Issue 2 Fall 2018 by Tufts Observer

TUFTS observer # N A M E S

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S TA F F EDITOR IN CHIEF: Emmett Pinsky

MANAGING EDITOR: Alexandra Benjamin CREATIVE DIRECTOR: Erica Levy FEATURES: Julia Press NEWS: Cris Paulino Sasha Hulkower

NAMES

ARTS & CULTURE: Sonya Bhatia Owen Cheung OPINIONS: Lena Novins-Montague Wilson Wong CAMPUS: Myisha Majumder Anita Lam

snatch games and drag names

POETRY & PROSE: Ruthie Block VOICES: Kira Lauring PHOTO DIRECTORS: Britt Abigail Barton ART DIRECTOR: Riva Dhamala MULTIMEDIA DIRECTOR: Evie Bellew VIDEO DIRECTOR: Emai Lai PODCAST DIRECTOR: Izzy Rosenbaum

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By Josie Wagner

Centering Survivors By Sasha Hulkower

unlearning the rules By Chopper COVERS BY ERICA LEVY

What’s in a name? This week, we’re thinking about our names; the names we’re given and the names we choose. We’re thinking about names of people, places, and objects we love (or don’t). We’re thinking about the power that comes with putting someone’s name into words. Namely (ha!), we’re thhinking about how the names in and around us do, or do not express and reflect our identities. And how the two can change together. So what’s in a name? You tell us.

Putting a Name to a Face

By Kyle Lui

mj’s for offices and stuff

Photo inset By MJ Griego

Call me ____.

an Interview with tram nguyen

By Hayden Wolff and Brittany Regas

why i cook beans when i want to cry

By Sage Scanlon-Perez

By Alexandra Benjamin

finally in place By La Lupi

PODCAST TEAM: Kareal Amenumey Malaika Gabra WEB EDITOR Juliana Vega del Castillo PUBLICITY DIRECTORS: Nasrin Lin Daniel Jelčić STAFF WRITERS: Trina Sanyal Eman Naseer Jonathan Innocent Muna Mohamed DESIGNERS: Zahra Morgan Tyler Whitaker Richard Nakatsuka Helen Xie Yishu Huang Nick Golin Brigid Cawley LEAD COPY EDITOR: Jesse Ryan COPY EDITORS: Brittany Regas Rosy Fitzgerald Ryan Albanesi Josie Wagner Sara Barkouli Aidan Schaffert EDITOR EMERITUS: Carissa Fleury CONTRIBUTORS: Amy Tong Emma Herdman Audrey Falk Will Mueller

FEATURE

Arts & Culture

Snatch Games and Drag Names By Josie Wagner

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FEATURE

Arts & Culture

right colors, bold makeup, and someone lip-syncing to a pop anthem on stage: these are the basics of drag. For many people, the word “drag” also conjures immediate associations with RuPaul’s Drag Race, a popular reality TV show where drag queens compete in a series of challenges, wearing vibrant outfits and eventually “lip-syncing for their lives.” Since the show’s debut in 2009, it has become near-synonymous with America’s cultural definition of drag. Besides the show catapulting drag into the national spotlight, it also has avid Drag Race consumers conversing about a cast of characters with names like Aquaria, Trixie Mattel, and Sharon Needles. These names are essential parts of creating a drag persona, or “dragsona.” A drag name conveys a message about the performer and can quickly become essential to one’s branding. Drag performers’ names have become commonplace in many of our day-to-day vocabularies. However, their origins aren’t always as well known. A quick Google search will tell you that RuPaul was born with the name RuPaul, and that Alaska Thunderfuck took her name from a strain of weed. But not all drag name origins are as simple. That same Google search will also tell you that Trixie Mattel adopted the name her father called her whenever she dressed feminine at home, and that Manila Luzon named herself in honor of her Filipino heritage after finding that every drag queen she knew was either Black or White. The variety in these names and their origins are as versatile as the art of drag itself. First-year Juno Baier explained how their drag name arose from a pun. “I really like ‘D’ names, and I was thinking Damian for a while but couldn’t come up with any pun for that,” they recalled. After changing their mind, Baier finally found their name through collaboration with their friends—finding one’s drag name can be a communal process.

ART BY RIVA DHAMALA

“My friend suggested Dustin and I thought about Dustin Tyme as a drag name,” they continued. “And it kind of just fit at the moment.” Along with puns, which can be easy to spot in names like Pandora Boxx, Farrah Moan, and Eva Destruction, drag names often carry personal meanings beyond their word play. Sean Murphy, a Tufts sophomore whose drag name is Dawna Thyme, combined the pun with the personal. “I was inspired by a couple different things,” Murphy said. “The first one is my mother… I have a really good relationship with my mom, and she fostered a lot of my femininity as I grew into it and I wanted to pay homage to that. Her maiden name is Donnatie.” Thus, Dawna Thyme became an homage to that family name. At the same time, it is also a play on the phrase “dawn of time,” and considering that his dragsona is what he describes as “a species-fluid lizard-woman,” the reference is apt. Drag names can come from just about anything: puns, inside jokes, personal meaning, protest. One’s relevance to an overall dragsona and performance depends on the person, but there is always a story. Professor Kareem Khubchandani, who taught the Tufts class “Critical Drag” in Spring 2018, mentioned how important it is to find a name that represents identity. “It really is the sense that this fits or it doesn’t fit. When we choose a name for ourselves, there’s a way in which we settle into who we think we are as the persona, how it feels, and sometimes the persona doesn’t fit.” Although it may sound vague, “fit” is something that is often more intuitive to oneself. Murphy is also someone whose drag name has changed over time. Though his first and current drag name is Dawna Thyme, he explained, “My friends thought it was kind of tacky and I was like, ‘better leave this drag name alone and come up with another one’…never let a group chat decide anything for you,” he joked.

“So then I switched and became Alexis Crossover.” Murphy’s anecdote exemplifies one of the beauties of drag—it is an identity you can take off and put back on. But although performers have the freedom to change their persona, many eventually settle on one to maintain a consistent image. “There’s a branding that comes with it,” said Khubchandani. “The name produces a brand.”

