In an ideal world, I’d be able to call myself a rebel, disregarding social structures and disrupting standard functioning. Although it’s extremely cliche, the bad boy factor seduces me, being so far from the precautious worrywart I truly am, and I’ve never been fond of rigid discipline. I’ve convinced myself that my inner rebellious attitude is why I have made pitifully slow progress with the cello the past three years, an instrument that screams discipline, because it surely can’t be due to my lack of regular practicing. If you’ve never played a string instrument, count yourself lucky. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing the cello, but the fact that placing my finger a literal centimeter off results in a different, and often squealing, note has always been discouraging, especially when it seems like that's the majority of the sounds I produce. Meanwhile my other hand manipulates a bow, which also requires its own techniques, so you can understand why I sometimes question if I’m a masochist, willfully subjecting myself to this wondrous yet torturous device.
I was asked to purchase six books for a single class my first semester at Connecticut College. Being overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of assignments in my first week of classes, I decided to purchase the books for that class one-by-one. A couple of weeks later, I walked into the bookstore and discovered that the lovely piles of books had transformed into empty shelves featuring a couple of incredibly tattered, used copies and many order forms. I’m always a little averse to used books because I want my books to look nice; I don’t like having books that have been marked by other people or treated roughly. I chose to buy new copies of most of my books for that class online, which only cost a few extra dollars, something I could afford.
Most incoming first-year students are excited about the idea of new classes, new friends and new experiences. One of the last things on their mind is the process surrounding a prospective internship or (yikes) a job down the line. Finding a job was the last thing on my mind too but, luckily for first-year students at Conn, the College begins the process for us right away.
Saying “I am a social person”, and “I can turn into an iridescent flightless dragon” are very similar sentences in that they are both substantial lies. I can’t draw a dragon nor fathom how extroverts stop themselves from screaming every time they feel obligated to say hi to acquaintances they encounter. Oddly enough, I sometimes like inhabiting social spaces, acting as a silent observer, and after 21 years of observing I feel confident saying that I’ve perfected the art of people watching. While my hobby may seem boring to most and creepy to the rest, I always enjoy myself and love that I can do it anywhere either by myself or with a fellow creepy friend. For this reason alone, I decided to get gussied up and leave my room to watch the members of my class year party into the night at “100 Days.”
“You must be the change you wish to see.” – M. K. Ghandi
I live my life by this quote because it challenges me to take action to make the world a better place. Its philosophy is also a driving force behind Green Dot training here on campus, which I recently completed. Green Dot is a national organization that works to prevent power-based personal violence, such as sexual assault, domestic and dating violence and stalking, in communities throughout the country. I’m glad that Connecticut College has a robust Green Dot chapter, with about a quarter of students who have undergone training. My friends who completed the training encouraged me to do it for months, so when I got an email about a session that worked with my schedule, I signed up for it.
Editor’s note: Guest bloggers Ramzi Kaiss '17, an international relations and philosophy double major, and Alexandra McDevitt '17, a CISLA (Toor Cummings Center for International Studies and the Liberal Arts) scholar majoring in East Asian studies focusing on Chinese language with a gender and women’s studies minor, traveled to Bogotá, Colombia for the 16th World Summit for Nobel Peace Laureates from Feb. 2-5.
In my entire four years of high school at Grace Church School in New York, I only experienced one snow day. Our headmaster felt that if he could make it out of his driveway, so could everyone else. So, naturally, when everyone at Conn was talking about a possible snow day on Thursday, I was among those who thought it too good to be true. By nightfall on Wednesday evening, I began to come around to this seemingly impossible event. I was leaving the library when a friend told me there was a snow day tomorrow—it just hadn’t been announced yet.
This past fall I was accepted to the Ammerman Center for Arts and Technology as a student scholar. The Center is one of the five academic centers on campus, which provide resources to students and faculty doing interdisciplinary work on a specific subject. This is the second in a regular series of posts I’ll be writing during spring semester about finding my path as a new member of the Center (read post 1).
Before I arrived at Connecticut College, I had never really been interested in hearing the sound of my own singing voice, perhaps because my older sisters never hesitated to tell me it was similar to a cat in heat. Even so, I decided to audition for an a cappella group last year, just for fun. I must say that I was EXTREMELY surprised when I was accepted into the amazing group that is Vox Cameli. I didn’t realize that a cappella is sort of a hot commodity on the East Coast, with groups frequently being the entertainment at Conn’s events. While I’m quite confident that only one-third of the notes I sing are ever right, that hasn’t stopped me from getting on a stage yet, and our performance for Green Dot Week was no exception.
Typically, students who are keen on majoring in theatre and have an interest in minoring in film studies don’t leap at the prospect of studying economics. But when said student happens to join an econ course by accident, they may have their preconceived notions about the subject turned on their head.