My First Reading Week

Classes ended last Tuesday, but I have yet to take an exam or turn in a paper. I've been living in this strange space where very little is specifically required of me, but I know that I will face severe consequences if I don't get stuff done. So I've been combing intense study sessions with Gilmore Girls marathons and hour-long Sharples' dinners.

I owe part of my freedom to a two day "reading week" that lasted from Wednesday to Thursday. But after that ended, I still didn't have any exams. My first exam is tomorrow night at seven. I'm not sure how I feel about an exam at night, but I'll find out soon.

The other part of my nearly complete lack of stress is the knowledge that this is my last week of pass/fail. Next semester I get real grades. Next semester it matters. So for now, I'll focus on those things that are important to me: making lasting friendships, writing my first year seminar paper, and relaxing. The rest of it can take up residence on the back burner.  

My First Snow Day

So you'd think, what with us all living on campus, that college students would be deprived that wonderful thing called a snow day. But yesterday I had one.

Although not all classes were cancelled, my philosophy professor was unable to make it to campus because of the two inches of snow that must have filled her driveway. But by the time we found out, it was already time for class and all of us had already gotten out of bed, pulled on our boots, and walked to class. 

So instead of climbing back into bed (which at that point was a bit far away for me at least) we climbed up the stairs of the philosophy building and onto the roof. Up there, surveying the white campus and the bundled up passers-by, we had a snowball fight. There were some girls from Georgia who had never seen so much snow before, so they eagerly ate snow and made snow angels.

But even us northerners were excited.

After our fight, we went down to the Kohlberg coffee bar and got warm drinks. We chatted about the classes we're picking out for next semester and warmed up. 

My second class was not cancelled. I spent the whole thing staring out the window at some kids building a huge snowman. 

Mmmmh. Snow.

My First Snow

It snowed today!!!

I've seen snow before, but not here.

I dropped my work and ran outside to run around and childishly attempt to catch the tiny flakes on my tongue.

My First Game of Assassins

I've been so paranoid and stressed all day. No, it's not the amount of work I have and it's also not the squirrels that have a tendency of getting way too close as you pass by them. 

I've been looking over my shoulder as I walk because we're playing a dorm wide game of assassins. Basically it works like this: Each player is assigned a target. To assassinate that target, you have to grab both of their butt cheeks. If you fail to assassinate your target within three days, the death squad (a group of RAs) comes to get you. There are safe spaces: bathrooms, the dining hall, your dorm room. But what's the fun of staying in all day? 

I got my first target out today. Grabbing his butt wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. Someone upstairs said that she met her boyfriend through a game of assassins...

Anyway. If I get "killed" I can try again during the school-wide game in the spring. Or, if this proves to be too nerve wracking, I can always opt out.

Wish me luck! 

My First Blackout

I am so behind on work and my blog entries. But somehow, knowing that I've got only a few more weeks of pass fail, I've decided that updating here is more important. 

Last Saturday, in the midst of all the usual parties, the lights went out! When the music goes off and you can't see the faces of the people you're talking to, you start to notice how awkward parties really are. But that didn't stop us.

Instead of the usual Saturday night scene (one that I'm already getting a bit bored of because I suck at dancing and prefer small groups), I encountered a new one illuminated by flashlights and emergency generator lights. 

With no music, Swatties made their own. In Paces, a Saturday night dance spot attached to the bell tower, there was an intimate acoustic session, complete with girly songs and hostess brownie bites. When that ended, my friends and I moved to the trailer attached to my dorm and sang some of our favorite songs--American Pie, Wonderwall....basically anything we could remember the words to. Embarrassingly, I could only make it through one verse of American Pie. I must learn the words.

The night ended in my friend's room where we all piled on the floor to talk. At around 1:30 the lights came back on. We greeted them with cringes and shrieks and promptly turned them off, preferring to return to the dark world where we could have our own kind of fun.

In other news: 

I've been picking classes for next semester (Probably one of my favorite aspects of life at Swat. There's so much possibility in an empty schedule grid.) I got into poetry workshop! So that's definitely one of my classes. I'm also going to take Spanish, Latin American History, and English...but I can't decide which English course to take.

I also got my first paycheck! I've decided to put the money towards my possible trip to Ecuador this summer through the Village Education Project.

That's all for now. I've gotta finish my reading for Philosophy and (maybe) watch a bad movie before going to bed.

My First Swim Meet

Victory for the Swarthmore women's swim team! (And Obama!)