Khubchandani went on to discuss how drag as a phenomenon is bigger than any individual performer, or the individual names themselves. “Drag is queer nightlife,” he said. “Drag is seeing an expansion into TV and into fashion, but to me when I think of drag I think of it as central to the cultures of queer nightlife.” And drag’s importance to queer experience and communities is not only confined to nightclubs—for many, ex-

October 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 3

FEATURE

Arts & Culture

perimenting with drag can also be part of a coming out process. “It’s kind of funny because I started doing drag around the same time I started realizing that I wasn’t necessarily a girl,” Baier noted. “So that exploration of gender literally came just in time for me… it fell together.” Considering its personal importance for many queer and trans people, the fact that the drag most highlighted in mainstream pop culture is often performed by cis, White, gay men who perform femininity is disheartening. RuPaul’s Drag Race, arguably the most visible medium of drag culture, has been casting less queens of color since its first season. White queens are often the ones who gain the biggest following through the show. Additionally, when considering the show’s lack of drag kings, as well as RuPaul’s recent comments about trans and non-binary queens’ eligibility to perform on the show, it is clear that Drag Race covers only a limited scope—one that is not representative of the art form as a whole. Despite this, the narrow definition of drag presented on RuPaul’s Drag Race still contributes to the expansion of our ideas of gender and how to create protest through art. Drag Race’s position as a catalyst to exploring different ways to perform and subvert gender is powerful, and the portrayal of drag on mainstream television encourages others to explore drag on their own terms. Senior Elise Sommers echoed this sentiment. “The explosive creativity [of drag] was so infectious…when I was coming into my own queerness, and seeing this deeply queer art form that had so much variety…[I] really found some affirmation in this queer culture I was seeing,” they said. “Drag feels like a really integral form of play that I can bring piec-

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es of myself that I don’t have figured out or care a lot about, especially as a nonbinary person living in a body that gets gendered constantly.” Sommers’ dragsona is Mr. Frizzle, who they describe as “a glitter king driving his magic school bus all the way to an-

archy.” The name arose from their love of Ms. Frizzle, the teacher in the cartoon series The Magic Schoolbus. Sommers, who is an early childhood educator themself, explained that they “wanted to bring [their] own kind of bent of gender queerness and radical politics and a vision of children’s liberation to [their] drag persona.” As an extension of this, their performances combine song and spoken word to comment on topical world issues. Last semester, in the Critical Drag class’ final performance,

Sommers lip-synced to—among other songs—”21 Guns” by Green Day, and sampled a Donald Trump speech in order to protest the suggestion that school teachers be armed. Similarly, Murphy eventually settled on a reptilian persona after noticing the way language about both reptiles and gay people is often negative, saying, “Because I think that reptiles and gay people have similar press problems…our language isn’t insular and it translates into the way we treat reptiles.” Professor Khubchandani, on the other hand, started doing drag because of lack of representation. “I was organizing a fundraiser for LGBT South Asian organization in Chicago and wanted a drag performance there, and [I] couldn’t find any South Asian drag queens in the city at that time, so I just sort of did it myself,” he explained. Khubchandani also chose his dragsona, LaWhore Vagistan, to comment on accent, race, and British colonization in the Indian subcontinent. In contrast with the less political version of drag that is often popularized, Khubchandani’s idea of the art form is more radical. “I think that drag has been a part of an underground of gender revolution and body transformation and pleasure and performance,” he said. Drag undoes society’s ideas of gender through every drag monarch’s interpretation. When it comes down to it, drag is a form of expression, and drag names are an enormous part of that expression. The names drag performers use are forms of protest and identification, both lighthearted and personal. Drag encompasses an exploration of oneself, and how one fits into the world around them. Drag names embody all of this. For Sommers, drag is “all the beautiful things I could be or I could imagine being.”

News

Centering Survivors

By Sasha Hulkower

n Tuesday, October 9, 2018, members of the Tufts community gathered around the cannon to listen to the words of survivors of sexual assault. Organized by Tufts Action for Sexual Assault Prevention (ASAP), Survivor Speak Out was an open event intended to center the voices and experiences of survivors, providing a platform to share their stories and publicly voice their demands. The event was organized in response to the recent media attention to sexual violence in the wake of Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation as Supreme Court Justice and Christine Blasey Ford’s allegations and testimony of assault against him. In a conversation with the Observer prior to the event, junior Isabella Spaulding, co-President of ASAP,

ART BY NICK GOLIN, PHOTOS BY ABIGAIL BARTON

emphasized the importance of centering survivors in collective activist spaces right now. “Yes, we’ve heard Kavanaugh constantly and been berated with images of him,” she said. “But in reality, all that matters is survivors in this time.” As Spaulding and ASAP co-President, junior Erin Viola, began to speak, the gathered group grew as students paused their walks across campus to listen to survivors’ words, amplified by a megaphone. “In the past four years, with perpetrators elected into the highest political positions in the country, it is difficult to believe that we have made any progress. It is difficult to feel like nothing has changed,” Viola said. Their voices remained steady throughout the speech. “However, throughout our

work on campus,” Spaulding continued. “We have found a powerful community of survivors. Survivors who are intelligent, brave, selfless, creative, endlessly compassionate and supportive of each other.” As they passed the megaphone off, the words of survivors echoed throughout the Academic Quad. Junior Han Lee articulated her experience and anger in a poem, saying “I am so tired of having to become a movement to be heard.” Amira Subaey, a senior, ended her words with a call to action. “I want to ask what every non-survivor here is doing to prevent sexual assault and rape culture? What is every cis man doing to end toxic masculinity and patriarchy which pave the

October 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 5

News

way for gendered violence? Because if you are not actively, passionately, and wholeheartedly fighting rape culture, if you remain silent, if you remain passive—you are perpetuating and contributing to it.” One speaker, who preferred to remain anonymous in this article, decided to speak because of the increase in popular attention to issues of sexual violence in the wake of Kavanaugh’s hearings and confirmation. “Initially, as I was writing what I planned to say, I felt very nervous about [speaking publicly]… but I felt that with the way things have been in the news, it was time to speak up.,” they said. “To actually do so was very empowering.” Many of the students present at the event were also members of groups like It Happens Here (IHH), a nationwide movement with a presence at Tufts. Through IHH, survivors are able to submit their stories to be read anonymously at an annual event in the spring. Others came from Green Dot Bystander Intervention, which works to educate and train bystanders about how they can play a role in reducing violence in their communities. Alexandra Donovan, Director of the Center for Awareness, Resources, and Education (CARE) was also present, showing her support for the student advocates, many of whom she has worked with

