February 2023

COUNTERPOINT

the wellesley college journal of campus life

february 2023 volume 59 issue 3

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SUBMISSION POLICY

The magazine accepts non-fiction submissions that are respectful, are submitted with sufficient time for editing, and have not been published elsewhere. We encourage cooperation between writers and editors but reserve the right to edit all content for length and clarity. Email submissions, ideas, or questions to the Editorsin-Chief (hc2 or am11). The views expressed in Counterpoint do not necessarily reflect the views of the magazine staff or the Wellesley community. Counterpoint does not solicit specific pieces from students, rather we publish the pieces that we receive each month and do our best to publish all appropriate submissions that we receive.

EDITORIAL STAFF

Editors-in-Chief

Managing Editor

Features Editor

Staff Editors

Alice Mei ' 23

Hailey Cho ' 23

Precious Kim '25

Natalie McDermott '25

Hailey Cho '23

Alice Mei '23

Noshin Saiyaara '24

Emily Chang '25

Precious Kim '25

Jennifer Long '25

Treya Pember '25

Bella Cui '26

Leah Krason '26

Dan Lu '26

Ana Paku '26

DESIGN STAFF

Production Manager

Layout Editors

Jennifer Long ’25

Hailry Cho '23

Alice Mei '23

Esther Jung '23

Trisha Atluri '26

Kami Lim '26

BUSINESS STAFF

Art Director

Website Manager

Publicity Chair

Events Manager

Treasurer

Kami Lim '26

Bella Cui '26

Trisha Atluri '26

Lauren Witt '24

Camille Newman '25

TRUSTEES

Olivia Funderburg ’18, Allyson Larcom ’17, Hanna Day-Tenerowicz ’16, Cecilia Nowell ’16, Oset Babur ’15, Alison Lanier ’15, Kristina Costa ’09, Kara Hadge ’08

THE WELLESLEY COLLEGE JOURNAL OF CAMPUS LIFE

FEBRUARY 2023

Volume 59 / Issue 3

It seemed hopeless, until I found a relic from the pre-listicle internet: A poorly rendered blog from The New York Times. The site’s body barely filled half my screen; the text was relegated to the left margin. A garish beige wallpaper with a fleur-de-lys-esque pattern greeted me. Then, pixel-y red letters and an even grainier black body text loaded in chunks. When the letters finally arrived, I read on eagerly. The website told me to try reading some “Modern Love” articles for inspiration. I groaned. Though skeptical, I remembered that the column was less ubiquitous in 2009, the date listed in the web page’s copyright. Then, an entry from the 2008 college essay contest piqued my interests. The title described a question that was being explored often in my diary entries.

more life experiences and a year or two of frontal lobe development. How do you resolve the need for security, that only creeps up when my twin XL feels extra roomy, with the hyper-individualistic, sexual empowerment that’s clogging up the minds of me and my friends?

who I wanted to cheat on my boyfriend with. One day, I woke up so embarrassed by a display of affection that I seriously considered dropping out of college.

I clicked the link and was redirected to the modern The New York Times website. As I read on, I was surprised that this was the first-place entry— perhaps my generation’s noncommittal tendencies had not been sufficiently studied yet. It seemed out-of-place displayed on the sleek minimalist interface of today’s NYT website. The now hackneyed ideas about gay men who weren’t really gay and the agony-inducting “what are we?” question would be more at home on that ugly little website from 2009. My disappointment lingered until the last paragraph or rather, the last sentence:

“I tried to tell myself that I’m young, that this is the time to be casual, careless, lighthearted and fun; don’t ruin it.”