I was so nervous all day. I wondered if I had slept too little last night (watching the returns come in on the basement lounge couches last night with my hall mates was most certainly worth the loss of several hours of sleep) or if I ate one too many cupcakes at Sharples. Class provided a wonderful distraction. But that last hour, between my Childhood in Latin American Literature seminar and the meet, was the worst.

Luckily, my roommate jumped in and put on a familiar episode of Gilmore Girls. Although watching Lorelai struggle to keep up with all the Yale banter at dinner was a bit painful, it helped me keep my mind off the dreaded meet. 

Meets were always a problem for me in high school. I was on a local club team full of girls two to three years younger than me and about ten times as fast. I received little support from the before, after, and even during my races.

But today was amazingly different. We began and ended the meet with a cheer, and the in between part was filled with joyous and encouraging screams. I think I owe the fact that I went my personal best time by five seconds to the amazing support of my teammates. 

Thank you!

My First Applications

I thought getting in to college was the hard part. Getting good grades, writing a great essay, filling up a resume with thousands of extracurricular activities. Some part of me mistakenly believed that once I got here I'd be home free to pursue whatever I wanted, from classes to extracurriculars. But, as it turns out, there are still more things I have to apply to once I'm here.

In the past week I've filed one application and am waiting on another to be posted. 

The first was for a spring creative writing seminar. I'm really interested in creative writing and would love to take a class on it here, but, as it turns out, you have to apply. It's pretty straightforward, just a writing sample (what else could I expect? performing an interpretive dance wouldn't make much sense....). But the high pressure situation reminds me of last fall all over again. A crush of students filled the English department yesterday afternoon trying to ensure that their newly minted application made it into the right box. And to think that out of all those students, there is only room for 12 poetry kids and 12 fiction kids. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. And there's always next year.

The second application I learned about won't be available until November 15th. It's for The Village Education Project summer program, which is a Swarthmore based organization that sends students to Ecuador for several weeks over the summer to teach. In Ecuador it's very hard for rural kids to go to secondary school because of the transportation and enrollment costs. The program gives the kids a chance to take english and math classes over the summer to improve their skills. Those kids that get a B average in both classes get funded by the program to go to secondary school.

I'm seriously considering going. The application doesn't sound too hard core because they probably need as many volunteers as they can get. It sounds as thought its just to make sure people are serious about committing to learning Spanish and have the funds to support themselves in Ecuador. 

I also want to get involved with the aspects of the organization that are grounded here. They spend the year raising money to fund the kids' secondary education and recruiting volunteers. It sounds as though there are lots of opportunities for me to use writing to get across the message of the program (yay!).

Wish me luck. I'll keep you posted.

My First Job

They (those mysterious upperclassmen) always said that everyone at Swat does everything. I'm sure this doesn't work out (on many levels, but most prominently, mathematically), but I'm starting to see the truth in it.

In addition to swimming and writing for the Phoenix, I've now added a job. I work at the Lang Performing Arts Center, or LPAC for ease of speech. Today I went in for the first time.

I spent the majority of two hours sitting on the floor with a girl who graduated from an arts school in 2007 crimping slings. Before that session, I hadn't even known what crimping slings meant. But now I'm familiar with the intricate, repetitive process. I'm also more familiar with this girl, Emily, who was hired for a technical theater job this week at Swarthmore. 

Yeah, it takes up time that I could be using to do work. But at the same time, I loved being able work with my hands rather than my mind. 

My First Break (continued)

At my high school, they always had a section in the newspaper called "Hot or Not." It's difficult to explain, especially since I never really liked it, but in essence it was an attempt to reflect on changes in the world or in the community. In one column there would be "hot" and, to the left of that, there would be a column labeled "not." An example would be something like Hot: Warm Weather; Not: Measuring the Length of Your Skirt. (Maybe I never liked it because I was really awful at writing them).

Anyway. It feels so surreal being home (at times, it feels like I never left) that I thought I ought to give Hot or Not a try to truly analyze the situation.

Hot: Actually having time to do the New York Times crossword puzzle. 

Not: Not getting the NYT for free everyday. And not being surrounded by a bunch of smart kids to help you with the clues.

Hot: Real food!

Not: Having to prepare it yourself, especially when you end up burning it, or worse, burning yourself.

Hot: Washing clothes for free.

Not: Living out of a suitcase.

Hot: Driving the car with the music turned up really loud.

Not: Wasting gas and contributing to global warming.