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directly through her position. In discussing her role with the Observer, Donovan emphasized that there wasn’t a member of the Tufts faculty prior to her arrival in 2014 “whose entire job was to build on awareness and education and training and to empower students to move it forward, and also to be a confidential resource on campus.” She pointed to the palpable increase in student involvement in efforts surrounding issues of sexual violence since she began in this role, saying, “there’s so much more student involvement in programming, in trying to change our culture, in feeling that they’re empowered to do so and that its their responsibility to do so… we are definitely now in a place that we’ve never been before.” As one of those students at the forefront of creating change on campus, Spaulding also commented on the difficult nature of processing and coping with an assault in the aftermath of Blasey Ford’s testimony and Kavanaugh’s confirmation. Sexual violence is once again being debated publicly and constantly, similarly to the way it was at the outset of the #MeToo movement, and that takes its toll on survivors. “That is the most fucking exhausting thing, to listen to someone debate a narrative and its worth,” she said. “I think all survivors will put themselves in those shoes, and think ‘Imagine if I’m on the stand in 30 years, what part of my story won’t stand in front of the public and how could I be villainized.’ That’s an awful thing to have to think about, and we shouldn’t have to.” Spaulding’s observation is corroborated by the 738% increase in calls to the National Sexual Assault Hotline on the day of Blasey Ford’s testimony. According to RAINN (Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network), which runs the hotline, the Kavanaugh hearings coincided with the busiest day in the line’s history. While it is important to understand that the gender demographics at actions like ASAP’s are not representative of the genders of survivors as a whole, the participants on Tuesday were heavily com-

prised of women. Additionally, there to support and assist were the members of ASAP Tufts Men (ASAPtm)—a new group on campus that works to examine male identities and engage with the concept of masculinity. Sophomore Benjamin Cole formed ASAPtm in the Fall of 2018 after a semester of working closely with ASAP. He recounted his motivations for forming the group, citing an increase in his awareness of issues pertaining to sexual violence, harassment, and other gendered oppression in the past year as having “shaken [him] into doing something.” Cole said that “learning how to talk about issues of masculinity” is one of the group’s main goals. ASAPtm examines “what it means to be masculine, what it means to be male on campus, and [emphasizes] that no matter how ‘good’ indi-

“I am so tired of having to become a movement to be heard.”

viduals are, every ‘male’ group can analyze their own culture and seek to improve it.” Donovan echoed this sentiment, saying, “We can’t just think of this issue as if you either fall into a survivor or a perpetrator camp.  Both have vested interests in making changes that completely go against each other… [but] there are more of us outside of those categories who need to be making those changes, to be saying I’m not okay with how things are.” Both Cole and Donovan emphasized the need for a sense of collective responsibility in order to create change. These are cultural problems deserving of everyone’s attention, and one’s stake in them should not depend on a direct relationship to them.

news

ASAP, and its subdivision ASAPtm, support these changes through curricula designed specifically for “male” spaces, such as sports teams and social clubs, in which participants are called on to engage critically with their own notions of masculinity. For example, ASAPtm hosted an event prior to Tufts’ Homecoming entitled “Re-Examining Jumbo Pride,” in which the majority-male participants were asked to think about how they perform masculinity in advance of a weekend in which many of the main events feature sports and alcohol—factors that open the door to exhibitions of toxic masculinity. “When we stratify into toxic and nontoxic masculinity you allow for individuals that don’t exhibit the most toxic of behavior to say… ‘I’m not guilty of anything.’” Cole stated. In a time when deplorable actions are widely publicized, it can foster the misconception that simply not engaging in sexual violence is commendable. At the ASAPtm meeting, students not only discussed that misconception, but also provided participants with tools to actively prevent violence in their communities.

Both Spaulding and Cole highlighted the trend of complacency and apathy when dealing with issues of sexual violence, as well as its connection to social media. “You see a lot of people posting who have actively not supported you in the past, or who aren’t doing anything for survivors outside of this… and that’s incredibly frustrating,” Spaulding said. “Posting ‘#believesurvivors’, but that’s the bare minimum. The absolute least you could do for a survivor is believe them.” Actively supporting survivors can look a number of ways. It can come in the form of organizing or attending an ASAP, Green Dot, or It Happens Here event. It can be reaching out to CARE or ASAPtm to hold a training for your on-campus community. It can be actively reaching out to and supporting a survivor who has had the courage to disclose their experience to you in the past, reminding them that they have you to speak with about their experience. Speaking about sexual assault is stigmatized and the longer it remains so, the longer it will continue to be pervasive. If something cannot be discussed openly, the only ones

aware of its occurrence are those directly impacted by it—those who have already borne the trauma of sexual violence or harassment and now feel silenced by the institutional failings and cultural stigmas associated with speaking out. Julie Jampel, Staff Psychologist and Director of Training from Tufts Counseling and Mental Health Services (CMHS), said that for an ally, “Supportive listening is number one.” She called on allies to remain aware of what’s happening politically and nationally, because “a survivor may well have feelings about that and it may be playing a role into how free they may be feeling to speak”. Making these issues “speakable” is a crucial step in changing the culture. To the survivors who volunteered their words, experiences, time, and emotional energy: thank you. You are what will change this culture. To the allies present, remain steadfast in your allyship. To those reading this and wondering what you can do, read it again and then act. We are all responsible for changing this culture.

october 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 7

arts & culture

unlearning le r in The rules of and noise By Chopper Cavity is a new international and Boston-based publication for women, trans, and gender-nonconforming writers. Cavity unapologetically centers queer and POC voices and seeks to rot an exclusive, tokenizing, and imperialist understanding of literature. Cavity is in large part inspired by the tremendous work of the Observer and shares several core staff members, including Arts and Culture Editor Sonya Bhatia, staff member Alexandra Strong, and Creative Director Erica Levy. In this piece, Chopper— president and co-founder of Cavity—explores both the personal journey and mission behind the publication’s name. the opposite of belonging is shame. shame is the tax enacted upon non-normative bodies. it is insatiable, parasitic, alluring, and safe. shame wears the yellow felt that covered my first diet journal. it has an introduction written in careful letters (third graders like me were learning cursive that year): this belongs to chopper. i learned shame young. Shame was my guardian angel. she was beautiful, she was white, she fucked men because she wanted to. she was my protector. when i was nine, i began to understand there was something fundamentally wrong with me. i was ruled by an overwhelming discomfort with myself, and constantly performed rituals to try and right it. i did not have the language for it then, but i knew my Habits—the word i used to describe what i now know are textbook symptoms of OCD and PTSD—were punishment for something about me.