Recently, I’ve been worried that I’m ruining it. Perhaps it’s the kind of turmoil that will only be resolved with a few

My generation's un-nuanced ideas about sexual liberation are not wholly at fault. There is something to be said about the sex drive of a 20-something, baby-feverous queer at Wellesley College. When I was coupled, I looked on, envious of those who kissed freely on the dance floor, lusted after others (those who were often in relationships themselves), and regretted when under a friend’s watchful eye, I had to turn away male suitors who approached me at frats. When I was single, I judged the desperate souls who so dared to touch lips in the company of others, waited patiently for the ding or hum that meant a special someone responded, and yearned for the comfort and stability that can only come from years of affectionate acceptance.

As of late, the quest for romance and pleasure has left me at my most pathetic.

A night, in the recent past, began with my proclamation that I was “over it.” It was precipitated by a brief moment of disgust experienced when I witnessed my ex sneeze without covering their mouth. Boozy antics proved to be a good distraction from the end of my longest relationship. Then, the friends left. Suddenly, I was laying down in a shower, fully clothed, sobbing to Matty Healy’s labored crooning.

Other times, I stooped lower. I begged my geriatric boss at my thankless retail job for relationship advice. After downing my first jello shot, I told my best friend

Truly, I don’t know if I’m ruining the free love smörgåsbord that your twenties are promised to be. I don’t know if those notifications I long for will or even should lead to love. I can’t confidently say I loved the last person I dated. Nor do I know if commitment-free sex can end without some kind of sting.

Surprisingly, there are some things that I’ve learned. For now, I like when my phone buzzes. I definitely should not be in a committed, long-term relationship. More often than not, kissing your friends is a misguided pursuit. And finally, to bump the proverbial uglies with a lover is not the culmination of connection.

I’d like to think that there is an outdated New York Times blog post of a person waiting there for me, unclicked. My spirits aren’t doused by the deluge of instantly gratifying, get-love-quickschemes I continue to come across. Perhaps it’s naivete, or the fact that my parents aren’t divorced. But those two possibilities feel too cynical for my tastes. I know that that satisfaction exists. It’s in the truths I can extract from nights that end in tears, in the promise of finding prospective kindred spirits, and in the joy I derive from those moments with myself, indulging my urge to keep searching for the unknown that will be just right. Until then, I’ll scroll into the abyss.

The author is swearing off Tinder for the time being.

“Want to Be My Boyfriend? Please Define.”

REFLECTIONS

All I Feel is Joy

BY LI YIN

In this moment, all I feel is joy.

Music that Lin curated for me in my ears, the sun casting nothing but a golden glow and gentle warmth, enveloping my silhouette like my mother’s hands. The waves underneath this aircraft resemble silk, slowly but surely ebbing and flowing, reaching every part of the Earth. Thoughts of Miyabi across the ocean, waiting with her eyes gleaming with joy and welcoming me with the biggest embrace. Soon I will see Jack, Carina, Eileen, Lola, Natalie, Stella, Annika. Memories of Edwin, Nicole, Greve, Lawrence, Sarah. These threads, however much time has passed in the time when each intertwines, never fall into fragility. The strength of human connection always amazes me. They say time is powerful—it is supposed to kill the beautiful things in life and make them wane in vibrancy.

Come to think of it, is timing everything? Recently, I’ve been running into things. Things like opportunities, moments of growth, conversations that spark something new. Things meaning intense feelings, affection, heat, wholesomeness that I’m not sure I deserve: everything all at once condensed into one moment. I may

But the longer I live, the more I’d like to think that’s a myth (or perhaps, I haven’t lived long enough). The passage of time, the distance between one inkling and another, creates longing, giving people the chance to live incessantly, rent-free in my mind. And what is longing if not love persevering?

I long to see all those whom I love in one place. Father and mother, Yao, grandma and grandpa, Candy, and those from my childhood who taught me the meaning of care. It takes stamina and hope and work and perfect timing to see all the people I treasure in my heart, fragments that make up who I am.

But I am no longer afraid of change, now that I know there are more possibilities of love than one so tangled with violence and judgment and pain. Will I ever stop carrying the cartons of wastewater, of ink that the infatuations of the past have spilled in my world? Will the tarnished memories ever be bleached and erased? Perhaps not.

