Post- 9/28/17

SEPT 28 – VOL 20 – ISSUE 3

In this issue...

Broadway, Brothers, and Board Games

3

FEATURES

Editor’s Note

Imposter Everywhere

3

Dear Readers,

A Wooden Canvas

4

Outlander recently returned, signaling the end of #droughtlander and triggering a sharp spike in searches for vacations to Scotland world wide. (Did you know there is an Outlander-specific tour of Scotland? Half of these fans, you may be surprised and gratified to know, are men. Go lead female characters!)

5 LIFESTYLE

Though we have no Scots or time travel this week, these stories are also about unexpected and life-changing connections across time and space: a freshman connecting to Michelangelo, a bear taking over for a missing brother, and

Dispelling Michelangelo

5

Trump.

Alone at Home

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I hope you enjoy reading this issue and watching the next

Cold War chess politics making a resurgence in the era of

episode of Outlander. I know I’ll be at the edge of my seat.

Best,

7 ARTS & CULTURE The Summer of Realizing Stuff

7

Surrounded by Screens

7

Boston Strong?

8

Saanya

editor - in - chief

Post- Staff Editor-in-Chief Saanya Jain

Layout Chief Livia Mucciolo

Managing Editor, Features Jennifer Osborne

Creative Director Grace Yoon Head of Media Claribel Wu

Managing Editor, Lifestyle Annabelle Woodward Managing Editor, Arts & Culture Joshua Lu Head Illustrator Doris Liou Copy Chief Alicia DeVos

Features Editors Anita Sheih Kathy Luo Lifestyle Editors Amanda Ngo Marly Toledano Arts & Culture Editors Celina Sun Josh Wartel

Assistant Copy Editors Zander Kim Divya Santhanam Layout Assistants Eojin Choi Julia Kim Media Assistant Samantha Haigood Staff Writer Anderw Liu Anna Harvey Catherine Turner Chantal Marauta Claire Kim-Narita Daniella Balarezo Daniera Rivera Eliza Cain

Emma Lopez Jack Brook Karya Sezener Natalie Andrews Sonya Bui Sydney Lo Veronica Espaillat Staff Illustrator Caroline Hu Erica Lewis Harim Choi Kira Widjaja Nayeon (Michelle) Woo Cover Illustration Clarissa Liu Contents Illustration Harin Choi