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when i was thirteen, i became convinced that my discomfort with myself would be solved if i had a boyfriend. i carried a constant feeling of shame and self-disgust. being a skinny, pretty white girl with a boyfriend promised me absolution. i read every vampire romance novel i could get my hands on—something rang very true with me about fucking someone who could hurt you. gender and sexuality were a performance. i saw my script in books and movies. i became excellent at my lines. i thought if i only learned this language well enough, no one would know i was crazy or other. i was sitting in ms. malin’s class when i first heard the word dyke. it was in a conversation about water distribution. a boy named Josh Bernstein began laughing, asking ms. malin if she’d ever seen a dyke herself. the boys in the room laughed. the girls around me sighed. i laughed along, loudly, in Josh’s eyesight. i wanted him to like me. we had all been wrapped in that laughter before and knew to make ourselves consumable and inconspicuous. this was the beginning of learning my own language, and it came from the jeering mouth of a hungry, growing boy. that joke further confirmed what i had already been learning in books: i should strive, before anything, to be wanted. i should be ashamed to want. young women were the objects of wanting, not the perpetrators. i spent years confirming this to myself. five years later, one of the boys who laughed at Josh’s joke would ask me over at 2:00 a.m. because he was bored. leaving his

ART BY EMMA HERDMAN

arts & culture

house that night, i drove my car at over 100 miles an hour until i smelled smoke. a turning point came in a creative writing class my freshman year. it was a class of all women and non-binary people, and one cis man. his off-color comments became a staple marked by shifting weight and shared knowing looks. one day, a woman brought in a piece in which her narrator masturbated with a vibrator. the boy burst out laughing. he did not apologize. he was not called on to explain by the teacher. when it came to his turn to give feedback, he informed the writer that “female sexuality is most effectively used in evil and/or comedic characters.” the class proceeded. upon leaving, a friend and fellow classmate, kriska desir, and i made small conversation on the walk to davis. eventually, we both erupted with: did you just see what i saw? quickly, it became: have you been seeing that for as long as you can remember? cavity was born as kriska and i gave words to the things we were meant to accept silently. the stories we are told are the stories we take to matter. the voices we hear define the language we know. my entire life, i was told very specific stories about gender conformity, latinidad, beauty, queerness, and mental illness. this resulted in me feeling self-loathing from the time i was in elementary school. these stories are not coincidental: they are intentionally propagated by a society that knows it is impossible to selfadvocate if all the language you learn is meant to discredit your existence. cavity exists because most of the books i read in school and at home were exercises in relearning the ways i should be ashamed of myself. cavity exists because i cannot even begin to imagine how different my life would have been if books with lesbian characters were as accessible as books with literal vampires. cavity exists because in almost every writing class i’ve been in at tufts, white man authors are used to

discuss god, travel, transcendence, religion, love, and tragedy. on the other hand, non-white authors are used to discuss race, and women authors are used to discuss heterosexuality and gender. i have never been assigned to read a book by a queer woman of color in my life. that cannot be considered anything other than systemic violence. this Observer issue is built on the question of names. i am writing this piece to explain the name “cavity.” i have a rehearsed and clinical definition of the work i do: cavity. 1. the empty space of voices that do not align with what is “normative” 2. the sickened and violent cavities in the bodies of those deemed shameful and disruptive 3. the unapologetic rot of seemingly impenetrable white cispatriarchal hegemony that defines the stories we learn. cavity names the power in envisioning a new present. we work for a world in which the stories we tell do not teach an inescapable shame and discomfort to individuals in bodies deemed Other. by publishing works that are exclusively by women, gender-nonconforming, and trans artists, we center voices that the literary canon is built on marginalizing. by having a publication that is founded and run primarily by queer women and trans writers of color, we rot the current practice of white publications with savior complexes tokenizing non-normative voices to appear more “progressive.” by unapologetically prioritizing POC and queer voices, we disrupt the idea that these voices are the tokenized exception to a norm. we are not an exception. we are here and we are powerful. we are building a language that allows us to control our own bodies and articulate our own narratives. we refuse silence and shame. we are learning the language of pride in our own selves. To learn more about Cavity and its formation, visit welcometocavity.com.

october 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 9

opinion

putting a name to a face By Kyle Lui

“I

t’s Kyle Lu, right? There must be a typo on the attendance sheet?” This confusion has been a trend my entire life. Growing up, if teachers didn’t explicitly express that my name was spelled wrong, they would mispronounce it as “Lu,” despite the “i” at the end of the name. This mispronunciation happened because they ascribed a more stereotypically Asian sounding name to me based on my appearance. However, underneath this mispronunciation is an erased history of colonialism—specifically, the British colonization of Hong Kong. According to how it is pronounced in either Mandarin or Cantonese, my last name is pronounced as if it is spelled “Lei” in English. In Chinese, the name means “thunder.” However, when the British colonized Hong Kong through military force in 1841, they Romanized Chinese names, meaning that they used the Latin alphabet to write Chinese in order to make it easier to be spoken and written by foreigners. In effect, Romanization of Chinese makes the pronunciation of spoken Chinese intelligible to non-Chinese speakers. Additionally, English was also used as the medium of instruction in most

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schools in Hong Kong during the colonial period, and English teachers would often prefer that Chinese students adopt an assigned English name for the teachers’ convenience. By this process, my family name was Romanized to barely resemble its original pronunciation. Its pronunciation now more resembles the common British name “Louie” or the French King Louie. The etymology behind my name is just one example of the way that names, and the changing of names, can be a symbolic product of power dynamics. My inability to feel comfortable with my surname is connected to colonial history and the erasure of that history. The purpose of Chinese Romanization was to provide a method for foreigners who were not skilled at recognizing Chinese script to read and recognize Chinese. This has left a long-lasting ripple in my family for generations. My name and its mispronunciation epitomize my racial experience growing up. I attempted to blend in, but because of my name and because I look Asian, I never could. The reading of my name as foreign also bled into other experiences I had in school. Growing up as the only Asian American student in my middle school on the Upper East Side of Manhattan was extremely difficult. Despite the

