ACCESS MAGAZINE â€¢ Subject 1
Table of Contents Machismo In A Dress Four Foodie Favorites
Letter from the Editor A new school year has begun, and I already don’t recognize the person I was last semester. The summer was long; full of laughter, tears, letting go and new beginnings. This year I found myself slowly morphing into a different version of myself. A person who didn’t like any aspects of herself. By taking a step back and finding peace, I didn’t become this alternate version. Though I have found peace, the question still lingers – who am I? Our identities are changing every day. Who we choose to interact with and what we do mold us into who we are. While many may be confident and know who they are, some are still trying to assess their identity. Our first issue is dedicated to all students who are still trying to figure out their own identity. Our hope is to show you that the person you see in the mirror is not alone and you don’t have to know precisely who you are at this stage in your life. We are forever the seekers of our own identity. Sincerely,
Melody Del Rio Editor-in-Chief
Heavy-Hearted The King, The Spartan Growing Pains
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Meet the team Designers • Hoi Shan Cheung Nora Ramierez Zoe Alvarez Chief Copy Editor • Myla La Bine
Jackie Contreras Print Director
Vicente Vera Executive Producer
Alyson Chuyang Social Media Director
Writers • Alexis Navarro Ana Acosta Guadalupe Emigdio Hugo Vera Paul Hang Faculty Advisor • Scott Fosdick
Johanna Martin Photo Director
Jessica Ballardo Assistant Editor
Kael Benitez-Austria Assistant Editor
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Access Magazine is a digital and print publication dedicated to students and made by students. Thank you to all those who contributed to making this magazine. Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoy our first issue of the fall 2019 semester.
Cindy Cuellar Art Director ACCESS MAGAZINE • Subject 3
Somewhere Only We Know Keane
Marina and the Diamonds
This River Brian Eno
Look Up Child Lauren Daigle
Comptine D’un Autre été Yann Tiersen
Yes I’m Changing Tame Impala
Sould meets body Death Cab for Cutie
SHAED (Jauz Remix)
Mirror’s Edge OST (Solar Fields) Introduction
Let Her Go Passenger In My Life The Beatles Faith George Michael
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Songs that Help You Self Reflect
Machismo in a Dress by Nora Ramírez art by Melody Del Rio
Ensamble Folclórico Colibrí is revolutionizing traditional Mexican folklorico by redefining the Mexican macho male’s characteristics of strength and power and changing the heteronormative narratives. Co-founder and Artistic Director Arturo Magaña, 45, started dancing ballet at 10 years old at the Casa de la Cultura in his native Zacatecas, Mexico as his mother was a huge believer of the arts. Though they were a low-income family, his mother made sacrifices to ensure Magaña was able to pursue his passions. He decided to try his hand at folklorico. Soon enough he fell in love with the mosaic of colors, music, traditions and folk tales narrated through dance. However, the significance of folklorico greatly changed for him when he left Mexico and immigrated to the United States at 14 years old.
“I was representing myself and my culture, but I was failing to represent my identity”
“I was passionate about it and only saw it as an artistic outlet, but once I came here and felt so far away [from Mexico] I felt such a disconnect,” said Magaña. “I was already a youth and had friends, my life was kind of starting so I needed to find a sense of belonging, of culture here,” he added. Magaña began dancing professionally with Los Lupenos de San Jose under Susan Cashion’s instruction at a time where, as he explained, he was trying to find his identity. “I’ve always known that I’m gay, since I was a little kid and when I started dancing with Los Lupenos I started feeling like I was going back in the closet. I was representing myself and my culture, but I was failing to represent my identity,” he said. Magaña wanted to feel comfortable with who he was. He imagined the idea of creating a unique folklorico group, but was hesitant about the reaction from society. He was even more worried about folkloristas and the Mexican community. Magaña recalls going to his then-artistic director to present his idea and get feedback.