Imposter Everywhere A Fraud Among the Green

T

he news that I had been accepted worried about whether or not you can into Brown hit me hard, and I feed your family,” York said. She also felt was still processing it well into the that because she came from a low-income summer before my first year of college. community and did not have the chance After getting in, I never went a day withto go to a school with strong academics, out being congratulated or mentioned as her test scores suffered. “Brown was my the “Girl Who Got Into an Ivy League.” It reach school because my scores fell in was a big deal at my public high school, Brown’s 25th percentile. And coming here, which, for the most part, made headlines everyone had perfect scores,” York said. only when the newspapers decided to George Daccache, a first-year who feature the underdogs. had started school in America but moved It didn’t occur to me right away that to Lebanon before high school for family I was going to be surrounded by brilliant reasons, added that some people don’t minds from all over the world. I didn’t even have the chance to procure certain realize that I was going to feel so small test scores, especially if they went to an once I got on campus. Now, a few weeks international school. “I took 2 AP tests into the school year, I’ve learned that like because my school didn’t offer any [AP everything else in college, my impostor classes],” he said. Not only that, but there syndrome has amplified. I can’t help was also a scarcity of clubs, honor societfeeling like I am a fraud in a crowd of ies, and other extracurricular programs genuinely intelligent and driven people, where he went to school in Lebanon. “I as if all my previous successes are nothing felt like an impostor after I got accepted more than smudged ink on a less-thanto Brown mostly because I would then honest résumé. compare myself to people who stayed There is no shortage of self-defeating [in America] for high school. It wasn’t a talk among the freshmen here, especially valid comparison because I didn’t have since classes have started. Though it’s a the same resources, but it still makes me relief to know that I’m not alone in feeling think that, objectively speaking, I haven’t like I cheated my way into the school, achieved as much as the average person hearing others discuss their insecurities who goes here,” he explained. made me more aware of all the troubling With an influx of students coming views students hold about themselves and from various socioeconomic backgrounds their peers. and countries around the world, not When I decided to interview some of everyone is going to feel like they have my classmates, many of them said that done enough or worked hard enough to their lack of confidence in their abilities get into Brown. There are people entering and accomplishments stemmed from college who know more about working comparing themselves to other students long night shifts at the local diner or at Brown. While talking with Justin taking care of siblings while parents Voelker ‘21, I discovered that he felt unim- are trying to put food on the table than pressive next to our friend Elliott Lehrer starting their own charities or turning ‘21. Though he pursues a lot of his own in- their interests into well-funded research terests and is competent at what he does, projects. There are people who didn’t after hearing about Elliott’s documenhave the privilege of an American edutary on the Syrian migrant crisis or his cation, and as a result feel like their own model rocket propellant engine designs, experiences in other countries are lacking, Voelkner’s response was, “I just feel like I simply because so many opportunities haven’t done enough.” that others had were so out of reach for When I brought this point up to them. And even though their achieveLehrer, he told me that he doesn’t think ments and efforts are impressive in their he is any smarter or more talented than own right, because they started out on anyone else here. “I think I just chose to uneven footing and still managed to spend my time differently. I just hapwork their way up to the same place, it’s pened to seek or look for opportunities to difficult to match that with people who do things I was interested in, and I did are successful in the traditional sense and them. I think everyone at Brown absohave a résumé to show for it. lutely has the capability to do these things But just because some people have too; they just happened to have chosen to had more chances to explore their do different things,” he said. strengths and passions than others To Lehrer, it is more about getting doesn’t mean that they feel any more adyour foot in the door than necessarily equate about their skills. Celinie Nguyen being gifted at what you do. But it’s not ‘21 has been to over 40 countries during always easy. I interviewed Amber York mission trips to administer health and ‘21, who mentioned that financial means dental services. In her junior and senior and access to opportunities were both years of high school, she developed a reasons why she doesn’t feel as successful nutrient-based nanocomposite synthetic as other students. “I feel like something polymer that served as a hydrogel that that adds to impostor syndrome is wealth. could sustain plant growth in dry enviIf you have more wealth, there’s a higher ronments. Nguyen is attending Brown as chance of you doing something like a PLME student and potential concen[research projects]. But when you live in trator in cognitive neuroscience, but one an impoverished area, you have to work of her more concrete goals is to further for your family, you don’t have time to develop her hydrogel in a lab and to get make a non-profit for other people or visit funding to mass produce it for distribu40 other countries, because you’re more tion through nonprofit organizations.

Even though these experiences and on her place on the soccer team. More plans sound incredible to most, Celinie than anything, she is impressed with the said her personal achievements stop athletes here. “I have teammates that feeling praiseworthy after she has worked balance orgo labs and things I couldn’t on them for so long. “It kind of becomes even fathom taking, and then they come a part of you, and you get used to it. It to practices and games and still play their becomes mundane in a way,” she said. Im- heart out. It makes me feel like there are postor syndrome isn’t exclusive to those big expectations, but also that if my teamwho haven’t pursued their own research mates can do it, I can too,” she said. projects or gone on mission trips—it’s Impostor syndrome seems to permore extensive than that, rooted ultivade multiple aspects of our lives, making mately not in how others perceive us, but us dismissive about everything we’ve how we perceive ourselves. “Sometimes I ever worked for. But most of the people do feel bad, but you can’t really dwell on I talked to told me that, though it’s a it,” Celinie told me. “At the end of the day, feeling they haven’t been able to comit’s what you do with your education and pletely shrug off since even before coming the connections you make. It all depends to Brown, there are moments when they on you and how you want to see yourself, can take all they have done at face value and I just guess that’s what college is.” and appreciate their talents and hard Another problem arises altogether work. Our insecurities are something we when some students feel as though they can’t really avoid, and they may be more were accepted for reasons other than obvious to us when we’re surrounded their personal achievements. Melanie by people who seem to highlight all the Perez ‘21 was devoted to debate, Model qualities and experiences we do not have.