Westernization of my name, it still stood out from the rest of the attendance sheet. Year after year, new teachers would mispronounce my name in the way I previously described, making me feel like a perpetual foreigner in my class. In kindergarten, the school psychologist threw out the egg in my packed lunch assuming it was rotten because of its brown color, when it only had been boiled in tea. Teachers often announced my test scores to the rest of the class, singling me out as an example when all I wanted to do was fit in, even while other White students would receive the same test scores as me. Students jokingly asked if I ate dog for dinner. Names can be a marker of difference, and despite the colonial influence that altered my family’s name, I still was ostracized for my appearance and cultural background. This urge to alter Chinese names for English pronunciation convenience is still perpetuated today and also manifests itself as xenophobia. For example, in 2015, a Texas lawmaker suggested in a hearing that Asian Americans should adopt names that are “easier for Americans to deal with” at the polls. This suggested that Asian Americans would have an easier time voting in elections if they changed their name, implying that they PHOTOS BY KYLE LUI

opinion

would literally need to alter a part of their identity to attain the basic right to vote. Additionally, her words sent the message that diversity, including diversity of names, is not welcome in America. By extension, she suggested that Asian Americans are foreigners without a place in the US, and are unentitled to civic rights if they refuse to assimilate. Additionally, in 2017, a week after President Donald Trump signed an executive order that heavily restricted immigration to the US, multiple nametags of students with East Asian names were torn off doors in the dorms at Columbia University. In an article published in the Columbia Daily Spectator, a member of the University’s Asian American Alliance said that the act was intended to divide Asians and Asian Americans. The student implied that individuals with East Asian first and last names, rather than Asian Americans who have American first names, had been specifically targeted. Given that this occurred within a week of Trump’s executive order, this event signified the xenophobia that is directed at Asian American students in many academic institutions. It also demonstrates how when Asian names are not Westernized, they can become subject to ostracism. These examples serve to highlight the underlying notion that Chinese names are expected to conform to English speaking norms. And if not, the discomfort they cause will be enough for White people to encourage a name change, enforced by legal coercion. The way names are treated has political implications about who is and who is not respected. A name can encapsulate an incredible amount of history, not only from its culture of origin, but also from other cultures’ legacies of power and influence. Remembering to properly pronounce one’s name is a respectful recognition of the ugly histories that names can reflect. But despite historical attempts to make my name seem less foreign, the roots of both my name and of my culture cannot be taken away from me.

october15, 2018 Tufts Observer 11

POETRY

MJ’s for Offices and Stuff

by MJ Griego

A “nickname” Mud Mud Mud Say it and build something Shores with silt and pebbles, and dig deeper When I gather the sticks and the feathers And swallow them they hurt when they go down But I am a creature that needs a nest At night I go back Do I want to? I always called her momma Not mother. I want to be warm Crawl in under my ribs and settle But now I don’t call Please keep shoveling, Bare hearts in the dirt Say it Mud Mud when I’m begging for something Fortify my sides Call me Call me

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ART BY CARINA VARGAS-NUÑEZ

PHOTOS BY HANNAH KAHN (BOTTOM LEFT) AND NATALIE KIM (FULL PAGE)

HANNAH KAHN

EMMETT PINSKY

ABIGAIL BARTON

ETH

ETHAN LAM

EMMETT PINSKY

HANNAH KAHN

ETHAN LAM

PHOTO BY ETHAN LAM

ART BY YOON SUNG

FEATURE

News

E H T R O F e t an advoca an intterravmiewnguyen with Y T I N U M COM

enjamin By Alexandra B

Tram T. Nguyen graduated from Tufts University in 2008. She then completed law school at Northeastern University in 2013, and soon after began working as a legal aid attorney with Greater Boston Legal Services. In April 2018, Tram took leave from her job to run for State Representative against Republican incumbent Jim Lyons in the Massachusetts 18th Essex district, where she moved to five years ago after spending most of her life in the surrounding Merrimack Valley. Last week, the Observer sat down with Tram to talk about her campaign. Alexandra Benjamin: So how did you end up getting involved in that race? Tram Nguyen: So, [as a legal aid] I serve seniors, veterans, people with disabilities, survivors of domestic violence, and other vulnerable groups, and in doing this…as both an advocate and attorney I’ve done legislative advocacy on my clients’ behalf, and have either worked on or supported bills at the State House that would improve the quality of life of my clients and everyone else in the Commonwealth. And in working on [those] bills…I’ve realized that my district has not had the representation that we deserve…I’m running as a 18 Tufts Observer October 15, 2018

Democrat against a far-right Tea Party Republican…he has been in office since 2010 and has not passed a single bill. And not only that, I find his positions to be so extreme that I don’t think he represents the values of the people of this community…he’s so far right that most of what he does doesn’t even get the support of his Republican colleagues, never mind the Democratic majority…and that’s why he hasn’t been able to get the funding and resources we need as a community. AB: Can you tell me a little bit more about the 18th Essex district? TN: So the 18th Essex district is made up of parts of four different towns. It includes parts of Andover, North Andover, Tewksbury, and Boxford. And the tricky thing about that is, number one it’s very expansive…you can see a lot of differences among the four different towns, and because I only have parts of the four towns it takes a lot of work to get to know the community… Now I live in Andover, and I think that this is a great community with hardworking people...This is one of the reasons why I’m running for office; our legislator isn’t advocating for us at the State House…and I want to change that, I want to be an advocate for everyone in our community…to work with people who

need resources to have the quality of life they want, to be able to live, work, and raise a family. I’m in my thirties, I want to start a family here, and I want to make sure we’re funding the things we need. AB: What do you think has been the most critical issue you’ve observed on this campaign? TN: We definitely have heard a lot of concerns about common sense gun safety… and I think that [Massachusetts needs] to remain a leader in the country with our strong gun laws. We’ve seen that it works, because we have the fewest deaths from guns in the entire county. My opponent is 97 percent with the NRA, and 100 percent with Gun Owners Options League, the Massachusetts version of the NRA. So that’s very concerning to me. We also have seen concerns about reproductive rights, and making sure that we protect that right at the state level, given that Roe v. Wade is at stake at the federal level…I am very much an advocate of making sure we have safe and legal abortions available, especially because I deal with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault [in my work]…Our bodies should not be controlled by the government in any way shape or form, [and] my opponent is 100 percent anti-choice. Thirdly, the opioid crisis has hit Merrimack Valley drastically within the last decade or so…we need to take measures to not only work on prevention but also long term treatment PHOTOS COURTESY OF TRAM NGUYEN

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for those who are already suffering from addiction, so they can be integrated back into the community and have the support that they need…My opponent focuses on criminalization versus prevention and treatment…and in fact, in the budget this past year he voted against funding for long-term treatment, and I think that is so misguided and short-sighted. AB: What do you think has kept him in incumbency for so many years? TN: Well, it’s been eight years; he came in during the Tea Party wave. He grandstands because frankly he can’t get anything done and now most of his votes are protest votes. But the problem is that most people don’t know that, or they haven’t looked into it and they don’t realize just how extreme he is. So we’ve been very effective at the doors, because I’ve taken time off to run the campaign full time. So every single day I go out there and door knock…and what we’re seeing at the doors is that people just have no idea. I’ve been in this district for about five years now…and for the first three years I had no idea how extreme my Rep. [was]…once they know his extreme positions on issues, most people are just as shocked as you are.…People see his name, their lives are not too bad, so they continue to vote for the incumbent, and this is

