THE YALE HERALD YALE’S MOST DARING PUBLICATION SINCE 1986 | VOL LXXXVI ISSUE I Aug. 26th, 2019
first-year issue
FROM THE EDITORS Dear first-years, Welcome to Yale, but more importantly, welcome to Yale’s most daring publication since 1986. You’ve picked up a copy of the Herald’s First-Year Issue (FYI) and FYI, thank God you did. In this special edition, we have compiled the only advice you need to get through your first year. Don’t believe us? 100% of the Herald staff made it through their first year.
The Yale Herald is a not-for-profit, non-partisan, incorporated student publication registered with the Yale College Dean’s Office. If you wish to subscribe to the Herald, please contact the Editors-in-Chief at laurie.roark@yale.edu and marina.albanese@yale.edu. Receive the Herald for one semester for 40 dollars, or for the 2020 academic year for 65 dollars.
We’ve got guides on dining halls, first-year etiquette, pimping your dingle, and telling your roommates to shut the heck up. It’s all here, folks. Except blue-booking. We don’t need to talk about blue-booking. You’re going to take ECON 115 anyway.
The Yale Herald is published by Yale College students, and Yale University is not responsible for its contents. All opinions expressed are those of the authors and do not reflect the views of The Yale Herald, Inc. or Yale
And if you’re still nervous about this new chapter in the bildungsroman of your life, you’re not alone. Read on for words of solidarity from your peers in the Class of 2023, who are also worried about introductions, moving in, or being Candian. If you come across any of them, introduce yourself, because they’ve already written for the Herald, so they’re definitely the coolest first-years on campus.
VISIT US ONLINE AT YALEHERALD.COM
So read the issue, do your laundry, choose your major (or not), and don’t forget to breathe. You’ve got it, kids. Much love, Marina Albanese and Laurie Roark Editors-in-Chief
EDITORIAL STAFF EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Marina Albanese, Laurie Roark MANAGING EDITORS Kat Corfman, Eric Krebs EXECUTIVE EDITORS Chalay Chalermkraivuth, Nurit Chinn, Fiona Drenttel, Jack Kyono FEATURES EDITORS Rachel Calcott, Elliot Lewis CULTURE EDITORS Ryan Benson, Bri Wu VOICES EDITORS Hamzah Jhaveri, Silver Liftin OPINION EDITOR Spencer Hagaman REVIEWS EDITORS Everest Fang, Marc Boudreaux FUZZ EDITORS Matt Reiner, Harrison Smith INSERTS EDITORS Sarah Force, Will Wegner
DESIGN STAFF CREATIVE DIRECTOR Paige Davis, Rebecca Goldberg
2 THE YALE HERALD
IN THIS ISSUE 4, 5
one yalie, two yalies, red yalie, blue yalie?
12, 13
mtv, pimp my dingle BLEU WELLS, ES ’21
quit your extracurriculars KATHERINE HU, ES ’21
SPENCER HAGAMAN, BF ’21
overstimulation
EVEREST FANG, ES ’20
how to maintain your integrity
how to be a first year fire thrills
SILVER LIFTIN, TC ’22
camp woes
MARC BOUDREAUX, ES ’21
6, 7
nine campus secrets your yale tour guide didn’t tell you SARAH FORCE, SY ’21
the perfect fun fact LAKSHMI AMIN, BR ’21
choosing your major (frosties or sugar puffs?) AMANDA THOMAS, SY ’21
take: skip all your 9 a.m.s MARC BOUDREAUX, ES ’21
8, 9
dining hall tips, tricks, and hacks WILL WEGNER, MY ’22
a meditation on doors as forms of cruel and unusual punishment
KARA O’ROURKE, BR ‘22
ABEYAZ AMIR, SM ’22
14, 15
farm from campus HARRISON SMITH, ES ’20
top 5 on-campus date spots KAT CORFMAN, SM ’21
unrequited calculations PAIGE DAVIS, MC ’21
five (facebook) friends you’ll make during camp yale CAMDEN SMITHTRO, ES ’22
16, 17
independence on hold... RACHEL CALCOTT, BR ’22
major disappointment ELLIOT LEWIS, BR ’22
your roommate MATT REINER, JE ’20
the love crater ERIC KREBS, JE ’21
SELENA MARTINEZ, DC ’22
starting over and over and over REBECCA GOLDBERG, MC ’21
foolproof ways to break the ice at yale BRI WU, MC ’21
10, 11
a quick guide to telling your suitemates to shut the heck up… and more! HAMZAH JHAVERI, TC ’22
dirty laundry RYAN BENSON, GH ’21
complacency and conviction SID CARLSON WHITE, JE ’21
18, 19
hypothetical pre-college jitters MONIQUE NIKOLOV, BF ’23
new haven clay BAYLINA PU, GH ’23
canadian slang, eh? DAVID SAUNDERS, GH ’23
20, 21 now what?
SIMI OLURIN, PC ’23
communicable quirks SYDNEY ZOEHRER, SM ’23
two-ton shipping LILY LAWLER, BK ’23
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One Yalie, Two Yalies, Red Yalie, Blue Yalie? SPENCER HAGAMAN, BF ’21 YH STAFF
Aye, welcome aboard the USS Yalie, Class of 2023! I hope among the boxes of stuff you brought aboard campus that you brought a life jacket with you. First-year fall brings the roughest waves! In high school, you were probably a big fish in a little pond. Valedictorian. Star athlete. Student body president. You probably did it all during your high school years. So did I. And literally every other Yalie. In the first few weeks, it will be intimidating to find that the pond is much bigger, and so are the other fish. You will worry that you will drown socially, academically, and extracurricularly. But you won’t drown. You will find your sea legs. You’ll see that being a little fish in a big pond will challenge you to be a better, faster fish. You’ll be gliding through the water faster than Michael Phelps in no time! Being at Yale will be a voyage like no other you have faced. But remember you are in the same boat as all the other little fish. (Wait, fish are supposed to be in the water, not in a boat. I’ve gone overboard with this marine theme, haven’t I? I digress.) In conclusion, to quote the great fish-losopher Dory, all you have to do is “just keep swimming!”
Now that you’ve arrived on campus, it’s time to start learning some ground rules. I’m going to give you the complete guide to being a first-year at Yale. Listen close, because it’s not as easy as it sounds! Rule #1: Never ask anyone what college they’re in. The biggest mistake first years make is to ask other people what college they’re in. That is a huge no-no. Needless to say, you should also never tell anyone what college you’re in. I’ll let you in on a little secret: no one cares what college you’re in. Rule #2: Never ask anyone where they’re from. This is another classic first-year mistake. Let someone hear you ask this, and you’ll be a laughing stock for the next four years. At Yale, we like to focus on the future. There’s no need to go digging into people’s pasts for silly things like “hometowns” and “life stories.” The last thing you want is to come across as snoopy. Rule #3: Always write for the Herald. I’ll give you one more insider secret: anyone who’s anyone writes for the Herald. It’s widely known to be not only the best publication, but also the best organization at Yale. Think of the coolest and most incredible people you know. They all write for the Herald. If you follow these three rules, you’ll sail through your first year with flying colors. If you ever get the urge to break one of the golden rules, just give yourself a little pinch. Have fun!