Hot: Watching movies on a screen with real speakers.

Not: Cringing at all the mushy scenes because you know your parents are watching too.

To sum up:

Hot: Lots of free time.

Not: Little independence to enjoy it with.

My Frist Break

Initially looking at the Swarthmore calendar, I was a bit confused when I saw that students had a ten day break just six weeks into classes. My dad is a professor at a state university, and their fall break is just one day. Students even have to make up the classes they miss on their day off. So, needless to say, he sees my Fall Break as a luxury, if not a flat out extravagance.

I could fight back, tell him I have a paper to write, a math problem set, and some econ reading (and sleep!) to catch up on. But I would have the same workload in a week even if I had classes, so I shouldn't be complaining. So he's right. I'm free.

What will I do with my week? The first thing that pops into mind is working on my own projects. The deadline for submitting to Small Craft Warnings, one of the literary magazines, is coming up after break, as is the deadline for submitting an application for taking a creative writing seminar. I also want to catch up with my high school friends: visit those who go to local colleges and hold video chat sessions with those whose hectic schedules never mesh with mine.

I also want to look at the leaves, carve a pumpkin, cook a meal with my parents, sleep in a really soft bed.

I'll let you know when all these luxuries wear off, and I start missing school.

My First Spec

These past two days I've been seeing my life from an outsiders perspective. 

I hosted a prospective student (we all call them specs) for a night. She ate dinner with the swim team, watched the VP debate in Shane Lounge with some people who live on my hall, and slept cocooned in a sleeping bag atop an air mattress on my floor.

I tried desperately to instill in her those things which I find to be so wonderful about Swat. But I'm still not quite sure exactly what it is that I like, and I have not yet found a way to articulate the things I do like (if I ever did, I would write it here first). 

But trying to explain to her our way of life here (it's best to take two cups at Sharples, the dining hall, because one just doesn't hold enough liquid) was an interesting exercise. Things that I take for granted, like the free New York Times each weekday morning, have already become such a central part of my life that I don't take the time to think that just a short while ago life wasn't like this (I was reading the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, a local paper that hardly compares to the NYT in scope).

So this is just to say (to steal a line from William Carlos Williams) THANK YOU SPEC!

My First Missed Alarm

I knew it was bound to happen at college, what with no parental safety net if I decided to switch off the alarm and then promptly fall back asleep.  And this morning, I did just that.

At 9:15 I woke up, marveled at how good it felt to have slept. Then I noticed that the quality of light in the room (a little too light) suggested that it was far past 8:30. I hopped out of bed, looked at the clock, shouted a few benign profanities, and then proceeded to throw on my clothes.

I had 15 minutes to get to class. I stomped through my morning routine: getting dressed, going to the bathroom, packing my book back. I decided to dump some activities, such as brushing my teeth, that had always been an important touchstone in my high school routine. It felt odd.

But, being an athlete and knowing that I had two classes to get through before lunch, I knew I couldn't skip breakfast. So I raced to Essie Mae's, a quick food stop that serves as the only alternative to the main dining hall, Sharples, slathered cream cheese on a bagel, and even impulsively grabbed a cookie (mmmm...chocolate).

I actually made it to my seat before the bells tolled 9:30. Moral of the story? Life goes on without your parents and without every routine begin executed perfectly. And, Swarthmore is so tiny that you can get breakfast and still make it to class in fifteen minutes.

My First Bells

 The bells have started chiming every fifteen minutes, partitioning the day and serving as a constant reminder to stay on task lest another moment be lost. They also reminded me that I haven't been writing here in awhile.

One excuse is that I've been so busy. But isn't everyone here? They all run eight things and go to another ten meetings for clubs that they're part of. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough, even though I barely have the time to call home and do my laundry.

To try to keep track of everything, I jot little notes about what I want to write about down in my planner, but when I get back home (yes, the dorm is finally home now) I do work and watch Gilmore Girls and then collapse in bed. 

But life goes on even when I don't have the time to reflect on it. Here's a quick summary of what's been happening:

Last week I wrote an article for the Phoenix about two men that came to give a lecture on environmental and human rights issues concerning the coal mining industry. An hour before the lecture, I sat down to interview the two quirky characters. But to my surprise, their main interest was asking me questions. The 94 year old retired congressman Ken Hechler '35 asked me about my major and career plans. I felt silly that I didn't have some sort of decisive response but at the same time, honored that a congressman concerned with improving the lives of those affected by coal mining took the time to get to know me. Of course, a man as old as that has lost his hearing, so it became a bit of a shouting match, but I relished it nonetheless.