“I AM AN IMMIGRANT, I AM A WOMAN, I AM COMMITTED TO BUILDING AN INCLUSIVE, BRIGHTER, STRONGER FUTURE FOR THE COMMUNITY.” why it’s so important for us to be at the doors…this is not a Democratic or a Republican issue; this is about an effectiveness issue, and clearly he has not been that effective. AB: And what has that response you’ve been getting from voters on the campaign trail been like? TN: It’s been phenomenal… Like I mentioned, a lot of them have heard of [Lyons’] name [but] don’t really know much about him, and it means so much for them to see me at the doors and have these conversations with me…people are pouring in to help with the campaign because this is one of the campaigns to watch this year, as you cannot get two opponents more polar opposite of one another…I

am an immigrant, I am a woman, I am committed to making sure that we’re building an inclusive, brighter, stronger future for the community, whereas my opponent has very divisive views and is very much anti-women, anti-choice, [and] anti-immigrant. AB: Do you have a favorite memory or experience of the campaign so far? TN: Honestly, most of my days are very memorable because I’m meeting so many great people at the doors and I’m seeing so much dedication from my volunteers. Even on the worst days, I know I have someone to call on…and I think that that is the beautiful thing about campaigning, is that it brings communities together…I’m leaving this campaign with hundreds of new friends, and you can’t ask for better results than that… well, other than winning! AB: Congratulations for getting endorsed by Barack Obama! How did that come about? TN: I am very lucky in that I have a very wide network and I am very thankful for my friends and supporters spreading my message far and wide and somehow I caught the attention of the [former] president himself! I

October 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 19

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was given distinction as a spotlighted race through the Democratic Legislative Campaign Committee (DLCC). They work with Obama to elect democratic officials at the state level, and so my understanding is that [he] went through the spotlighted races and chose the races that he wanted to endorse, and I happened to be one of them….We are thrilled to have this support, we are so honored, and we hope that this will build on the momentum we already have to push us through the finish line to November. AB: Switching gears a little bit – I wanted to ask about your time as an undergrad at Tufts, and if there were parts of your experience that led you to this path you’re on now? TN: Absolutely. I came in to Tufts thinking I was going to be a doctor. And it was through my time at Tufts...that I discovered that perhaps I should pursue law school, and if I hadn’t been able to do that I don’t think I would have found my voice. It was during my time at Tufts that I got my internship to work at Greater Boston Legal Services and saw this other side of the legal profession where I could use my law degree to serve the community in a very profound way, and that was when I decided to go to law school instead of medical school. It was during that transition that I found an ability to speak up for myself and to amplify the voices of others, which is what I intend to do now as a politician. AB: Did you ever expect then that you would end up running for a political office? TN: I thought about it, I didn’t think

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I was going to do it this soon…but after the 2016 election, after my participation in the Women’s March, after my many attempts to reach out to my Representative and [not getting] an answer from him at all, I decided that enough was enough and that I needed to not only learn to stand up for myself, but also to stand up for those people whose voices have been lost…And that’s why I decided to take seven months off to run—that was not my plan for this year, for sure! AB: So, civic engagement and advocacy are values that are pretty integral to the Tufts community, and many students here feel politically motivated. What advice would you give to students looking to create change, especially given our current political moment? TN: So, I have to give a shout out to Tisch College and the opportunities and support I got from the folks there – you’re absolutely right that civic engagement and public service are key values of the school and there are many ways to get involved, in fact, many Tufts students have worked on my campaign…and I think that’s so important, to actually find these opportunities in the community. When I was at Tufts…I did an internship in a community organization and learned what it was like to be on the ground and meet the people, and hear their problems and actually work with

them to find real solutions…that’s how we can stay engaged, and stay motivated and grounded and make sure that we are working together to make real change. AB: Well I think that’s a wrap from me! Is there anything else I didn’t ask about that you wanted to add? TN: I do want to add that I want to encourage Tufts students, if you’re interested, to please reach out to my campaign, but if not my campaign another campaign, because I’ve learned a lot from my campaign and I know the students have learned a lot…I think that this is the time for students to be engaged and activated, from everything that we’ve seen with the March for Our Lives, and beyond—I’m very encouraged to see what college students…can accomplish and we hope that you would turn to us as mentors…and take advantage of mentorship, because that has been the most valuable thing for me…even now I’m turning to my mentors to help me with my campaign and that’s something that I want to make sure students take advantage of early on, especially women.

CAMPUS

CALL ME

By Hayden Wolff & Brittany Regas

ART BY RIVA DHAMALA

OCTOBER 15, 2018 TUFTS OBSERVER 21

CAMPUS

oing to synagogue on Shabbat with my family was always one of my least favorite activities. I had to keep my iPhone stuffed in the spandex underneath my dress and never knew which elderly lady was kissing me on the cheek with a “Shabbat Shalom.” One of the worst parts was the Amidah, or standing prayer. Partially because I never really figured out when it was the appropriate time for me to finally sit down, but mainly because I knew my dad was going to squeeze my hand when that line came up. The first blessing in the Amidah is for the ancestors, and my reform congregation included the names of matriarchs alongside the patriarchs in the prayer. In the list of matriarchs was my birth name. When my birth name came up in the prayer, my dad used to squeeze my hand. I would push his hand away or stick my tongue out in protest. I had learned in Sunday school that the matriarch I was named after had a child when she was around 90 years old. In my mind, she was just “famous” for being an old woman that got pregnant. I could not see myself as an old woman, a pregnant woman, and most definitely not an old and pregnant woman. Any of those three images were, to me, the epitome of disgusting. At a young age I had little understanding of my gender identity. My parents never picked up on the fact that I constantly changed the pronouns of my stuffed Lion that I slept (uh, sleep) with or that the screaming and crying when I was forced to wear a dress actually meant something. I never asked my parents to call me a “boy” name or told my sister that I was her brother. Last fall, I came out to my parents as transgender and asked them to use theyor he-series pronouns for me. I told them