ACCESS MAGAZINE • Machismo In A Dress
Cashion supported him and even managed to send Magaña to Colima, Mexico to do a residency under renowned folklorico instructor Rafael Zamarripa. “She said, ‘As long as you do it with respect, integrity and you know this is your passion, you have my one hundred percent backing,’ ” Magaña said. Magaña just needed a little reassurance to make his dream come true. In November 2015, Magaña and his friend Rodrigo Garcia from Colectivo Ala officially founded Ensamble Folclórico Colibrí (EFC), a group specifically for LGBTQ dancers. Carlos Zambrano, 28, is a new EFC member. He was born and raised in Santa Cruz among an affluent white population. He grew up in a community and attended a school with a low population of people of color. As a result, he felt the need to hide his “Latinidad.” “It was difficult growing up in a city that’s so wealthy and not be that,” he said. “I always had identity issues growing up and wouldn’t speak Spanish anywhere but at home,” he added. Zambrano found out about EFC through social media and followed the group for years until he decided to join. He remembers scrolling through EFC’s social media accounts and admiring the beauty of the dances. “I always wanted to wear las faldas (skirts) that folklorico people wear, but as someone that was assigned male at birth and that is male presenting, I thought that I was actually never going to be able to wear one,” he said. Zambrano noticed that gender wasn’t a determining factor for dancers to present themselves comfortably on stage. EFC dancers didn’t have to identify as female or male in order to wear folklorico skirts or a charro hat. Despite never dancing folklorico, Zambrano was hooked on the group after he attended a rehearsal. “[folklorico] is hard, I have been here for months, I live in Oakland and commute to San Jose, so obviously something keeps me here,” he added. Zambrano explains that he joined EFC at a time where there were countless performance requests and the community desperately wanted to book them. A moment completely different to when EFC first began. Magaña recalls the start very endearing as the community welcomed them, especially given that EFC only
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had five members. With laughter and a mischievous character, Magaña described his first performance with EFC at the Mexican Heritage Plaza. Along with another maestro they were going to perform a traditional dance from the state of Nuevo Leon. “We came out [on stage] and we didn’t even want to touch hands. I felt my heart on my throat, I could tell that he was about to pass out, but I thought we have to do it,” he said. Despite the nerves, they began dancing. They never imagined what came next. “I turned around and I see all the kids clapping to the beat of the music, at that moment it was like magic,” he added. “We started kicking hard, we started doing gritos,
“I always wanted to wear las faldas (skirts) that folklorico people wear, but as someone that was assigned male at birth...I thought I was never going to be able to wear one” it was amazing.” Over the past four years EFC has had tremendous support from the LGBTQ and Latino community resulting in an average of 10 performances per month. “What’s really beautiful is that not only do we get invited to LGBTQ events, we’re now doing mainstream events,” Magaña said. Alexia Diaz, 39, is a native of Oaxaca, Mexico and has been dancing with EFC for more than three years. She explains that EFC entered her life at a time when she needed the most support and stability for her mind and soul. Diaz smiled as she recalled her first performance with EFC, which not only had a Latino audience, but a great amount of Catholic devouts. She performed a dance for La Virgen de Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary, at the Sacred Heart Church in San Jose. Diaz explained that she didn’t feel anxious as she knew she was dancing for “La Virgen” and was even given an award for her artistic performance. She remembered families, children and even the priest clapping for them
as they were amazed to see a folklorico group like theirs. “At that moment I learned that we need to break stereotypes, show people that we’re not evil, that we are good people who work and fight for freedom, love and support for everyone,” she added. Last year, EFC performed in front of other folklorico groups for their third-anniversary show Tradicion sin Fronteras. Diaz shared that she was extremely nervous in front of dancers more skilled than her, as doing footwork and skirt work is difficult. “To see so many people in front of me, folklorico professionals who have been dancing for years, I felt so nervous, yet I knew the result of our work was going to be amazing,” she said. In the beginning, EFC was starting a great change in folklorico, LGBTQ members started joining after news of the group spread. Thereafter, EFC members starting acknowledging the fact that they needed to welcome anyone, whether they were LGBTQ identified or not. “We are being discriminated, segregated, why are we turning around and doing that?” asked Magaña.“So we decided that the requirement [to join] is to be passionate about folklorico, for preserving our history, about disseminating our beautiful culture and to have the commitment because it’s not easy, it’s expensive,” he added.
EFC is a self-sustained group as members sew their own outfits and do braids. They practice at the Billy DeFrank Center during the week and at the Mexican Heritage Plaza during the weekends. EFC aims to stay present in both communities as they are both part of who they are, their culture and identity. EFC has a sealed project with the first LGBT group in Mexico called “Ballet Folclorico LGBTTTI Jalisco es Diverso” to perform together next year for their five-year anniversary. Magaña believes that EFC is achieving its mission of sharing a passion for dance, culture, heritage and identity. “We’re doing what is really needed. It’s amazing to know a child is seeing you in your beautiful attire and you make that connection [and know that] they feel identified. It gives you goosebumps,” he said.