UN, math and science honor societies, But how we perceive ourselves should be as well as a slew of academic teams in independent of others, because we pulled high school. She was the president of her our own weight in getting here. And as school’s Key Club, which worked with a word of advice from a senior to all the other schools throughout Miami to better first-years, Dan Li ‘18 said, “Your place on the community. Perez also took 14 AP campus and in the community might not classes, acing all but one, in addition to be the same place you occupied in high being an IB student. But when she found school, but the most important thing is out that her admissions officer recognized to be okay with who you are. So if that’s her from her older sister’s application going from being #1 in your class to an avessay, none of that seemed to matter anyerage student at Brown—there’s nothing more. “I’m not as smart as anyone else. In wrong with being an average student at no way shape or form do I even meet the Brown.” requirements for going here. I don’t even I’ll be honest, these next few months feel like I got into Brown myself, part of are probably still going to be intimidating the reason why I got in here is because of to me. It’s a big step from a public high my sister. She paved the way. So now, here, school to an Ivy League institution. The I don’t feel like I belong,” Perez told me. transition isn’t like becoming a small Some athletes feel like they’re out fish in a big pond, but rather being a fish of their element for the same reason, out of water altogether. But regardless of especially if they were accepted here as my insecurities, self-doubts, and whata recruit. Gus Vannewkirk ‘21, a memever else is taking the stance as devil’s ber of Brown’s varsity crew team, talked advocate, I couldn’t be more ready for to me about his experience during his something new. I think as much as our first reading seminar. “Person from my past achievements have shaped us, being left was from Singapore—freak genius. at Brown gives us the potential to achieve Person on my right was from Bangkok— so much more. Because no matter how freak genius. Everyone was drawing all we feel about ourselves, we won’t quit. these conclusions and connections, and And that’s the one thing we all have in they’re all from crazy places, and I’m just common. like, ‘Shit.’”

Sydney Cummings ‘21 approaches Amanda Ngo the matter differently and feels empowsec tion editor ered as a recruit, instead of intimidated.

She was under a lot of pressure to do well Kira Widjaja in high school, so in a sense, she didn’t staff illustr ator feel like her acceptance was based solely

A Wooden Canvas

4

Fighting Wars on Chess Boards

“The games were fueled by passion and ferocity, by a simultaneous drive for art and blood, and indeed the board ran red quite often.”

T

he diagram above shows the final position of a chess game between Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky, two of the strongest European players in the 1800s.

Dubbed “The Immortal Game” in chess history, it is known as one of the most stunning ever played. At first glance, it seems that Anderssen’s army (the white side) is scattered; white does not have much left on the board, having lost a bishop, both rooks, and even the prized queen.

However, a closer inspection reveals something magical—the black king is checkmated, trapped by the white knights guarding the adjacent escape squares. Between them, the white bishop is poised to deliver the fatal blow. White has won the game. It suddenly dawns on us that Anderssen has not lost the greater part of his army accidentally, but has rather sacrificed them in an all-out assault on the black monarch. This was a hallmark of 19th-century, “Romantic Era” chess, where players sacrificed pieces in abandoned and swashbuckling style, all in an attempt to rip open a path to the opposing king and checkmate it outright. The games were fueled by passion and ferocity, by a simultaneous drive for art and blood, and indeed the board ran red quite often; the games were short but inexplicably noble and beautiful, with both players hacking away and willing to die by the sword, the board lighting up with fireworks.

Fast forward to the 1950s and ’60s, and both the world and chess are in very different places. Tensions between the United States and the USSR are at the boiling point, and chess has been all but monopolized by the Soviets. They flaunt a special pride in their domination of chess, which they see as the representation of an intellectual survival of the fittest. By this point, every world champion and every world champion

challenger for the past 24 years has had Russian blood. The Soviet Chess School, led by the legendary Mikhail Botvinnik, nicknamed the “Iron Man” for his relentless determination and systemization of the game, is training three more future world champions.

The Soviets see chess as a science; the bloodlust and passion of the old masters have been distilled into cold calculation. Far more resilient defensive techniques have been created, and moves are now either mathematically correct or incorrect. It is now impossible to launch an attack in the style of the Romantic Era without being met with a far more precise and devastating counterpunch and laughed at for being a novice. In just a few years time, Botvinnik will have one final addition to his legacy, this time not in the form of another star pupil or new scientific move at the board.

Not something of flesh or blood or wood, but silicon—Botvinnik will go on to create the first chess computer.

However, something extraordinary happens in New York in 1956.