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that my friends were referring to me as Hayden, but that I did not expect them to refer to me by my new name. At the time, I was not even sure if I wanted them to call me Hayden. I already felt like a burden to my parents because I had come out as transgender. New pronouns, talk of hormones and surgery—it was a lot even without a name change. My mom, a former therapist, probed, “Why don’t you want us to call you Hayden if all your friends are calling you by that name?” I told them I felt like a name was something a parent should get to pick out for their child. They had picked my name based on both our ancestors and our religion, and I knew that those connections were important to them. I worried that my dad would feel a sadness reaching his hand out at synagogue, only to suddenly jerk it away remembering that my name is not anymore. We eventually came to the conclusion that they would call me Hayden. I came home for Thanksgiving and relatives had plenty to contribute. “I don’t like that the gender is ambiguous, why did you not pick David?” “Your name makes you sound like you play Polo.” We had to keep correcting my Grandma that it was Hayden, not Hadley. Over the summer, my mom kept pressuring me to change my name legally. My friends know I am Hayden, professors know me as Hayden, even my dog has learned that Hayden’s room means she should curl up on my bed. My mom has told me I do not look like a anymore. My dad, sister, and friends call me Hoodoop, Haysmeeps, and Haysmerps. These nicknames help fade into the background. But the stack of California legal name changing forms in my mom’s “to-do” kitchen counter area won’t do much. Every time I hear the Amidah my heart rate will

increase in anticipation of a hand squeeze, with or without forms.

Hayden is one of the many students at Tufts who have changed their name to reflect their gender identity. For a lot of these students, choosing a new name was a way to feel more comfortable both with themselves and in their interactions with the outside world. For transgender and non-binary students, adopting a different name can be a liberating experience. Junior Ken Zhou described their decision to change their name. “In high school, I felt like the name people called me didn’t feel quite right and didn’t sit well with me,” they recalled. “The change stemmed out of my friends who started calling me by a different name, and that name felt more like ‘me.’” Zhou elaborated on this feeling, explaining that, “It’s like when you’re wearing the wrong pair of jeans and little things bother you until you find the right pair of jeans, and then it feels right. My name slid into place.” The process of choosing a new name differs from person to person. Sophomore Cameron Rusin, for example, explained, “I didn’t like how automatically feminine my old name was. I like the more androgynous nature of ‘Cameron.’” While some people choose names that are purposefully different from their old names, some instead choose to connect their new name with their old name. For sophomore Melvin Lin, “It was really important for my name to roll off the tongue with my first and last name. I also wanted to keep the first three letters of my name consistent, so it would be easier for everyone.”

CAMPUS However, many young trans and nonbinary people have not legally changed their name. In order to change one's name legally, most states require that a petition be filled out explaining the reason for the change. In Massachusetts, changing a name legally requires a court proceeding, after which a name change “shall be granted unless such change is inconsistent with public interests.” In many states, there are also fees that must be paid to obtain a name change. These costs may range from anywhere between $150 and $500. These fees, along with the intimidating nature of a court proceeding, can be a burden for young trans and non-binary people, and often prevents them from changing their names legally. For many Tufts students, the discrepancy between a legal name and a chosen name can be challenging. “I just signed a lease on a house and it was really complicated because I had to explain that I go by a different name than my legal name,” Rusin said. Despite this, and because the legal process is so complicated, many Tufts students like Rusin do not plan on making the legal change in the near future. Additionally, using a preferred name rather than a legal name can cause problems within the structure and bureaucracy of Tufts itself. Tufts has a Preferred Name Policy, which states that “Tufts University recognizes that members of the Tufts community may prefer to use names other than their legal names to identify themselves.” The policy outlines several procedures that must occur in order for a student to use a preferred name rather than a legal name. Tufts students can update their preferred name on SIS, but also have to submit several requests to various departments within the school to solidify the use of a preferred name, such as the IT de-

partment, Tufts White Pages, and Health Services. “I think it’s a really convoluted process,” Zhou said. “To have your name changed everywhere there are a lot of hoops to jump through. I’m glad that Tufts has taken these steps, but it could be a little easier and a little more accessible.” Despite these steps, it is not possible to change a Tufts username to appropriately reflect one’s chosen name, and the ability to update Tufts student IDs was only implemented last year. To update a student ID, students must contact the Public Safety department. Public Safety at Tufts is closely linked with TUPD, and for many trans and non-binary people, interacting with the police can be difficult and frightening. During their interactions with police, about a fifth of transgender people have reported police harassment, and this proportion is significantly higher for trans people of color. Because of these and other factors, the process of acquiring a new ID for Tufts trans and non-binary students can be distressing. Although Tufts has structures in place to accommodate students who have changed their names, its faculty does not always make use of these structures. Because the system for name changes has many different components, the correct name is not always in the correct place. For example, it is possible that a name change may be registered in SIS, but may not be registered in White Pages, Canvas, or various other platforms. Although professors receive a class list at the beginning of the semester that details the preferred names of their students, they may not be aware of name changes that occur in the middle of the semester, making it more likely for them to call students by the wrong names. Furthermore, Tufts professors’ lack of awareness of trans and non-binary stu-

dents goes beyond missing name changes. Senior Josh Cohen spoke about their experience being misgendered in the classroom by several professors this semester. “In three different classes this semester, I had a professor say, ‘What is a she-series? I’ve never heard of that before,’” they said. “I dropped one class because of the professor. I had a 30-minute meeting with her where she refused to acknowledge that her unwillingness to use my pronouns was anti-trans.” Of their interactions with professors, Zhou said, “The biggest point of difficulty in my opinion is touching base—will you be graded accordingly if the name on your paper doesn’t match what it says in the system?” But overall, according to Zhou, professors “have been very good at resolving” confusion over their name change. Despite all the challenges that come with the process, changing names is something that, on the whole, enhances the lives of trans and non-binary students at Tufts.

Last fall, I was on Tisch roof late at night with two of my (new at the time) best friends when I decided to change my name to Hayden. Upon returning to my room in Miller, I saw that my roommate had taken my room name tag, flipped it around, and made me a new one with “Hayden” written on it. Even with institutional recognition of my new name through SIS and the new ID I received a few weeks ago, ultimately if my immediate community of peers and professors does not accept me, that institutional recognition of my new name is meaningless. But every time someone calls me Hayden, my name starts to feel a bit more natural— days of being called fade away.