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Four Foodie Favorites Words and photos by Ana Acosta
Bánh Mì Oven (Vietnamese)
221 E. San Fernando St., San Jose, CA 95112 Sandwich lovers rejoice. While bánh mì means bread in Vietnamese, it also refers to a sandwich that has its roots in both French and Vietnamese cuisine. This fusion of cultures was a result of the French colonization of Vietnam in the 1800s. Bánh mì sandwiches are made with a golden brown French baguette on the outside, and Vietnamese style meats, pickled carrot and daikon radish on the inside. They’re then finished off with fresh cucumber, chili peppers, cilantro and mayo. With 36 different sandwich options including six vegetarian options, there’s a tasty sandwich here for everyone. From chewy, fried shredded tofu to Vietnamese salami, each unique sandwich option won’t disappoint. Prices range from $6$9 for a foot-long or as little as $3 for a 6-inch sandwich. There are also salad bowl and bento box options for those who are cutting carbs.
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Get a taste of the Caribbean with only a short walk from campus. Juicy chicken drumsticks and thighs are coated in a unique and flavorful jerk sauce that packs a punch. The skin on the chicken thighs crisps up nicely and provides a salty finish to the succulent dark meat underneath. Served with Caribbean-style rice and beans and rich fried plantains, this filling dish takes a different approach to satisfy your sweet and spicy cravings. If you want even more flavor, you can top it off with a choice of sauces. The restaurant has everything from red hot sauce to a bright yellow mango habanero sauce. For $11, your taste buds can explore the little known wonders of Caribbean cuisine while relaxing in a colorful environment with reggae music.
Back A Yard (Caribbean)
80 N. Market St., San Jose, CA 95113
Super Taqueria (Mexican)
480 S. 10th St., San Jose, CA 95112 If you want no-nonsense Mexican food with fresh and simple ingredients, Super Taqueria is the place to go. The homemade taste of the beans make this a great place for comfort food, and the carne asada and carnitas are delicious without being greasy. No orange sauce is necessary here when you’ve got tangy salsa verde and a deep flavored salsa roja, and instead of filling burritos and tacos with mushy guac, they add fresh avocado slices. Pack on more flavor with a squeeze of lime or fresh serrano peppers at the selfserve condiment bar. And you can’t have a Mexican meal without some aguas frescas, or fruit juices, to wash down the heat. The agua de tamarindo, or tamarind juice, is a refreshing, sweet and tangy drink that serves as a great accompaniment to your tacos. Other flavors such as horchata and hibiscus are also available. Burritos and tacos are priced between $2-$8. Although it’s a cashonly establishment, there is an ATM in the restaurant.
Banchan, meaning side dishes in Korean, is often served with meals in Korean cuisine. At HOM Korean Kitchen, you can create your own rice bowl with a variety of crunchy pickled vegetables that are served cold. Choose from vegetables like spicy and garlicky kimchi, green beans or cucumbers and pair these with proteins like Hodo tofu or umami Korean steak, to name a few options. The savory marinade from the steak and bright red marinade from the banchan are absorbed by the chewy white rice, making for a satisfying meal. Feeling extra hungry? Add a fried egg on top for $1.50. The bowls come with a hefty portion and range from $7$12 depending on whether you add any extras.