News spreads that a local 13-yearold boy has defeated a grandmaster, the highest title attainable in chess besides world champion, in just 17 moves. This in itself is unheard of, but the true magic lies in how the boy won. Furiously transmitted around news stations in the United States and hailed within days as “The Game of the Century,” it is the first game in decades that truly evokes the Romantic Era. In a single game, the boy not only sacrifices his queen for a blistering attack on the opposing king, something Anderssen would no doubt have approved of, but also pulls off a chess phenomenon known as a “windmill,” a peculiar sight seen in only a handful of games in history, where two pieces synergize so well they develop an almost supernatural strength, capable of wiping out the opponent’s whole army. The boy’s

name is Robert James Fischer, and many now consider him to be the greatest chess player who ever lived.

Fischer went on to become a national hero, a “weapon” of the United States in the Cold War, taking down one legendary Soviet player after the other. The most extraordinary aspect of these matches was that they were not even close; Fischer would whitewash his Russian opponents with clean 6-0 scores, overrunning every challenger in his path until the world champion, Boris Spassky, was the last bastion of Soviet pride. The American juggernaut had not only made a dent in the Soviet chess machine, something no U.S. player had ever come close to doing, he had singlehandedly conquered it.

The World Championship Match of 1972 between Fischer and Spassky is known as the most triumphant episode in the history of U.S. chess— an affirmation of the superiority of the American mind— but its glorious reputation also masked layers of tragedy. Fischer, for all his genius, was also plagued with paranoia and madness. He was known to break his opponents psychologically, snickering at any of their moves and constantly complaining to tournament directors about the lighting, the chairs, the table, the chess set, the cameras, and even radiation, claiming the Soviets were somehow bugging him. Spassky was reportedly never the same after his games with Fischer, and though Fischer won the match, the World Championship title would be the last laurel he would ever pursue. Within weeks, he suddenly faded from the public eye, and in the few interviews he would give later in his life, he was a man caught in a downward spiral of madness, devolving into racial and anti-Semitic slurs. He donated nearly all his world championship prize money to an obscure church before spending the rest of his days in Ice-

land, hating the United States and, in his final years, hating even chess.

If you ask any Russian grandmaster today about Fischer, the answer will be surprisingly universal: They will tell you they loved him, that Fischer’s chess was among the most beautiful ever played, and that his style married the brutal, calculating power of modern chess with Romantic passion and creativity, the two tethered together through his unquestionable genius. They would never guess you were asking about his madness. For all its psychological warfare, its pain and politics of winning and losing, there is a side to chess that is blind to backgrounds and prejudices. It is a side that is inexplicably breathtaking, hidden in 64 checkered squares capable of giving warmth and inspiration to anyone, regardless of the color of the hands that move the pieces. In today’s political climate, congealed with ego and shallow remarks, with tensions between the United States and Russia brewing once again, perhaps we need more of this. I think there is a reason why we, no matter how subconsciously, become a bit happier or feel a twinge of gratitude when we step outside and see the trees or a clear sky. To this day, I get the same feeling when I lay eyes on a chessboard.

There’s no ego or superficiality in nature or wood; no biases or political slurs can twist its pure image, and you can clearly see what the whole of the game is. That sense of gratitude and innocent outlook on life—bit by bit, perhaps we can emulate that caliber of meaning and kindness with each other.

Andrew Liu

staff writer

5

Dispelling Michelangelo

The artists I learned about in history class never stuck in my mind. I forgot their names along with the details of their most praised works. But what I do remember is that Michelangelo, the brilliant mind behind the famed David and Pietà, is known for being an asshole as much as he is known for his artistic ability. Michelangelo had a massive ego and did not take criticism lightly; a popular anecdote tells of how he painted one of his critics into The Last Judgment and crested him with a pair of donkey ears.

Nevertheless, this behavior was rooted in his need for perfection. Nobody was a harsher critic of Michelangelo’s work than he himself. He even knocked off an arm and leg from his Florentine Pietà, a marble statue of Christ, because he found that it was irreversibly flawed.

In that respect, we as artists, can find ourselves to be just as petty with our own creations.

Most of us who dare to call ourselves artists rarely leave the canvas, journal, or recording studio satisfied with what we’ve produced. We have all embodied that classic trope of the struggling artist, constantly trashing worksin-progress and crying in frustration when the muses don’t materialize, or when the light won’t shine at the right angle. We fall out of touch with our creativity and refuse to look a different way until we have created something worth

In Defense of Bad Art

calling art.

But if we’re going to be honest with ourselves, we have to realize that creating bad art is inevitable. No artist can turn out masterpiece after masterpiece without eventually finding themselves as the Dr. Frankenstein of their own monstrosity. And if it’s something we cannot avoid—something that not only exists in our career as artists but often pervades it—perhaps that means bad art is just as instrumental to our growth as our best art. If that’s the case, there’s a lot to be said about our worst work and why it’s not so terrible after all.