4 THE YALE HERALD
How to Be a First-Year EVEREST FANG, ES ’20 YH STAFF
Fire Thrills
MARC BOUDREAUX, ES ’21 YH STAFF
Camp Woes
SILVER LIFTIN, TC ’22 YH STAFF
If you find yourself living on Old Campus your first year, you’re in for a treat. Stepping inside the buildings, you’ll be able to faintly smell the hormones which Yale does a great job of airing out during the summer, but which become quite intense and stale as the year progresses. In the case that you should smell smoke instead of hormones, there are wonderful switches on the wall, commonly known as “fire alarms.” They’re square, they’re bright red, and they’re seductive. They’re lonely after a long summer of solitude and they’re eager to be touched. At first, everyone will be scared of them. But don’t worry, soon—bet on November—the little demons in the speakers in your room will be unleashed by one drunk adolescent and some peer pressuring. It doesn’t matter that it’s 4 a.m. and you have a midterm the next day. The alarms are just as inconsiderate as they are deafening. If you and your roommate aren’t close, the first alarm of the semester will be a nice moment for you two to squint across the dark room, curse at each other, and stumble out of the room together. During the first one, you’ll probably just wear flip-flops, and your feet will freeze in the November chill. By the third alarm, though, you’ll bring those fuzzy socks Grandma got you for Christmas. The alarms permit a rare state of vulnerability as everyone waits for the firemen outside the building. Make sure to take it in. The kid who always gels his hair now looks like a sad mop, the one who’s always wearing makeup looks like a ghost, and the facade of the nicest person in your entryway has crumbled as they mumble obscenities. Find unity in this vulnerability; fire alarms level the playing field in a beautiful way.
“When am I gonna make a friend?” I ask my mom in earnest over FaceTime while curled up in the dark of my half-unpacked Lawrance shoebox-single. It’s the final night of Camp Yale. So far, I’ve loitered uncomfortably and stared off into space at a late night frat party (my first and last time at LEO), tried to change suites after walking into a dank and smoky common room (You can’t, was my Froco’s immediate answer), agreed to go to a comedy show with someone and then forgot to text them (sorry Bleu), been invited to lunch by my Head of College after my mom sent him an email that I wasn’t doing well, and had three (3) blue booking panic attacks. There were no friends in sight. Monday, 9:19 am, L4 Spanish in LC, first day of class. The seminar table is worn, wooden, and sparsely populated. On the far end I see someone I recognize from the Branford dining hall. Two days before, as first-years climbed the stairs and flooded inside the dining hall, she attempted (and repeatedly failed) to prop open the entrance door, exasperated by its refusal to stay open. She made a performance of her struggle, huffing in disappointment for her group of friends every time it swung closed. Eventually, I grabbed the door and held it open. For a moment, she ballooned in the triumph of her success, but when she saw me, she deflated in disappointment, then laughed and thanked me anyway. We said goodbye, and I ate alone. There is plenty of space at the seminar table, but I decide to be bold and sit next to her. We acknowledge our moment in the dining hall, introduce ourselves, and laugh as we warm up our half-forgotten Spanish. Just like that, a tentative friendship. It felt like the loneliness of Camp Yale would last forever, and then it ended, just like that.
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Nine Campus Secrets Your Yale Tour Guide Didn’t Tell You SARAH FORCE, SY ’21 YH STAFF
1. Thought Tupac Shakur was dead? The Saybrook 12-pack is just six Tupacs in a trench coat. 2. If you play “Bright College Years” backwards, you can hear the Whiffenpoofs murmur collectively “We know what you did.” Cool! 3. If you record and play back the melodious trills of the Harkness Bells backwards, they sound slightly better than usual. 4. If you yell “study abroad” on cross campus, someone will appear and talk about España for five to 10 minutes. 5. If you rub Peter Salovey’s foot on a campus visit, your chances of getting in are significantly lessened. 6. If you rub DJ Action’s foot on a campus visit, he’ll start spinning the hottest tracks just for you! 7. If you see a FroCo on campus and whisper, “It’s dinner time, baby,” they’ll give you a pancake. 8. Former fraternity Sigma Alpha Epsilon (SAE) still has a secret tomb at 35 High Street. Spooky! 9. If you write for the Herald, you’ll live on as a campus legend forever.
Here’s a tried-and-true guide to crafting the Perfect Fun Fact, short and sweet, that will impress your fellow Yalies enough to make them want to connect with you on LinkedIn, but not so much that they’ll fret over your possibly wrecking the exam curve and, consequently, their GPAs. If you’re like me and your name is the perfect opportunity for the union of cultural insensitivity and the use of the phrase, “I’m so sorry if I butcher these names!” then this is for you. I’m sure you’ve already been warned of the dreaded first-year deer-inthe-headlights feeling. But now, that deer is you and those headlights are freshly graduated high school valedictorians armed with three-sentence introductions and very thinly-veiled networking agendas. I want you to know that you are not alone. My job is to make sure that you have the tools to safely avoid becoming roadkill via the reduction of you and your many stories down to a single bite-sized taste test. The first of two simple steps is identifying three to five crowd-pleasers, the oldie-but-goodie anecdotes that will elicit your desired effect. For example, I find that, surprisingly, people don’t seem to care that I can wiggle my eyebrows with astounding agility, so I save that for those who prove to be true friends. More often, I opt for my reliable back-up and confess to having a charmingly out-of-control sweet tooth.
6 THE YALE HERALD
Step two is to be confident in yourself and how far you’ve come. Who cares if it’s your turn to go right after that kid who published an awardwinning book of sonnets before learning to ride a bike? Whether in the straightforward Go Around In A Circle fun fact exercise or the lesserknown, yet equally uncomfortable, Roll of Toilet Paper icebreaker, confidence is key. You made it here, too, so be nimble and show them what you’ve got, even (or perhaps especially) if your fun fact is too expansive to fit on your resume. (But really. Do make sure you connect with all of them on LinkedIn afterwards—remember, time and change shall naught avail to break the friendships formed at Yale. You’re welcome.)
LAKSHMI AMIN, BR ’21
So you’re new to the game. You’re fresh. You’re thinking of all the cool classes you’ll be able to take at Yale, how you’re going to keep the same energy as high school and get a 4.0, blah blah blah. Listen, I get it. All of us Bulldog veterans were you, once. We had dreams. And because I’ve gone through it, I know that despite everyone else begging you not to do it, you’re going to add that irresistible 9 a.m. class to your course schedule. Now, I’m not going to tell you not to take that class. Maybe it’s a prereq that only meets at that time. Maybe it will get you into law school (maybe). I don’t know your reasons, but I’ll respect them. What I will tell you, though, is not to go to that class. Should you be enrolled in the class? Sure! Should you show up for exams? You probably should! But definitely don’t go to the normal class meetings. For the first two weeks, maybe you’ll show up on time, maybe you’ll get enough sleep the night before, and maybe you’ll participate in class. That’ll end, though. Eventually, you’ll give up on the readings, and even when you do them, you’ll be too tired to contribute to the discussion. Then, you’ll start skipping some lessons here and there, and your teacher will think you’ve got a new family member dying every week. At that point, why even go? You’re just dead weight. You’re learning everything from either the textbook or your tryhard friend who shows up 15 minutes early every day. So, take it from me. Spare yourself the sad attempt to be a good student. You’re not a morning person; no one is. Enroll in that 9 a.m. class, but don’t bother setting an alarm. Your snooze button doesn’t need that kind of abuse.