But perhaps, too, it no longer matters.

Because in this moment, all I feel is joy.

Li Yin ’26 (ly104@wellesley. edu) is hoping you, the reader, can feel this joy.

Images: (Right) Yuri Catalano on Pexels; and Trisha Atluri '26; (Left) Camille Newman '25 and Pars PNG

Riparian Buffer

BY SUZANNA SCHOFIELD

Breathe in, breathe out.

Smell the roses, feel the thorns, Embrace life for all that it is, for all that it isn’t. Return home, realize it no longer is one, Maybe it never was.

Wildflowers grow on the side of highways, Pollution spills over, and yet, they grow. Even painful memories contain joy.

Comfort is sought after.

I walk with her down this highway, We look at the red-tailed hawks and crows, Admiring how they watch the world, While we watch one another. Highways are dangerous—do not get distracted, Please. Stay with me.

She didn’t. page 6

Suzanna Schofield ’24 (ss104@wellesley.edu) learned at a young age how owls get hurt alongside roadways. If you’re driving at night, keep an eye out for wildlife

Lake Waban: Water Holds Memory

BY SUZANNA SCHOFIELD

Images: Yitzel Serna '26 and Canva (left), Kazu Shimada '23, Suzanna Schofield '24, and Canva (right)

The atmosphere outside reduces into the single digits, She wonders if numbers get as lonely as she does, Certainly, the swans and geese and all the other animals who mate for life,

When their partners leave this Earth on a final flight, Their grief is unmatched, For how could one truly measure love? The wind calls them on one last journey, And she follows suit, Wondering where the birds go when they die, Wondering if she will end up there too.

Her father wishes her suffering would end And sees death as a reward.

The silver lining would be that she would be dead. You’re not allowed to cry, You’re a baby,

Do not f*****g cry.

Her sister cries in the bedroom next to hers, All I have ever known is loneliness. She doesn’t understand the tear stains down her sister’s face, With her delusions, it’s a benefit to be ignorant. So the world keeps turning, and the birds fly off. Goodbye, Safe journeys, To wherever you might go.

The chains around her neck tighten, She loses breath, Are you alive? We won’t know until she’s woken up. A breath— so sweet and yet so cruel, She gets out of bed to only fall back in, Hallucinations are the bane of her existence. And pain reminds us what is lost, what is gained, What we hope for. Relief.

Suzanna Schofield ’24

(ss104@wellesley.edu)

: A glass sibling is the sibling of a person with disabilities. How easy they can shatter.

The Language that Does Not Want You Part. I

BY NAFISA RASHID

Imagine studying a language that never gives you the same light of day. Immersing yourself for uncountable hours of your life.

Studying how to write another language’s script while you are supposed to be focusing in your 7th grade Spanish class.

Failing to learn the right way, but standing up and trying and trying again. Creating and forging numerous connections with many others who share the same newly discovered linguistic and cultural interests.

Spending many waking hours wrapped on the bed, sitting on the stairs, bobbling on the subway,

With images of this language plastered on your walls and its food served on almost every corner of Boston.

And its words, melodically seeping through your ears through the form of songs and humorous conversations.

You chuckle, because you have spent so many years reaching a point where you’ve arrived at a language peak—

Of understanding humor.

You pass the 3, your listening is almost perfect. But that’s all it will ever be.

BECAUSE

In the classes, there will be almost no one who looks like you. And if there is, they don’t want to associate with you.

Despite the hours you put in, more than anyone else, With consecutive essay awards, which no one else has achieved And a speech that could even move a teacher to tears

But, it seems you’ll still never be good enough.

Because somehow your roommate with only 2 years is better.

And, when you are stressed out and make a small mistake That if anyone else made, They would be cradled like a baby

But, you are met with painful anger that doesn’t care how you feel or how it affects your mental health.