Sometimes “bad art” is an eager attempt at something new gone wrong. Or we just find it ugly because the subject matter is something we’ve always been afraid to tackle. Whatever it is, bad art is comparable to growing pains. Our art might not look right because we’re operating under unfamiliar circumstances with no guidebook but the desire to develop our skills. Until we get a better feel of what we are trying to accomplish, we grumble, we complain, and we sigh— not much different from the adolescent versions of ourselves, stumbling through middle school hallways, trying to adjust to everything that’s shiny, new, and frightening. Thankfully, in both situations, we grow into ourselves and figure out who we’re trying to be—at least for the time being.

“The act of deliberate creation, no matter what the result, is just as valuable as its production.”

We also often neglect the fact that bad art is still art. The act of deliberate creation, no matter what the result, is just as valuable as its production. We’re not going to be happy with everything we make, but the very application of our talents is far more important than being content with our projects every time.

Our minds are still working, our hands are still crafting, and we are still succeeding at what we do, even if success doesn’t manifest itself in a fresco worthy of Raphael himself. For those who are dedicated to art, failing to bring a vision into fruition is just another name for practice.

Oddly enough, I think another merit of the work that we’re most ashamed of is its ability to ground us.

Like Michelangelo, many of us have our egos tied to our art, which means that a disappointment today means overcompensation tomorrow. After my own string of stale prose and poetry, I decided I needed to take a step back from throwing myself into my writing headfirst and start from the basics again. I took time with prompts, picked up journaling again, carved out the time each day for quiet, uninterrupted writing sessions. It’s not to say that this always works; but if you’re churning out failure after failure, it’s important to go the extra mile to find your way out of the rut. Sometimes bad art is all you need

to remind yourself that you’re just as susceptible to creative funks as the next person, and you have to do your part to get out of it.

In hindsight, it’s easy to realize all these points about our masterpieces gone awry. But one thing is for sure—no matter how you feel about bad art, it does not devalue your experiences as a creator. The trajectory of an artist is not linear; a seismogram is probably a better representation of your growth— through the many peaks and plummets you face with your work, you just keep progressing. And we’re all better off remembering that the next time our frustrations make us face an existential crisis. Every step of the way, even if we’re not headed toward something perfect, we are still going somewhere. Long after we’ve moved on from the piece, it’s better to have a finished work documenting our progress than to have a sculpture with broken limbs, leaving others to pity the loss of creation to a futile pursuit for perfection.

Amanda Ngo

sec tion editor

Caroline Hu

staff illustr ator

Alone at Home

Among the many things I learned in my freshman year of college: how to write code, how to use a Linux machine, how to draw supply and demand curves, and how to solve a surface integral using parametrization and Stokes’ Theorem (…yeah right).

But academics aside, freshman year also endowed me with some more gripping bits of wisdom. Forget maximization with Lagrange multipliers— looking back on it, the only thing I learned how to maximize was the amount of sleep I could get in before my 9am. Freshman year taught me that laundry machines are a scarce resource, and that there are literally no good places to study in the SciLi. It taught me that even when everything is about to collapse, you can always rely on memes for support. And it taught me that Freshman 15 was actually very possible.

Above all, freshman year made me realize that I was not as independent as I had once thought. With Brown’s lineup of rigorous courses and tantalizing extracurricular opportunities, I expected to be immersed in a rich campus life that would keep me occupied for the entire year.

Home should have been the last thing on my mind. Yet strangely, I still found myself

6

On the Ones We Leave Behind

feeling homesick. I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, but the symptoms were certainly there: I phoned home daily, I lacked motivation to get out and get involved, I opted to sleep in whenever possible, and I shied away from the numerous opportunities presented to me. As far as I can remember, not once did I explicitly say “I miss home,” or “I want to go home,” but those are hardly necessary conditions. Why? Because 200 miles away, my younger brother John was experiencing the same thing— despite remaining ‘home’ the entire time.

John, two years my junior, is more than just my best friend. Even with my closest friends, I often feel obligated to maintain a certain image or persona— one might even call it a facade. I am sure that most people can relate: we act differently in the company of others than we do when we are by ourselves. We have appearances to keep up and expectations to satisfy— we are all actors on a stage.