IHEA INYAMA, TD ’22
AMANDA THOMAS, SY ’21 YH STAFF
But consider this: maybe deciding your major is exactly like picking a breakfast cereal—except it’s going to shape your academic career. So listen here: just trust your gut. Both a major and your breakfast cereal are supposed to make you happy and satisfied. Sure, some cereals are bad for you or are too expensive, just like some majors seem to be less grueling or more likely to put food on the table. Like cereal, your major should fill your stomach, lest you become a starving artist. But, more importantly, like cereal, your major needs to sit right in your stomach. You need to see yourself waking up every morning committed to that field, happy to explain to your friends that you do “this and this,” and proud to put it in that occupation slot on Tinder. Sure, you want to read the calories, and the ingredients, and the fine print on the box of this imagined Major Cereal, but all that really matters is that you can scoop a spoonful into your mouth and smile.
Take: Skip All Your 9 a.m.s
Choosing Your Major (Frosties or Sugar Puffs?)
People are always telling you to trust your gut. Believe in yourself! You got this! YAAAAS Bitch! The reality is that, unfortunately, you’re going to doubt yourself a lot, because this whole “adult thing” is completely new to you. When it comes to choosing your major, the process may be long and introspective for many of you.
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Branford: If you weren’t already hungry, you’ll work up an appetite climbing the stairs. On Wednesdays, the offerings include a curated selection of fine cheeses—perfect for date night or meeting homesick Wisconsinites! Silliman: The doors are notoriously difficult to push open, they’re weird about allowing outsiders inside during dinner, and last year somebody found a worm in their fish. But until the return of the fabled Schwarzman Center, it’s probably the prettiest hall on campus. Trumbull: It’s open later than any other dining hall for lunch— perfect if you’re itching to meet a friend within that highly sought-after 2:30 to 3 p.m. dining window. Davenport: Being inside always makes me feel like I’m on one of the lower decks of a pirate ship. Avast! Morse/Stiles: Some people will tell you that the Nutrigrain Towers—and not, in fact, our Neo-Gothic friends to the north—serve the best pizza at Yale. Those people are fools. Murray/Franklin: Their pizza is vndovbtedly the most deliciovs on campvs, hand-tossed and cvt into rectangles jvst like mom vsed to make. Berkeley: If you get your kicks from squeezing a group of five friends into two open places on one side of a noisy table, you’re in luck. (You also might consider enrolling in THST 405, Physical Comedy and Clown Technique!) Pierson: The white, clinical walls reflect light of a harsh, penetrative quality which bores into your very soul—great litmus test for prospective econ majors. Hopper: Meh. JE: Meh, but less centrally located. TD: Despite its claustrophobic atmosphere, the food is actually pretty good, and the diners are so starved for connection with the outside world that they’ll suffocate you with hospitality. (Also, you didn’t hear this from me, but some people like to score free food by sneaking in through the exit.) Saybrook: You’ll find yourself dining here the same way you find yourself christened a Saybroogian—by some act of cosmic cruelty. Durfee’s: Their tenders are responsible for the first ten of my first-year fifteen. And if you don’t need to use your lunch/brunch swipe, don’t forgo the opportunity to restock your snack supply! Slifka: Their tenders are responsible for the remaining five. 8 THE YALE HERALD
Dining Hall Tips, Tricks, and Hacks
WILL WEGNER, MY ’22 YH STAFF
A Meditation on Doors as Forms of Cruel and Unusual Punishment Welcome, first-years! These are very exciting times. Big things are happening. You all know this. But there is something evil afoot. This evil thing is everywhere you go, lurking on the fronts of buildings, the sides of buildings, and at their emergency exits. These insidious entities, these cursed objects, are the doors. Listen here, folks, I know it sounds wild, absolutely wild, but the doors on this campus are awful and vile because they are so goddamn heavy. So, so heavy. Heavy to the point where you might wonder, “Where do the architects of this school get off on this sick joke?” Now, I do not know if this is a universal complaint about Yale. It might not be. But I do know that I have been late to class (on more than one occasion) because I’ve been engaged in a twisted kind of Human v. Door tug-of-war. My wrists are weak. My arms are puny. My thumbs? Tired. And we (“we” being me and my fragile bones) can’t do this anymore. I can’t make it into WLH without jamming an index finger and shattering my coccyx. (Note: the coccyx is not in your arms, but these doors require power from all places). When I close my eyes at night, I imagine my knuckles white, hands bleeding as I pull on these terrible doors. I know you’re all thinking the same thing, and, no, I’ve never actually been mortally wounded by these doors. But they’re annoying, and I don’t like them! Be cautious around this school’s heavy, heavy doors this year. They’re out to get you, kids.
SELENA MARTINEZ, DC ’22 YH STAFF
If you have never been subjected to the strange desperation of student networking, Class of 2023, you’re in for a treat (or a shock)—probably a healthy mix of both. Setting foot on campus for the first time, you will feel much like a child at summer camp. You’ve got your suitcases, your dressings for your barren Yale Blue™ beds, and, more likely than not, a desire to dig in and find your niche at this school as soon as possible. And so do the other two thousand of your fellow classmates, each one of them with something to prove. August will be a bombardment of the same information again and again, a storm of names and hometowns and prospective majors (or double majors, for the overenthusiastic) that you will try and fail to remember. For the first several weeks, it will feel as though you are forming connections with hundreds of people, each one clinging to the next in search of that oh-so sacred bond that is friendship. But do not be surprised if the ground starts to feel like it’s shifting beneath your feet as the school year tumbles into the fall. Within a month, people that you had started to feel close to during the first few weeks hardly do more than nod their heads in your direction when you pass them on the street. Some days, Yale will feel very big and very lonely. The FOMO will be real. But I encourage you to never let that sensation of isolation win.
Foolproof Ways to Break the Ice at Yale
BRI WU, MC ’21 YH STAFF
Yale is a space of potential, not only during your first year, but every year after that. If you choose to continue exploring it, you will find opportunities you would have never realized existed during your first semester. As you start your journey here, let yourself be brave enough to step out into the unknown, not just once, but over and over and over and over and over. Audition for that comedy group your suitemates have never heard of, attend that talk that no one around you seems to be interested in. Even when it feels like the magic of Camp Yale has faded and that desperation for friendship has been fulfilled for everyone but you, I promise you that there are groups of people waiting with open arms to welcome you. Never be afraid to step into a new space, not this year or any of the next. Your niche on this campus is waiting. It just takes a little bit of time and courage to go out and find it.