Actually, last week was quite writing intensive. I also had to write my first Swarthmore paper. Quite a daunting task, even though it was only three pages. I fretted, worried, lost all my fingernails, but in the end I got it done. In addition to producing a paper, I also produced a substantial amount of self-knowledge: I hate Philosophy. Coming in to college I always thought I'd want to study it, but now that I'm taking a class on it, I've changed my mind entirely. I thought it would be a bit like English, except with the ideas presented in a more transparent manner. But I find myself missing meeting characters on the page. In those instances, writing a paper is a bit like visiting old friends.

That was way too much text at once. More later. Off to read Descartes!

My First Lullaby

My downstairs neighbor (whom I have yet to meet) has a singing habit. No matter what time of day, no matter how much homework I'm trying to do, his deep tenor voice always floats up through my open window. And despite the beauty of his voice, it gets annoying.

But not tonight. Tonight his song has made me more homesick than I've ever been at Swat. 

As a little girl, whenever I couldn't sleep, my mother and father would come into my room and sing Jame's Taylor's "You've Got a Friend." And when this song comes into my room, I begin to miss my parents, my house, and my bed. It's not that I'm not happy here; it's more that I left my family behind, and they can't go through all these new experiences with me. 

So I run downstairs, knock on his door, and thank him.

My First Lecture

It always seemed exciting to me that learning could take place outside the classroom in college: lectures, clubs, or even just in a conversation with a friend. (Yeah, don't make fun of me for being a geek.) So when I got my first opportunity to go to a lecture, I stuffed my notebook in my pocket and hiked up to Kohlberg to hear "Nuestra America: Latino History as United States History."

 It was one of those formal events where there's someone who introduces the person who introduces the speaker, like six degrees of separation or something. But once Vicki Ruiz started her lecture, I got really into it. I had to struggle to remember enough of my American History class to keep up, but when I did the make connections, it was pretty cool. 

Ruiz used just the right combination of oral history and statistics. Personal testimonials from court cases concerning the custody of a mulatto child and letters about racism in a small town gave me beautiful details to hang on to. But the statistics about the number of Latino soldiers fighting in World War Two gave me a better sense of the big picture.

During the question and answer session she connected all of her scholarly work to the real world. Yay! 

But the end was the best part. After her lecture she stayed to talk to the students in small groups. I would have thought someone who had published so many books would be aloof and run off to catch a flight back to Irvine right after her lecture. She shattered all of my ideas about lectures by shaking hands and chatting with all the gathered students.

I, of course, was too shy to approach her. But maybe next time.

My First Weekend Away

I'm not at Swarthmore! Eek!

For the first time in three weeks I stepped off the campus and out of the so called Swarthmore "bubble." It was surprisingly easy. I took a train right from campus to Philly, from Philly to New York, and from New York to Poughkeepsie (the home of Vassar College). I felt all independent, foraging for my own meals, exploring unknown locations, and navigating complex systems of underground tunnels.

But I got a little lonely too. One nice man next to me on the train asked me about my Linear Algebra homework and reminisced about how much he hated it as a college student. That didn't quite cut it.

While reading The House on Mango Street, I wanted to read my roommate a selection about Juan (the dream guy we made up late one night), but for the first time, she wasn't there. And yeah, I love seeing my high school friends here at Vassar, but its not the same. Who will play catch with me for three hours while discussing philosophy and Sarah Palin? Why aren't the cafeteria trays here decorated with biology diagrams and impromptu poems? Where are all the beautiful plants?

Even though I have to face another hectic week, I'll be happy to go home.

My First Awesome Connection

It hit me right in the middle of Intro to Philosophy: Socratic questioning is just like the Gaussian Method for row reduction. I probably sound like a lunatic. But in truth, I'm just a Swattie. Something about the way Socrates tried to make all the men in Athens see in the contradictions in their arguments made me think of what Dr. Hunter had taught us in Linear Algebra about solving systems of equations. 

This idea was so important to me that I scribbled it down in my planner. But when I looked at it again, it seemed kind of silly, and I couldn't quite grasp the connection or the excitement any more. But then I realized I had my first awesome connection (so I got excited again). I wanted to come here (to Swarthmore) so that I could take a math class just because I wanted to and not have my advisor think that was a waste of time. And now that otherwise unnecessary math class had suddenly given me a new insight and a new way to understand philosophy. Yay!