HOM Korean Kitchen (Korean)
76 E. Santa Clara St., San Jose, CA 95113
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Heavy-Hearted By Kael Austria Photos By Melody Del Rio
uring the spring of 2018, I was more depressed than I had ever been in my life. It felt like all of my negative qualities manifested into their own entity, shadowing me day and night, always reminding me of how worthless I was. Depression had taken such a toll on me that I no longer left my home, showered or ate regularly. My groceries rotted in the refrigerator. My bedroom floor was caked in grime, empty bottles and dirty clothes. Barely touched plates of food made up the mountainous piles on the desk, and the drawn curtains only emphasized the musty thickness of the air. It felt hard to breathe. Days would blend into weeks and weeks into months, but all at once, time seemed to stop. My home became limbo, a place where I waited, anticipated, and on really bad days, dreamt when my pain would end. I was so dejected that I felt the illness consume me. Prior to this episode, my depression made itself known throughout my life, as it’s a little hard to ignore the feeling of impending doom. But when things got rough, I would just delve into activities to distract myself, like writing poetry or making clothes. Even though I experienced crying fits and panic attacks, I was still able to function, and more importantly, I was still able to find joy in my life. I could coax myself out of depression napping until nightfall or force myself to hang out with friends instead of isolating myself. My partner gave me something to look forward to, along with providing me comfort. While I had a chemical imbalance that was truly affecting the way I lived my life every day,
I also felt like I could cope and survive just fine. My depression was brutal. It took away my desire to pursue the things I loved, my independence and what felt like my ability to feel happiness. It had stripped me of my sense of self, and I felt like I didn’t know who I was anymore.
“This angsty man who couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, he wasn’t me.” I lost the passion that had motivated me every day, and without that, I didn’t see a reason to keep going. When I would look in the mirror, I could see the emptiness in my eyes. I snapped at loved ones constantly and ditched school often. I just didn’t care anymore about anything. I felt like I’d turned into some irrational jackass whose heart weighed heavy with sorrow. This angsty man who couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, he wasn’t me. As months flew by at an alarming rate, I watched my life go on without me. My grades tanked, so much so that my graduation would be delayed for another year. I had a few people in my support network, but every time they approached me, I turned them away and isolated myself even more. Late one night when I was at my lowest, I came to the conclusion that I no longer wanted to live. It was like those suicidal feelings had been
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summoned as my depression peaked. I didn’t write a letter or a memoir, I was too sad to even do that. Teary-eyed, I told my partner I loved him and prepared for the end of my life.
“This illness had me in a chokehold for months.”
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The next 48 hours following my epiphany consisted of phone calls to my mom, hospital visits and so many tears that I could’ve bottled and sold them at Safeway. It was then that it dawned on me; this sad, empty feeling had clouded my mind and heart. My depression morphed me into a person I never wanted to become, but it didn’t have to be this way. I didn’t have to feel empty, and I sure as hell didn’t have to let depression obliterate me. With a new goal and a glimmer of hope for my future, my desire to live through this hardship only grew stronger. I was determined to restrict my misery to a single chapter in my life rather than let it swallow my identity whole. Knee-deep in my own sadness, I had to acknowledge that I wasn’t going to wake up the next day and suddenly have my shit together. Recovery would take some time. This illness had me in a chokehold for months. I spent weeks weighing my treatment options, and eventually, I was able to get help and take the time to save myself. Months later, I was finally in a position to get back on my feet and reinvent the man I’d become. I made a conscious effort to hold my loved ones close instead of turning away their support, and I sought out healthy coping mechanisms versus self-destructive ones. Any old conflicts that I had were sorted out, whether my actions warranted an apology or not. I spent time with family, relearning how to laugh and smile, and time with my partner, who reminded me of what it’s like to love and be loved. Slowly, I felt like I was coming back to life again. The truth is, I had forgotten who I was outside of my irrational decisions and tendency to catastrophize even the smallest situations. Nonetheless, I took the opportunity to be the best version of myself, the complete opposite of my apathetic reptilian counterpart. I was becoming the man underneath the mental illness; the kind man who is critical of his actions and impacts. The man who, despite being fiercely at war with his own demons, would always remain compassionate. And while I remain incredibly grateful for the support, I know that I was the one who made my recovery possible. I made a commitment to reclaiming who I was the day I sought help for my depression. To this day, I continue to recover from the damage dealt by my depression. I continue striving to be the best version of myself. And on some of the more challenging days, when I feel that existential gloom slowly start to seep into my being, I remember how I promised myself that I wouldn’t let an illness consume and define me.
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The King,The Spartan T
by Vicente Vera
he year was 1999, his mother declared him a king, but it never weighed a chip on his shoulder. He was born on January 6, the day the baby Jesus was visited by three kings. One of those three kings now rested in her lap, she said, and his name was Crisanto Jesus Fernandez Alvarez Areguine Martinez Garcia Jr. King Crisanto came into the world on “El Día de los Reyes,” Three Kings’ Day. His mother, a Michoacán, México native, beamed hope into her newborn son. “I was born in México, Michoacán,” he said. “So my mom was like, ‘You’re one of those three kings’ and I was like, ‘Oh, that’s cool,’ you know?” It took away from the value a young Crisanto placed within his own birthday. Culture, taught to him by his mother, came to shape the identity and perspective of a young king who would not know his home country for more than two years.