Starting Over and Over and Over REBECCA GOLDBERG, MC ’21 YH STAFF
You small, precocious baby! You have wormed your way into this faux-gothic cathedral of learning we call Yale. The most spectacular seminars, naked runs, and misleading class performances lie before you. But greatest of all: the friendship! The singular activity that will make your A+ sleep deprivation worthwhile! Getting there will take time, though, and if you’re impatient, I have just the life hack for you. When you find yourself adjacent to an unsuspecting (group of ) first-year(s), you can and SHOULD: 1. Ask their residential college and prospective major. Talk while breathing air in, not out. 2. Write your SAT score on a nametag and wear it. For a similar effect, you could enroll in Math 120. 3. Roll up into a small ball. Like an armadillo, or a pill bug. In this position, no one can hurt your soft insides. Or can they? Say you’ll give $20 to the first person who touches your navel. 4. Debate the merits of Steve Buscemi. 5. Carry around one of those animatronic babies that sex ed teachers think prevent teenage pregnancy. 6. “For my next trick, I will make my daddy issues disappear!” 7. Ask them to dinner. Arrive at Florian with some pinto beans. No, you won’t have anything to eat or drink tonight. No, seriously, you’re on a diet. You’re fighting off the Freshman 15. Could the waiter bring a can opener please? 8. Lay an egg.
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A Quick Guide to Telling Your Suitemates to Shut the Heck Up… HAMZAH JHAVERI, TC ’22 YH STAFF
By now, you’re probably just getting to know your randomly assigned bunch of suitemates, filling uncomfortable silences with even-moreuncomfortable small talk. Maybe you crack a joke as you gather to discuss common room decor. Perhaps you sit together and yawn at those late-night FroCo meetings. And you might even know their names by now! The point is it’s cordial, and it’s awkward. But fret not! Soon enough you and your suitemates will be gelling like long-time besties, and there will no longer be a moment of discomfort. Right? Wrong. You’re over a month in. Readings for your seminars have picked up pace, p-sets are beginning to get hard, and your sleep schedule is nothing like you planned it to be in your Notes app. But alas, you’ve made your way to your bed at 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night for some much-needed Zs. You turn off the lights, get cozy, and drift away in your Ikea linens. All of a sudden, the common room door barges open, and your suitemates stomp in with a parade of friends. Music: on. Conversation: loud. Odor: also loud. You are angry, but you have no idea what to do. Enter me with my handy guide to telling your suitemates to shut the fuck up: 1. The 3-Strike Method: The first loud noise gets a pass. The second gets an angry text in the group chat. And the third warrants a heated, faceto-face confrontation. Success rate: 5/10. (The confrontation is never really that heated. They’ll just get loud in another five minutes.) 2. Bang On Your Wall and Scream Bloody Murder: Self-explanatory. They’ll think you’re wild and will quiet down out of genuine fear. Success rate: 9/10. (Not recommended for those trying to maintain friendships with their suitemates… or anyone really.) 3. The Whisper Trick: Calmly get out of bed and step outside. Approach your suitemates and join their conversation in a whisper. The volume of their voices will naturally approach that of yours. Excuse yourself and walk away. Success rate: 3/10 (I imagine). 4. Fire Alarm: If I don’t sleep, nobody does. Success rate: ?/10. (Not sure what the goal is here.) 5. Sit Passively in Self-Loathing: This one’s just sad. Success rate: 0/10. (They’ll stay loud and you’ll continue to question why you “chose Yale for its residential college system.”) In all seriousness, I loved my suitemates. But they were often noisy at inconvenient hours of the night. There is no one way to tell a rowdy bunch to quiet down, but starting with a genuine conversation about respecting shared space is definitely a good way to go. And sometimes it can’t hurt to jump out of bed and join them for an hour or so of good fun, even if it means less sleep. Or you can always try Method 2.
10 THE YALE HERALD
RYAN BENSON, GH ’21 YH STAFF The best time and place to wash your laundry on Old Campus is in the afternoon, in the basement of Bingham Hall. The laundry room there is skinny. It’s across the hall from the Chaplain’s Office, which is closed at night, so you have to do your laundry there in the afternoon. It’s filled with subtle smells of beer and pen ink and skid-marked underwear, each overpowered by the mish-mosh of different detergents, which have all traveled many miles from childhood homes to dorm rooms. It’s a confused smell. It’s not necessarily a good one. But the Chaplain’s Office smells okay. The people who work there keep ice cream in a big cooler, and if you ask nicely, they’ll give you one. If you ask very nicely, they’ll give you two. Eat the first as you finish your English 120 essay and wait for your wash cycle to end. Eat the second as you call your mother and miss home and wait for your dry cycle to end. I never went to church my first year, but I did eat two ice creams in the laundry room of Bingham basement every Sunday night. I always started Monday feeling clean.
SID CARLSON WHITE, JE ’21
For all those who are entering these halls with a mind towards activism and changing the world, here’s my advice: start small. The media will tell us from every corner that college campuses—especially Yale—are far-left hives of scum and villainy corrupting the minds of American children everywhere. Perhaps this is true for the Right. But really, beneath its activist aesthetic, Yale is a center of near-center neoliberalism that resists being challenged at every turn. Even as students protest unjust financial aid policies or underhanded investment practices, there are students in all corners (who you may have previously thought were in agreement with you) who will undermine and denigrate those who seek change both on this campus and within the city we call home for these four years. Maybe you come from a conservative background, and if so, you may find the politics of Yale to be liberating, and if so, I have not the slightest shred of blame for you. But I warn: do not be the slightest bit surprised when the change you seek finds calls for moderation, or even resistance, in the unlikeliest of places. You may find that even though the people of Yale may show an outward progressivism and desire for change, the elite-ness which this university confers upon us may rear its ugly head at the strangest of times. To say that Yale is conservative would be a mischaracterization, though not far from the truth. Rather, it is easier than you think to find students set in their complacency about the world—with regards to race, class, gender, or anything else—and that pushing them further on their beliefs may be harder than you think. Don’t lose track of your convictions, and if you don’t have any, you’d better find them quick. Whether it’s through the local unions, Students Unite Now, New Haven Rising and Black Lives Matter, or even the leftist parties in the Yale Political Union, there is always work to do. The world is changing faster than we can imagine, and we’re all in it for the long run.
Complacency and Conviction
D ir ty
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Okay, so your roommate finessed her way out of your randomly assigned basement double because she “wasn’t getting enough sunlight.” Now you’ve got two beds. You’ve got two desks. You’ve got two dressers and two closets. You’ve got all that a person could hope and dream for. But most importantly, you’ve got a room to yourself. It’s your first year, you don’t know what to do with all this drip, all this power. How are you ever going to find your way through this terrifying and confusing time?! Well I’ve been there. I’ve lived it. And I’m here to tell you how to maximize the sauce of the stand-alone dingle. 1. DO push the beds together: This might seem like an obvious step, but it’s crucial to Saturday wine nights where you pile as many friends as possible onto your now-king size bed and pump up the jams.
MTV, Pimp My Dingle
2. DON’T use all of your storage space for clothes: Please, just get rid of half of it. You don’t need that dress from your high school production of The Addams Family. You won’t wear it for Halloween.
