they’ve been staring at the painting of my being to figure out how each brush stroke was put down onto the canvas. They are my own art critics, sometimes adoring, sometimes too critical, but ultimately always the painting’s greatest companion. I would like to think that if someone pays such close attention to your every move, they must find some fascination with you—and what is fascination and obsession if not love?

One night in late September, I sat alone in the hallway of my dorm after everyone had gone to bed. I wanted to rest in the dark, but the motion sensors were triggered by the smallest of movements. I wondered how still I would have to be to go completely unnoticed, slipping under

the most sensitive of surveillance. I steadied my breathing and put my mind and body at rest as if to disappear. The gentle rise and fall of my chest caused no alarm. Then, all of a sudden, the light came on and I had lost my little game. When people notice things about me, they become that sensor saying I see you. They illuminate me, and suddenly there was never any darkness to begin with, no time ever existed before that light. This illumination renders me suddenly interesting enough to be the subject of their attention. But then I get scared when my mystery starts to run out. When they get too close, I know their research is almost finished, and I run away before they can crack the last code. I wait patiently for the gummy globule, that woven web of sticky black spindles lurking and ready to engulf me—for seeing is constrained by two boundaries: strong light, which blinds, and total darkness. These two extremes, one suffocation and the other abandonment, both ultimately result in the same blindness.

I would like to think that if someone pays such close attention to your every move, they must find some fascination with you—and what is fascination and obsession if not love?

My parents were the first to love me. They showered me with affection and time. They guided me, pushed me to discover myself in athletics, creative outlets, and educational aspirations. My parents created a blind spot where malice lay dormant, and instead showed me life’s unwavering beauty. They put whatever I could dream up within arms reach: LEGOs, sports equipment, schools with expansive opportunities. A trip to the basement would reveal a dusted-over IKEA rack full of LEGO

sets, a punching bag, an erg, and bins of my woodworking projects. Relics of my first loves.

There is a tradition in Chinese culture to throw a celebration for a baby’s first birthday to recognize life or rather, survival. Parents lay out several objects, each of which symbolizes a different life path, in front of their newborn. Money reflects affluence; a stethoscope represents a future in medicine; a book, a scholar. A child’s choice is said to predict their future ambitions and motivations. I believed my parents had laid out the world in front of me; perhaps the world was curated before it reached me. My parents always speak to my meticulous nature and tactile ability, traits they feel well equipped for surgical performance. They say my love for LEGO, reconstruction, and working with my hands are signs that I would be a good doctor. Smothered with these hints of expectation, molasses ever so slowly began to pool in my peripheral.

I have become laden with the thought of my future and my parents’ expectations of me—wishes no longer as innocent as I once thought. I decided to proclaim myself as an aspiring surgeon my freshman year of high school, and in turn my parents showered me with love. They were thrilled by the idea of their daughter becoming a doctor, and I see now how happy they were that their work had paid off, that they succeeded in guiding me towards this so-called fulfillment. Naturally, I began to doubt this future as other interests were realized, and suddenly my parents sidelined those paths as mere hobbies. They told me I had more potential, that it would be a waste of my “gift.” I came to resent my parents for nudging me into a life they dreamed for me, one that I thought was my own. They say they push me because they love me, but I don’t think that that love is even enough to tide over my craving for care and recognition. Instead, it smothered me. Love squeezed too tight, tight, tight. The atom of malice inside me, in my blind spot, split and caused a rupture deeper than the pain ever was to begin with.

The other shades of love have always felt fleeting, like one day it would realize I was not a worthy recipient. Maybe this is why I developed a fear of the dark, the

night sky without its tiny punctures that give glimpses through to the light. When people leave, they can no longer observe me, nor I them. Love releases its tight grip. Molasses seeps and spindles climb.

When I was younger, my parents’ arguments created a heaviness like a millennia of war between two neighboring countries. One night, my sister found me in my room curled up on the floor. She flashed me a smile and brought her pointer fingers to her earlobes and quickly pressed and released them over her ear canals. Raising my own pointer fingers to my earlobes, I quickly pressed and released them just as she did. I joined her in this muffling and gave her a gentle, gracious smile. The ringing screams and fervid voices were drowned out, replaced with a symphony of vibrations and incoherent syllables.

We sat together; I laughed at the squishy noises. That was enough to forget, to temporarily blind. She cast a light down upon me and suddenly I felt there was never any darkness to begin with, that there existed no time before the light. Then, she moved away from home, away from the waging conflict, away from me. The absence of her presence was a silence that erupted louder than any of the fighting. And even though she had to leave, for college was calling, I felt she had left me alone to bear the weight of our childhood.

The ancient Greeks believed your soulmate was the person who literally completed you—your other half. Humans had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces. We were happy. Complete. When my sister left, she tore our being into two and left a seam or rather, an opening, for the black spindles to crawl outside and wrap around me—one I would never recover from.

I long for intimacy, but I’m scared of it. I long for the light, but find an odd comfort in the dark. Within this void, I am excused from the disappointment of expectation. Instead, I know completely of my abandonment, as if it were my choice to begin with. Every so often I am confronted with this paradox, the duality of love. I step forward, eyes peeking. I have no way of knowing whether I step into the darkness, or else the light.