Leaving México, headed to the Golden State
Before he came to make a name for himself in California, his mother left him in Mexico to scope out a potential settlement in San Diego. When she came back to Michoacán, Crisanto was plucked out of his home and introduced to an entirely new culture, one that left him with mixed feelings and the sour taste of limón in his mouth.
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He came here as undocumented. A half brother, Samuel, and stepfather entered into his life as well, a product of his mother’s life in the states. “She was the only one out of her family to move,” said Crisanto of his mother. “So you can imagine I don’t have any blood family within the United States.” He was far from living the American dream, though, living in a house with more hate than love. It seemed irreparable, unfit for a king. His mother knew this. She knew Crisanto and his brother needed to leave. “At 5 years old, my brother’s dad became really abusive, he was abusive with me and my mother, I don’t know exactly why,” said Crisanto. “I think it’s probably because I wasn’t his son and that was like the hardest thing.” The fear of violence overcame the family like a blanket of grief that could not be pulled off, so Crisanto’s mother decided to remove them from the situation altogether. Squalor was no longer an option in a country filled with vast opportunities, even outside the golden state of California.
Next stop, Salt Lake City, Utah
What the family did not know, or who they did not know at the time, was the fourth passenger who traveled across the country with them, Crisanto’s youngest brother Emmanuel. “He was in my mom, [she] was pregnant at the time. She actually found out she was pregnant in Utah, which was pretty intense,”
Photo by Melody Del Rio
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said Crisanto. “She’s like a single mother, three boys at this point, so it was crazy.” They struggled to get by in the mountainous countryside, staying with a family friend and rarely able to set aside money for savings and emergencies. At 5 years old, Crisanto and his mother walked the aisles of supermarkets with just $7 to spend. His belly needed sustenance that his mother’s pocket could not yet provide. Bread and milk would have to suffice. “I remember we were about to check out and all of a sudden this lady comes up to my mom and says, ‘Hey, you can get the same grocery items, but over at our church’ and my mom, in desperate need of help, she was like, ‘Yeah, I’ll go.’ ” Crisanto and his mother were introduced to what he said was the only Christian-Hispanic church at the time in the State of Utah. They had no family on this side of the border until the young king began clapping his hands when the choir sang and churchgoers could barely contain themselves to the pews during the songs of worship. Crisanto fell in love with “la misa” or mass, but since he was still a kid, he said, he was prone to falling asleep when the pastor broke away from readings to give his sermon. He said he happened to wake up in the middle of the sermon when he heard the pastor say, “Who wants to sing another song?” “So I jumped out of my seat and I booked it. I ended up just running down the center aisle,” said Crisanto. “My mom, she was like probably three or four months pregnant at the time, it was too sensitive for her to move her anywhere.” Ushers followed Crisanto down the aisle and shackled his excitement until his mother came up from behind to deliver a powerful sermon of her own. His head was still groggy from barely
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Photo by Vicente Vera
having woken up, but Crisanto was lifted back into reality when he said he heard the God-like voice of his pastor comment on his spectacle. “All of a sudden I hear the pastor say, ‘Let the child go because, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven’ and I didn’t know what that meant but I was like, ‘Alright, fosho.’ ” Crisanto walked up the steps of the church to the pastor. “He just looks at me and he’s like, ‘It’s crazy how the heart of a child is so desperate for God’,” said Crisanto. “He just laid his hand on my head. Apparently I had mistaken his question from before, instead of saying, ‘Who wants to sing another song’, he said, ‘Who wants to give their life to Jesus Christ?’ ” The young king found his faith. “I was like, ‘Oh shoot, I gotta grow up.’ ”
Returning to California
Crisanto said the first miracle that God performed in his life was the incarceration of his stepfather. At the same time, his mother wanted to return to California. With their abuser locked behind bars, the family was now free from the fear that once seemed impossible to escape. “We’re free, like we don’t have to fear anybody coming after us, you know? Just we’re free,” said Crisanto. But his mother only told a select few friends about their plans, none of whom were members of their church, she said. Soon after, the pastor and a few members of the church visited Crisanto and his family at the bedroom they were renting. He said he remembered the conversations they had with his mother vividly. “The pastors told my mom, ‘We feel like God is calling you to California,’ ” said Crisanto. Next thing he knew, Crisanto rode with his family and a few church members in a three-truck road trip to San Jose, California. He said his church family bought them a house on the East Side, gave them $10,000 and one of
the trucks before driving back to Salt Lake City. Now six years old, Crisanto and his family had settled permanently, as did his relationship with God. “And it was like, something that I never believed could be possible. Basically that’s where it starts, my journey growing up in the East Side.”