BLEU WELLS, ES ’21 YH STAFF
3. DO put up as many lights as possible: The more lights you have, the more you can adjust that mood lighting. You don’t have overhead lighting or sunlight in the basement of Lawrance Hall, so feel free to go buckwild. 4. DON’T make your room a fire hazard: Go buckwild, responsibly. Put the candles away. 5. LASTLY, get really good at making Facebook events. The best thing about having a stand-alone dingle is that you have the freedom to do whatever you want with the space. The room is your oyster, and you are its pearl. Organize a listening party for that new vinyl you’re really excited about. Throw a birthday party for your best friend. Do facials that make you look like Jim Carrey in The Mask. Do what you want. At least, that’s what I did.
Quit Your Extracurriculars KATHERINE HU, ES ’21
12 THE YALE HERALD
Spend more time just taking classes, doing readings, and immersing yourself in learning. College is the only point in your life where you have the luxury of simply sitting and thinking about the larger questions of this world, surrounded by world-class professors who are both ridiculously intelligent and actually care about you, a literal undergraduate. Most of us applied to Yale so that we could finally challenge ourselves in the classroom—why is it, then, that we waste away at extracurriculars that demand an arm, a leg, and the promise of our first child from us instead? You have the rest of your life to do work, but only this sliver of time to learn. So—quit your extracurriculars, apply for that class you don’t think you’re qualified for, and don’t waste your time on majors that are “stable” or “prestigious” (you go to a liberal arts school, everyone knows you’re not graduating with any hard skills). College can be the best four years of your life—but only if you actively choose to let it be different from your achievement-based high school experience.
Overstimulated
Overstimulation
KARA O’ROURKE, BR ’22
ABEYAZ AMIR, SM ’22
How to Maintain Your Integrity
I thought I had my first month of school under control: I was making friends, texting my parents most nights, and eating cucumbers with every meal. I kept on top of homework, attended as many dance, a capella, and music performances as I could, joined a healthy four clubs pertaining to my interests, and slept (sometimes). I knew that overextending myself was a natural part of my first semester and that I would prioritize and pare down my interests as I settled in. So wrapped up in the excitement of it all, I didn’t realize how stressed out I was from overstimulation until everything burst.
Don’t let college ruin you. Yale is full of beautiful, kind, and inspiring people. But there are plenty of willfully ignorant people, too. Ask yourself these questions as you make your way through your first year: 1. What is the Yale Corporation? Why does it exist? What powers does it have? What are our rights as students? 2. How does Yale invest and spend its $29.4 billion endowment? Who does it exclude by hoarding money? Who does it actively harm with its investments? 3. Yale was built upon slavery. How can we make it more equitable? How can we reclaim this space for the people this university and country have displaced? 4. Why does Greek life exist? Is it fair? Who gets into fraternity parties, who doesn’t? Who can rush? Who can’t? Why are you at a Greek party? Why do you want to go Greek? What are you seeking to get out of this experience? Is the lived experience different from the projection? 5. What does academia prioritize and neglect? 6. Who has spoken and who hasn’t? Who can’t? 7. How does access differ within the same school?
One early Sunday morning, a month into school, I attended a training session to become a coach for a community service club. After being trained, fed, and danced around by enthusiastic older white mothers, we drove back that afternoon, the hour trip each way passed with pleasant chatter. I unpacked, organized my room, cleaned the suite bathroom, and made use of my Durfee’s swipe. I had decompressed, but my heart was pounding. I texted a friend from home with shaky hands: “I’m feeling kind of stressed out right now and I don’t know why. Physically, it feels like I’m overwhelmed but rationally I know that I’m not.” I curled up on my bed and cried until I was able to calm down. It was frustrating to feel so incapacitated when I didn’t know why.
8. Despite your personal obstacles, how are you privileged? Are you taking your privilege into account when you meet new people, and when you talk to ones you already know? By attending Yale, how can you identify with your newfound privilege without perpetuating a system of elitism?
The next Saturday, it happened again. And again the day after that. Anxiety attacks, I learned to call them, even though I had no previous history of anxiety. My closest Yale friend was with me for the second one, and I learned I could call upon him for later episodes (which, eventually, became rare) to cry into his shoulder in a secluded spot while he talked about his DS readings to distract me. I mean to tell this story as a warning; though anxiety and stress are not entirely avoidable, I encourage first-years to make sure to carve out time for themselves. Pay attention to your bodies’ needs. Be it new or old friends, self-care habits or rituals, or even just a de-stress playlist on standby, make sure you have support to fall back on should you need it.
11. Are your goals your own, or are they for the approval of others?
9. There is no measure by which to determine who does and does not deserve to be here. However, you can argue that some earned it more than others. Where do you fall? How does your position benefit you and displace others? Alternatively, who do you represent? 10. What responsibilities to your communities do you bear? How does this play out in academic and social settings?
12. Are you responsible for “doing good” or “giving back” after you earn a Yale degree? If you don’t plan to, why not? 13. There are endless ways to spend your time in college, but your time and energy are limited. What matters most to you? Who are you now, and where do you want to grow? Maintain your integrity by respecting others and being kind to yourself. I spent a lot of time loathing myself and Yale, but if I had known what questions to ask myself earlier, I could have been where I am now: thinking, planning, and working on solutions.
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1. Friday volunteering and dinner at the Yale Farm: Every Friday from 2 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. the Yale Farm opens its doors at 345 Edwards St. for an easy and fun afternoon of volunteering. Participants are rewarded at 5 p.m. with wood-fired pizza topped with the fresh ingredients harvested just moments before. 2. Saturday Farmers’ Market in Wooster Square: If your desire for delicious fresh food has not been abated by the Yale Farm pizza, you can head over to Russo Park between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m. for the Wooster Square edition of the City Seed Farmers’ Market. The market is only a 10 minute walk from Old Campus, and has so much to offer: apple cider donuts, a variety of cheeses, and the occasional steampunk wedding procession (on my most recent visit I had the pleasure of experiencing all three).
I can promise with full confidence that neither activity will disappoint, and although the fast friends and flings of our first years often fade quickly, these good times and food will never get old.