OCTOBER 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 23

POEtry

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PHOTOS BY SAGE SCANLON-PEREZ

Her hands are sturdier than her words they lack hesitation They move the same As the ones that came before them Information passed without words, lessons learned By watching. Crush the garlic, use the flat side of the knife Just so. And when you cut open the onion It is acceptable to shed Three tears, Maybe four. But do not brush them away. Let them drip off your chin and fall into the pot. Instead of shedding more, smile, and Sort the beans. Lesson learned: There are certain things we do not speak of. Leave the pot to simmer, 4 hours—maybe more. Don’t look at the clock. The beans will be done when The frown lines between her eyes are relaxed. When Her hands can sit still without Washing Straightening Fixing. After dinner, bellies full, her hands will rub lullabies onto my back; they dance a known path, they move the same As the ones that came before them. they tell the stories of the past, every night the same stories until their truth is worn onto my back. My sister, moma, Mamá Mima, That is how you know we are family All our backs look the same.

October 15, 2018 Tufts Observer 25

voices

finall y in place By La Lupi

i everyone, my name is Lupita, sometimes people call me Lupi. I’m a senior from Brooklyn, NY. I major in American Studies with a concentration in Education. Fun fact about me is I’m getting my fifth tattoo on Thursday,” and Repeat. “Hi everyone…” It is the beginning of a new semester, which means introducing yourself in classes, GIMs, and just about everywhere. For me, every intoduction feels signifi-

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cant, because the way I name myself has changed a lot over the years. I wasn’t born Lupita, I became Lupita. On October 25, 2016, I posted on Instagram asking everyone in my life to stop calling me by my legal name, and instead call me by my family name. Although I wasn’t named Lupita when I was born, my parents have only ever called me this, since it derives from my middle name, Guadalupe. I was really only called by

voices

my legal name at school and by my siblings. However, they understood that when family members said “Lupita,” they were referring to me. Before starting school at Tufts, I began wondering if it would be a good idea to just start introducing myself as Lupita to everyone. Yet a small part of me hesitated. I thought, “my parents named me what they named me for a reason, right? I should honor that.” So, I spent all of freshman year continuing to go by my legal first name. But that summer I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do something more. I didn’t feel connected to my first name; Lupita felt like I was home even when I was far from it. Lupita was, and is, my past, present, and future. I thought about what it might mean for other people to have to change what they called me. I worried it would be too difficult, and wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Plus, I thought, my first name was so much easier for people to pronounce; I’d probably have to consistently correct the pronunciation of Lupita. Was it worth my energy? Despite these fears, I decided my feelings were more important than others’ potential discomfort. I started to let go and let Lupita fill in her place. I was met with many different reactions from family, friends, and even people I didn’t really know. At my first salsa practice after publicly changing my name, one friend ran up to me and hugged me. She embraced me and said, “Hi Lupita, it’s so nice to meet you.”

ART BY RIVA DHAMALA

Another friend stopped me once to ask if we could have a conversation about names because she had similar feelings to those I had publicly expressed. These moments of support affirmed my decision and boosted my confidence to continue to push through the challenges. Others weren’t as welcoming of the change and often interrogated me about it. Some days I was asked so many questions I would just stop responding. At one point I even stopped correcting people, feeling defeated. The difficult transition extended to home as well. One of my siblings showed my Instagram post to my parents. I hadn’t talked to my parents about my name change because I didn’t feel as though it would affect them—they would still continue to call me Lupita regardless of what other people would call me. But I underestimated what it would mean for me to shed one name and replace it with another, even if the replacement was a name they had informally given me. My dad, who had called me by my legal first name maybe a handful of times in my life, now intentionally and exclusively started calling me by it. Perhaps he felt as though Lupita was a name meant to stay in the family, while my legal first name was the one I should use to navigate the world around me. I wasn’t sure how long this transitional period would last, but it seemed to go on forever. Looking back, I see now that my network of support helped me fight the battle when I felt like I couldn’t. I know my

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VOICES

Lupita felt like I was home, even when I was far from it. Lupita was, and is, my past, present, and future.

friends corrected other people for me so I wouldn’t have to. I imagine the transition at home must have felt strange for my family, even though I wasn’t home enough to witness all the changes. I know my sister would correct my brother even if I didn’t always answer her questions surrounding my name change. I don’t think I have thanked you all for this, but thank you for what you did. I appreciate you. Continued support, along with time, have made me feel more sure of myself. Recently, at Homecoming, a Tufts graduate from the Class of 2016 called me by my previous name. I smiled, answered her question, and moved on. I think there will always be moments like these, but I no longer shut down when they come up. I understand my name as always being—at least somewhat—in transition. As for my next steps, I have now been considering making a legal name change. However, this process is expensive, and it isn’t easy. I want to have this sorted out by the time I graduate in May. I imagine my degree reading, “Lupita [pending middle name] Rodríguez.” I’ve always liked having a middle name, so I know I still want to have one. Lupita Guadalupe Rodríguez sounds redundant, so I feel I have to make a change. I am between two names at this moment, but have been

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strongly leaning towards one for months now. I won’t share either until I am ready, but both of these names are short and simple, and hold a similar warm energy. I am intentionally choosing my middle name to be a guiding light. But for now, I am still thinking about names, and specifically my nickname, Lupi, and how it is a sign of care and a testament of love. Since I already “changed” my name once, I haven’t felt like I could ask people for another change. But a nickname isn’t necessarily a change—it can just be a sweeter pronunciation of my name. I went by Lupi for almost all of junior year and it felt so caring to be called that. It didn’t feel as though anyone was trying to erase my name, but that Lupita was so well established that different iterations could emerge. I felt as if I had hit a huge milestone since first changing my name and the feeling was extremely rewarding. I felt secure. However, I also noticed a sharp difference back

on campus after being abroad for the entire year. Perhaps people who knew me by my previous name felt as though they had to be very intentional about calling me Lupita. I appreciate this, and I don’t expect everyone to just start calling me Lupi automatically, but I hope people know that this is a nickname that makes me melt with joy. Names, nicknames, and name changes are complicated. I have definitely discovered this while working on the relationships I’ve had with my own names. It has been almost two years since my Instagram post announced my public name change. I will be celebrating my second Name Day on October 18th. I don’t know what I’m going to do to celebrate yet, but I do know that I’ve never felt more at home with myself. I can feel an almost tangible difference between who I was freshman year and who I am now. I feel like I’ve finally established Lupita. I had no idea what it was going to be like to rename myself, but I am proud of my journey. While at first it felt like meeting people all over again and working through ideas they already had of me, now there’s almost no precedent. There are two full, new classes of students at Tufts who have not known me by any other name, and might even feel like no other name would fit me. I feel as though I am in place.

ART BY YOON SUNG

VOL. CXXXVII

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