At home, his mother declared him a king. At school, he was known as just another Spartan. Crisanto entered San Jose State University in fall 2017 as an English major with a minor in Chicana and Chicano Studies. He wanted to learn more about the culture his mother weaved into their lives. Up until then, Christianity and God’s plan defined Crisanto’s identity, but to explore his native roots and what it meant to be an undocumented student called for the expansion of his person. “Being undocumented is ... I mean, right now it’s really hard,” he said. “It’s so much fun to know about the Latin culture and how México developed to what it is now and how America used to be México. I feel like it’s a big part of my identity for sure.” At 20 years old, Crisanto said his goal at the moment is to continue studying English and building his relationship with God as a member of a Latino and Hispanic SJSU campus ministry, Destino.
Photo by Melody Del Rio
GROWING PAINS Story and Photos By Zoe Alvarez
hat do I want to be when I grow up? It seems like a simple question. When asked at the age of 9, the answer came jolting out of my mouth with enthusiasm, “A veterinarian!” along with other information like facts about green tree frogs. I didn’t only want to be a veterinarian, but a wildlife expert who would one day work with big cats and chimps. I checked out all of the encyclopedias on animals from my elementary school library and memorized the different types of penguins. But when asked the same question today, I cower with intimidation and daunting uncertainty. After two moves, three different cities, four
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community colleges, one university and five major changes in 10 years, I am proud to say I will graduate with passion and excitement next semester with a journalism degree. But even though I have an idea of what kind of life I would like, a question about who I want to be lingers over my head like a balloon full of water. I still feel like the same 9-year-old girl who goes crazy over penguins and spits out animal facts, so why am I not growing up with the same outlook on my future? “As children, we are the purest forms of ourselves. Unfiltered, unadulterated,” says empowerment coach Joni Loftin, who specializes in empowering women and
supporting them in pursuit of their dream life. “As time goes on, we are conditioned to believe certain things about ourselves and about how the world works.” If I were to listen to how society says I should live my life, I should be five years into my career, married and possibly having my first child as I’m pushing 30. It is not uncommon for young adults to have a change in paths at some point, but it seems as if it is not spoken about as often as it should. I can’t help but feel at times that I am the only one who doesn’t have everything in place. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, “Within three years of initial enrollment, about 30% of undergraduates in associate’s and bachelor’s degree programs who had declared a major had changed their major at least once.” “Many people reach a point in their lives
Who I want to be lingers over my head like a balloon full of water.
Huang is a psychology major and has considered changing to statistics because of the multitude of fields the major has to offer. But psychology and statistics were not his first choices when he was younger. “I imagined myself being a plastic surgeon,” says Huang. “As time went on, I realized that I should devote my time into a more realistic career option. Time makes one wiser!” Time puts things in perspective. Although I will always be in love with animals and the veterinary field, that career no longer seems realistic compared to the other goals I wish to accomplish in my life. I feel the same way about art, biology and English, which are all of the other majors I have attempted. As I continue to search for the person I am supposed to be, I realize I am already hera tenacious seeker with many talents who is meant to speak my mind.
where they question their conditioning,” says Loftin. Opening up to other students has broadened my view about the decisions I have made throughout my college career. In fact, I found that my efforts in trying to find myself have also presented new opportunities among school clubs and businesses. “Students do not actively seek their own identities,” says San Jose State University senior Anderson Huang. “Many students ‘go through the motions’ and try to finish schooling as fast as possible and ignore building a proper social network and have a proper social life.”
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Our first issue will be around the topic of identity and what it means to the students of SJSU and the people of San Jose.
Published on Oct 10, 2019
Our first issue will be around the topic of identity and what it means to the students of SJSU and the people of San Jose.