HARRISON SMITH, ES ’20 YH STAFF
Camp Yale has a lot of exciting things to offer the firstyear: new friends, fun events, hyper-enthusiastic FroCos and, (even more exciting) the possibility of running into said FroCos at Camp Yale parties. But the constant barrage of new people, obligations, and opportunities can be quite overwhelming. Most cope by holding up in a tiny dorm room with Netflix, but I’ve always felt most rejuvenated by taking some time away from the hubbub of Old Campus. And when looking to escape the chaos of Camp Yale, what could be better than a quick trip to a farm for the freshest food in town? Here are two wholesome respites for the more agriculturally or culinarily inclined first-year:
Campus
Farm from
5. Durfee’s. Treat your date to nine-whole-dollarsworth of boiled eggs, overpriced gum, and Yale University Natural Spring Water™. Pro tip: Top off the date by inviting them over to share the mini Toblerones you’ve been hoarding in your desk drawer. 4. Morse/Stiles dining hall. Conveniently neighboring Payne-Whitney, there is no excuse not to follow up with a post-dinner fencing spar. Pro tip: Cover your date’s Yankee Bean Soup with one of your guest swipes so they know you’re serious. 3. Payne-Whitney Gym. Why not just skip dinner and cut to the chase? En garde! 2. The Good Life Center sandbox. Ah, just like a beach with air conditioning! Pure romance. 1. Starr Reading Room. So, I hear you’re an English major. It would be such a turn-on if you could proofread my paper “Lady Macbeth: Feminist, Femme Fatale, or Both?” on how performance liberties influence audience interpretation of gender in Shakespeare’s Macbeth! ;)
14 THE YALE HERALD
Top 5 On-Campus Date Spots
KAT CORFMAN, SM ’21 YH STAFF
d e t i u s q e n r o i n t U ula c l Ca PA
’21 C M IS, TA F F V A D YH S IGE
I took Math 115 for a boy. Specifically, I took Math 115 at 9 a.m. three times a week for one of my best friends: the boy-next-door, the person I was completely and madly in love with—someone who was absolutely not in love with me. And, like a chump, each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’d wake him up, we’d go to breakfast, and through the most boring 50 minutes of my day, I was (mostly) happy. After all, at the very least, he was there. But, half-way through the semester, he dropped the class. And so, like a chump, each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’d wake up, skip breakfast, and through the most boring 50 minutes of my day, I’d think about how I’d stupidly taken this class for a boy, a boy who I was still spending most of my time with, who was starting a relationship with someone else, and who was (unknowingly) really hurting me. I ended up getting a D on the final—a little nudge from the universe that you really shouldn’t take a class for unrequited love.
1. That One Kid from the Group Chat: It doesn’t matter which group chat. It doesn’t matter who you are. He’ll find you, lurking in the LGBTQ2023, the Potential CS Majors, the Spanish Speakers at Yale Facebook group. He’s everywhere. He’ll friend you; you’ll accept because you’re dazed and confused. You’ll never speak. But he’ll always be there. 2. Your FOOT Friend’s Friends: You and Evan were never that close on your FOOT trip, but you like him more than you like anyone in your FroCo group, so suddenly you’re spending all your time with him and his suitemates in their Lawrance six-pack. Some will stick, some won’t, but either way, you’ll know where Rebekka from LB21 goes over her summer breaks for the rest of Yale. 3. The Section Asshole: It’s day three. None of your suitemates are hungry and you want to try out TD’s dining hall but you can’t eat dinner alone. Sitting with a stranger feels like a great idea until he tries to engage you in a “friendly debate” about Palestine, and he says that Brett Kavanaugh just gets a “bad rap” politically. You’ll leave with a Facebook request and a funny feeling you’ll only identify after your first discussion section. 4. The Regrettable Hookup: Congrats! You and Brad really hit it off ! He friended you on Facebook instead of exchanging numbers “because it was easier” and now his high school graduation profile photo pops up every time he slides into your DMs. Don’t worry—in two weeks he’ll move on, and you’ll be fast-scrolling past his posts whenever he goes online.
Five (Facebook) Friends You’ll Make During Camp Yale CAMDEN SMITHTRO, ES ’22 YH STAFF
5. Your Future Lover: It feels like all of Camp Yale is you going out, stumbling back late, and waking up to five new Facebook friends that were apparently also feeling the rush of new friendship on the SigEp rooftop. Flash forward three years: you’re sitting in a senior seminar and crushing hard on the girl two seats down. Maybe a friend request will quietly show you’re interested? You look her up on Facebook and, wow, she was also at that SigEp party so long ago. You’ve been “friends” for the past three years. Guess you’ll actually have to talk to her now! 15
Independence… on hold
RACHEL CALCOTT, BR ’22 YH STAFF
Well you’ve done it. You’ve sauntered out of your high school’s gate, capped, gowned and (hopefully) for the last time. You’ve endured (or basked in) the recurring “Yale? Like, Gilmore Girls Yale?” since the dulcet tones of the bulldog “Congratulations” jingle erupted on your computer screen. You’ve stuffed your new life’s requirements into the family van and successfully resisted the urge to pack any boy-band posters. Or if you’re me, you’ve packed your belongings into the airline’s allowance of two suitcases and included a reprehensible number of cheesy family photos.
However, this just might be part of the allure of the bright college years. Don’t underestimate the wonder of stumbling into the dining hall ten minutes before your first class starts to find coffee ready-made, eggs ready-scrambled and your Vandy roommate using her copy of the Herald as a placemat. Yale life may seem to encroach on some freedoms, but in exchange it provides an unprecedented amount of free time, which you’ll quickly fill up with oppressive extracurriculars, awkward coffee dates, and a capella shows that are harder to get into than Yale itself. So perhaps real independence is on hold for a while. Take full advantage of it! You might as well breathe deeply, lean in, and relish the FroCo pizza and pancake nights while you can.
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THE YALE HERALD
While in line at an airport last year, a woman asked me where I was heading, and I told her I was going to start my first year of college. She asked me what I was planning to study, and I said that I was going to double-major in Physics and English. She said to me, “Take my advice—I work in business, so I know marketable skills: drop the English, keep the Physics.” She was very kind and we talked a bit more, and I took her advice to heart. I dropped the English from my self-description and told people that I was a Physics major. A quick tip: declare your major in SIS as soon as you can. There is literally no reason not to, and there are so many benefits. You get into classes more easily, you get on a pan-list for a major, but, most of all, you get to see how that major feels. For me, Physics felt like shit. And it took me one click (and a semester and a half ) to drop it. I’ve tried a couple majors since then. For a week, I decided to be a Film & Media Studies major because that’s what a guy in the Office of Career Strategy told me to do. A few people have tried to convince me to switch to Computer Science, which is apparently the more marketable Math major. And I’ve thought about switching to Environmental Studies because, you know, global warming. Now I’m an English and Math major which is strangely not too far off from where I started. It’ll probably change at least once more before the end of this year. But it’s okay not to know what you’re majoring in. That’s sort of what college is about. And you shouldn’t let anybody tell you what to major in, whether it’s friends or professors or a random woman at the airport. You’ll figure it out. It may take some time, but you will certainly figure it out.
Major Disappointment
Pulling up outside Old Campus, you may be thinking (as I did) that Phelps Gate is (finally) ushering you into the independence that you’ve craved for the last three months at home. This is both true and a covert falsehood spawned by smiling University PR administrators country-wide. Life at Yale, far from being the Great Leap into adulthood, can at times feel more like a 28-billion-dollar extension of a wannabe English boarding school. Perhaps this has something to do with sharing three-by-four meters in Vanderbilt Hall with a stranger, having live-in authority figures down the hall (though FroCos can be considerably more fun than that sounds), or the fact that meals appear and dishes disappear as if by magic. True independence may begin to seem even further away than the legal drinking age.