Learning feels like wasting hours, because you are just an object of fascination. Your dark skin will make you stand out and fade away. It will make you be treated like you belong on the periphery. Nonetheless, you are enticed by a place where your skin has been a joke to be painted on faces.

Three times a charm right?

Wrong, your design will never be of worth for a cloth

Three time’s a charm right?

How about Five times?

Because the programs don’t think you’re worth the investment

Despite your burning interest and linguistic accolades

And COVID thinks it's fun to get in your way and let you watch from the cage while others fly to places of their dreams.

So why are you still attached?

To a language that doesn’t want you?

That will not be a bridge to a new place, because all the bridges to get there have burned.

Or will be burned.

You’ve been left with the scars of hammering the language and its culture into your head,

After taking a liking to it because of the things that it has done for you, the comfort it gave you, and connections it let you make, Which have now become discomfort and burnt or falling bridges.

But how do you become detached to something that has been with you for more than nine years?

How do you become a magnet that won’t fly back?

How do you become a moth that isn’t enticed by fire?

How do you make sense of,

How do you wrestle with,

How do you deal with

The language that does not want you?

Nafisa Rashid ’23 (nr2@wellesley.edu) would like to share that trying to study abroad and study a language in general is not an easy process, but the process that she has gone through leading up to and especially during Wellesley as a Black student have been nothing but turbulent ones.

The Dream Deferred

BY NAFISA RASHID

The great Langston Hughes once talked of dreams deferred The type of dreams that are not preferred

In the eyes of a young child, eyes that glisten with a dream, shining brightly in the distance, This child ran endlessly chasing this dream, despite compounding resistance

Soon the child’s eyes begin to dull, when their bejeweled, shining dream seems to become further out ofreach Like a star in the night sky, dazzling but clearly impossible to grasp from the earth, despite its entrancing sparkle from that one reflective night on the beach

Years passed and this dream shimmered, flashed, and dulled over time Seemingly never within hold, like its distance was meant to be a punishment for the wisher, as if they had committed an unspeakable crime

Despite the dimming of this dream, they are like a fly drawn to its light by instinct Even as this dreamer grew older, the dream would not end, its length not succinct

Running and chasing it to the point of being out of breath, Spending late nights and early mornings trying to grasp this dream before its death

Why do you keep struggling and fighting for a dream out of reach, a dream constantly pushed out of your reach the more you try?

To the point where each night when the dream fell further away, you yelled in your mind that you were the reason that this dream was unattainable? Why, why?

What is a dream, a dream deferred and kept out of reach and out of sight?

A tempting and fatal light, That one reaches for with all their might An endless journey, a fight

Though it seems like it will never come, like it will always be postponed, deferred, it’s YOUR dream, no matter how it has been shaped, reshaped, transformed, right?

It may have stunk, crusted over and maybe exploded, but still you desire to taste it, even if it is not the same as the beginning dream, in the state you would have originally preferred. Because sometimes there’s nothing wrong and nothing bad about a dream in waiting, a dream deferred.

Nafisa Rashid ‘23 (nr2@wellesley.edu) reflects on the emotional ups and downs and paths of longtime desired dreams that have been deferred and out of reach from before and during her time as a college student.

PHOTOGRAPHY

BY CAMILLE NEWMAN

BY YITZEL SERNA

BY SUZANNA SCHOFIELD & KAZU SHIMADA

Images:

What's the best and worst reality dating show?

Love is in the Air

AcroSS

2. Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet

43: “How Do I Love ___?”

5. Red flowers, often gifted by the dozen

8. Like a lover’s haiku (2 words)

9. Do you believe in love at first ___?

11. A type of date that you go on with a stranger

12. Between dating and marriage comes this

13. A promise made during marriage (2 words)

Down

1. The “kiss” of this planet with the Earth occurs ever 584 days

3. The type of card you may have received on February 14th

4. Juliet’s other half

6. In classical mythology, the god of love

7. The original singer of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”

10. Head over ___

11. Clyde’s partner in crime

Image: Camille Newman '25