ELLIOT LEWIS, BR ’22 YH STAFF
He seemed okay at first. He said he was from Idaho and that he’d been looking forward to rooming with someone else as he’d never shared a room before and his parents often left him alone. Boredom came and went without much ado. He had spent most of his time studying; he told you that he’d also developed a series of games he played by himself to pass the long hours after dinner when his parents were upstairs and he wriggled in his own close quarters. He spoke quickly and put harsh emphasis on the word “series,” making it almost sound like source or slush. You wondered what he meant but were too shy to ask. The repartee of excitement and nervously-forced confession ended with the feeling of closeness grown too far in advance—as if the expectation of what was to come had elicited its premature unfolding. In high school, you were anxious. You wondered if you were attractive, staring with strained pupils in the mirror to figure out which face angles suited you most. You had some good friends, but not too many. Went to school early and stayed late, worked hard and got into Yale! Congratulations! And now you were excited to drink late with people you barely knew, and have no curfew, and get into things you’d have been too scared and too uncomfortable to do at home. It was after you had brushed your teeth and gotten into bed on the first night that you heard what sounded like Marlon Brando. His voice was clear, and you could almost swear that he was in the bathroom, speaking to himself in a low tone. It was, in fact, Marlon Brando, you were sure. So sure that you became nearly paralyzed, unable to even reach for the lamp. It seemed as if you were in a spell and by moving you would break it. The voice repeated the words, “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie,” though without tonal inflection or any allusion to the melody of the song. You became scared but serene, a paradox you couldn’t quite understand then but have since come to appreciate. I assure you, you have come to appreciate it.
Your Roommate MATT REINER, JE ’20 YH STAFF
The Love Crater ERIC KREBS, JE ’21 We first hear “I love you” long before we can even begin to understand it YHwhat STAFF means. Life goes on, repetitions amass. Little changes.
The first time—shortly after birth when words and light still hurt—is new. The syllables make impact with our smooth brains and leave their mark. From there on out, we sort the words into that three-syllable crater. They mean help getting dressed, bedtime stories, cereal in the morning, and maybe even cereal at night. But we grow, and so do our brains. So the crater stretches and, sooner or later, the words—as we’ve known them—just don’t fit anymore. Grandma just doesn’t cut it. You start growing hair in weird places, and you don’t cut it, either. You want love that’s hot, not warm. Maybe the syllables don’t come. So you take the time you didn’t hold hands but damn did they come close, the statistically-longer-than-average eye contact you made in the lunchroom and you shove them into that crater and make them fit. But we grow, and the crater warps. You put a pause on only looking down. My eyes are up here! But beyond the eyes, the A’s, the acceptances. You want to look forward, too. You work, you save the world, you pick up 10 languages. You learn that, translated, summa cum laude means “I love you, too.” The crater deepens, it changes shape, it starts to resemble a Y, infinitely deep and ceaselessly promising. And it loved you back—enough to get you here, right?
tf
You’ve unpacked your bags, your parents have said goodbye, and now you’re figuring out how to be alone. The dining halls are big and loud. Everyone’s face looks bright but yours. Yours is haggard and grizzly, ugly even. Science Hill, you learn, is where all of your poorly-picked classes are located. You go to get a bike at Bradley’s, but they have none left. And to top everything off, you can’t sleep.
By now, your brain is all wrinkled, full of folds and craters. All those little receptors just waiting to fire off. That love crater’s a big one. Important, too. There’s a problem, though: not too many feelings come in the shape of a Y. My first semester, I saw one of my suitemates try to kill themselves. I did badly in a class. I got dumped. The 18 years of emotion I stored away broke through the gates and flooded my psyche. None of those feelings fit into the shape of a Y. Yours won’t either. Without a pre-packaged crater to neatly land in, they’ll hit the surface and tear back that outer layer, that shell. Let it happen. You’ll see that, after all, that love crater never really changed shape, that there isn’t only one. There’s one that still feels like cereal at night with mom. There’s one that still feels like being felt. There’s one that still feels like a great report card. We are little more than our folds, the wrinkles in our brains, the craters we carry and the ones we leave on the world around us. There’s more than we can ever know. We first hear “I love you” long before we can even begin to understand what it means. Life goes on, repetitions amass. Little changes.
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H
a c l i t P e r h e-C t o p ol y le
18 THE YALE HERALD
s
When I arrive on campus, I’m terrified of my inner introvert taking over. I’m worried that I’m going to be the type of person who glances around the dining hall, finds no friends to sit with, and then takes my food to-go to the library instead, pretending to have studying to do so that I don’t have to be that first-year who always sits alone. I’m scared to call my friends across the U.S., and pretend that I’m going out on a Friday night when I’m actually just planning to watch Netflix alone, mourning my social life over a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. I’m scared of feeling alone in a classroom full of faces. Above all else, I’m afraid that my fear of being alone is what will actually isolate me.
r tte Ji
A couple weeks ago, my family took a weekend trip to Lake George, N.Y.. Once I arrived, though, I realized it was a families vacation, not just a family vacation. Without telling my sister, me, or even my dad, my mom had signed up for a group Chinese family getaway, which included a cohort of strangers paddling identical kayaks and a bunch of unfamiliar teenage boys. I knew that to make the weekend bearable, I should try to befriend them. However, the five guys my age already seemed to be best friends, and each time I tried to inch my way into their squad just to say, “Hi, I’m Monique. What’re your names?” my voice went silent. I’d sit in a corner and try to catch one of their eyes during meals, but I never could. So I sat alone the whole weekend, hating my shyness for obstructing my ability to introduce myself. Dozing off during the car ride home afterwards, I was jolted awake by a frightening thought: What if this is what the first week of college will be like?
ge
MONIQUE NIKOLOV, BF ’23
Ah, Lowe’s. The hardware store with the toad-shaped garden statues, where dads gather to gaze at power tools and compare barbecue grill prices. But my primary attraction here isn’t grass cutting appliances or electric drills—I’ve come for the paint samples. You know the ones. A glorious Valspar mosaic of colored cardstock covers the aisles, meant to help couples choose hues for their kitchen walls and argue over the merits of light beige versus pale khaki. But for me, the best parts of these rectangles of beauty are their names. I read them like poetry: “Gossamer Sky,” “Antique Coral,” “Soft Duckling.” Some are reminiscent of unfortunate soap opera monikers (“Champagne Tickle”) and others give no context whatsoever (“Standing Still,” which is brown, if you were wondering). But one that catches my eye is a soft, tawny caramel called “New Haven Clay.” Having not scrutinized the dirt while at Bulldog Days, I’m not sure what’s so special about the clay in New Haven that it deserves its own color chip. Maybe the city has a lucrative underground market for clay exports. Maybe the person who named the color was moved by the lovely shade of Connecticut soil. Maybe they were a Yalie. Whatever the reason, I add a sample to my increasingly thick stack of cardstock hues. My friends browsing with me (and probably some concerned Lowe’s employees) raise their eyebrows, lost as to why I need so many useless colored papers. I feel like a magpie cawing proudly at my collection of shiny coins. But my fondness for aptly-named pigments is a trait that contributes to who I am—just as clay, apparently, makes New Haven special. Why? I’ll let you know if I find out. If you see me digging around campus like a mole on a rampage, at least you’ll know why.
Canadian Slang, eh? DAVID SAUNDERS, GH ’23
New Haven Clay BAYLINA PU, GH ’23
I’m a bit worried about ripping down to the States, particularly because of the severe lack of Timmies and poutine. If that sentence was confusing, I get it. Canadian slang tends to confuse people; to be perfectly honest, sometimes it confuses us too. Many Yalies may have never even heard our strange lingo before. So on behalf of all my fellow Canadians descending upon New Haven this year, here’s a crash course in some of the odd Canadian phrases you may hear from us: • • • •
“The Six” - This means Toronto, but you’ve probably heard that one from Drake. “Click” - Meaning 1 kilometer (I’ll likely convert to this if given a distance in miles). “Toque” - A warm hat, normally wool. All you FOOT attendees will probably have one. “Rip” - Remember this one from my confusing first sentence? “Going for a rip” typically means going out for a drive.
I can’t deny that I’m nervous to leave the place that I call home. That’s why I’m bringing the smallest, strangest pieces of home with me. I assume I speak for all first years when I say this experience will be the broadest exposure to different cultures that I’ve ever had. Many of you are coming to Yale from places much farther than I and I’m sure you’ll bring pieces of your culture too. Perhaps you’ll pick up on Canadian slang. I certainly hope to pick up on yours.
19
Now What?
SIMI OLURIN, PC ’23
I am terrified. I’ll admit it. I lie awake at night, eyes wide open, because I am scared to the very core of my being. Like most people in my situation, whether they belong to the Class of 2023, or those who came before and the scores that shall follow, I am terrified to start college. Not because I’m afraid to leave my friends and family, nor because I’m afraid of the heavy workload, but because of the question that has been hanging over my head since I was little, the question I’ve known I would be confronted with the second I stepped onto the campus of my dream school: Now what? As a person whose life has been more or less dictated by her education, my goal has always been to attend one of the best universities that the world has to offer. The Ivy League has served as the finish line of the study-intensive marathon I have been running—or at times, stumbling and sleeplessly crawling towards. Now that I’ve made it—now that I stand on the podium, basking in the cheers and applause of the people who helped me get here—I don’t know what to do. No one ever really talks about what comes after achieving your dream. It’s always just about the journey. The emotional crescendo that you pray ends on the highest octave. I put in the work, the hours, and undoubtedly the test scores. But I can’t help but kick myself for never having contemplated the aftermath. On some level, I know that it’s perfectly fine to not have a comprehensive life plan just yet, but that’s not who I am or how I live my life; I’ve been focused on college since kindergarten. I want the comfort of knowing exactly what I should be working towards next. Mostly, I want to know when Yale will help me find it.
“What are you doing?”my mom inquired incredulously, watching me peel my chocolate croissant apart one layer at a time. Until that moment, I’d never really thought much about my quirks. Everyone has them, and as I came to find out, so do I. I hardly ever wear two pairs of matching socks, I’ve been donning bucket hats unironically since birth, and I wouldn’t be fully dressed without questionably-grungy Converse. I’m slow—partly due to perfectionism––but mostly due to an intentional rebellion against people who try to rush me. I’m always the last person to get in or out of the car, and, in my clumsiness, I’m often maimed by a part that has surely never injured anyone but me—seriously, I once almost broke my tailbone landing on the seat belt latch and had to cushion my derrière with an airplane neck pillow for weeks. My summer camp friends call me S-P-F Syd because I wear so much sunscreen that they’d “never seen someone put on so much of the stuff,” a recurring observation in my camper reports. I take after my grandpa in my ability to drink black coffee right before bed. He “doesn’t see why coffee should interfere with sleep.” As fate and genetics would have it, neither do I. Quirks, like diseases, are contagious. You often don’t know who gave them to you, and you likely won’t have a clue they’ve developed until you’ve already infected those around you. I’d be lying if I said the little things were insignificant; after all, it’s the little things that make you who you are. I readily packed my bucket hat, neck pillow, and sunscreen in my suitcase. Whatever your quirks may be, I hope you made space for them in yours.
Communicable Quirks 20 THE YALE HERALD
SYDNEY ZOEHRER, SM ’23
LILY LAWLER, BK ’23
Every bookworm, whether they be a die-hard classics fan, a sci-fi fanatic, or a dollar store romance novel addict, lives in fear of the exact same thing: moving day. There are only two solutions. Either unshelve and pack up the heaps of hard covers, soft covers, and special editions into boxes and somehow lug them with you to your next residence—the weight of knowledge is heavy and comes at the price of back problems—or pick a few to take with you and abandon the rest of your precious book babies. The latter is, by far, the worse of the two. But the shipping cost of shipping for two-tons-worth of books across over the 1,700 miles from Texas to Connecticut is more than tuition itself, so I had no choice but to leave behind my bookshelves for my first-year move up to Yale. So, sadly, I present the six books I’m bringing with me as I turn over this new page in life (pun intended). 1. Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones: Unpopular opinion, but Studio Ghibli did my girl Diana dirty because this book is absolutely fantastic. With its beautiful world design and hilariously realistic characters, it’s one of my favorite fantasy novels. 2. 1,000 Places to See Before You Die: After spending a good portion of my summers traveling, ranging anywhere from Perú to South Korea to the mysterious lands of Florida, flipping through this is a good way to satisfy the wanderlust that strikes every once in a while. 3. How to be Interesting by Jessica Hagy: I originally got this book as a joke, but it turned out to be pretty life-changing, encouraging me to start cultivating interests and putting myself out there, not to mention it’s a kick to read in public. 4. The Collected Works of Emily Dickinson: After reading the majority of this I am convinced that Emily was a millennial trapped in the 1800s. 5. Cien Años de Soledad by Gabriel García Márquez: My Dual Credit high school Spanish teacher gave me his personal copy after hearing that I had wanted to read the original Spanish translation. 6. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen: My favorite movie and my favorite novel—I mean, come on, who wouldn’t be in love with Elizabeth Bennett? Not included in my six, but still included in this count is, of course, my beloved Kindle. Technically not a book, but actually hundreds of books in one device. With a 50-lb weight limit on suitcases, Kindles are the bookworm’s life hack.
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OUR KIND SPONSORS 20 THE YALE HERALD
Patron T. Spielberg Gold Contributor Abra Metz Dworkin Molly Ball Christopher Burke Silver Contributor Dan Feder Brian Bowen David Applegate Fabian Rosado Donors C. Morales Ervolino Sam Lee Joshua Benton George E. Harris Laura Yao Ted Lee Michael Gerber Brendan Cottington Marisol Ryu Natasha Sarin Emily Barasch Marci McCoy Julia Dahl Maureen Miller
THE BLACK THINGS LIST WE HATE Wearing lanyards. First-years have pockets, too.
Being genuine. Drop it like your high school friends.
Jack Kyono’s laugh. Stop mocking me.
Size 14. Too big for a font. Too little for a foot
Coming early. FOOT’s overrated anyway.
First-years who are already EP&E. Spell ICUP. And? But!
Camp Yale darties. Make a newspaper instead.
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