When I am with John, however, I have nothing to hide. The two of us have spent more time with each other than anyone else on earth. We share the same room, have many of the same interests, and even hang out with many of the same

friends. We follow the same sports, and have similar tastes in music and food. We rarely get into fights, and when we do, we are quick to mend fences. When I am with John, it is as though I am by myself.

I can be as silly or as embarrassing as I want, and I can say stupid things that I would never dream of saying in public.

When I am with John, any facade that I might otherwise hide behind crumbles away.

Likewise, John depended heavily on me. In many ways, I was his role model. So, when school started, my sudden disappearance really took a toll on him. In the week or two following my departure, my mom would occasionally call me and whisper softly into the phone: “He’s in a bad mood today— you should talk to him when you get a chance.” John was clearly exhibiting the symptoms of homesickness, but he wasn’t missing a house or a bed.

That’s because homesickness is not just about missing home— it’s about missing what is comfortable and normal. It’s about being thrown into a new way of life and being unable or unwilling to adapt to its changes.

Some time later, I heard that my house had gained a new member– a large, fluffy 53” plush bear from Costco that my brother had taken to calling Leon #2. “It’s just going to take up space!” my mom chided as my brother begged her to get it for him.

“What are you even going to do with such a large thing?”

“It’s to replace Leon,” he said.

“Sometimes it is easy to forget that home misses us just as much.”

That silenced her. The next thing you know, Leon #2 had joined the family. He would spend most days resting quietly on John’s bed, always there to welcome him home from school and keep him company. He loved to take naps with John, and perhaps he sometimes woke up to a pile of drool on his belly. As a side note, John happens to really like horror films, although he has some serious trouble sleeping afterwards (I have no clue why he still watches them). In those situations, Leon #2 became his new guardian, standing watch until he finally fell asleep.

Sometimes it can be quite easy to forget that the relationship between college-student and family is two-sided— that while we may miss our homes, our homes can miss us just as dearly. My brother felt homesick despite being home the entire time, because “home” was no longer the same place to which he had grown attached. For John, Leon #2 was a way to fill my vacant space, at least until he adjusted to the changes in his life. Likewise, it wasn’t long before I began to feel at home at Brown, and from there the calls back home became more infrequent.

On the occasions when I return home for a visit, John and I cast Leon #2 off to the top bunk that nobody uses anymore.

It is a symbolic ritual— after all, there is only room for one Leon in the house. This transaction is only temporary, as shortly after my departure, Leon #2 is welcomed right back down for the long haul. But for the most part, he is now nothing more than a symbol. The stuffed bear has long fulfilled its purpose, and has instead been relegated to comparatively trivial roles— like preserving the daily Snapchat streak. Today, John doesn’t really need him anymore.

And yet, something tells me that Leon #2 is here to stay, for all the same reasons that caused me to feel that occasional pang of longing, and that drove me to reach out for home. I still vividly remember the joy and excitement in my parents’ voices whenever I called them after an exhausting week of classes and work. They would always have so much to say, and I could tell from their enthusiasm that it had not been easy for them to resist their own urges to call me. We were all doing our best to move forward, but neither party was intent on leaving the other behind.

And so we proceed onwards, licking each other’s wounds, pulled along by our ties of family, camaraderie, and affection.

For as long as these feelings remain, no matter how far we may go, there will always be a place for Leon #2. There will always be a place for home.

Leon Lei

contributing writer

Michelle Woo illustr ator

7

The Summer of Realizing Stuff

Kylie Jenner kind of had a point when, in an interview on her YouTube channel, she said that 2016 was a year of “realizing stuff.”

Sure, her statement is vague and cryptic, but on a deeper level, the word “realizing” and the word “stuff” encompass a whole host of meanings that, when looked at closely, are not only deep, but also accurate.

For me, summer 2017 was a summer of “realizing stuff.” “Realizing” means not only coming to realizations, but also understanding, unleashing, and remembering.

Due to a series of both fortunate and unfortunate events, I began to finally understand people who get irreparably hurt, and who have to pick themselves right up and sail through the shitstorm against all odds. With this understanding came an unleashing of strength, resilience, and an unparalleled will to push forward—people usually don’t know how strong they are until they have to

empty their reservoir of strength and soldier on. Summer 2017 was also a summer of reminding myself of why I left certain places and people behind, and why I never want to go back. In her own way, Kylie showed me that it’s important to “realize stuff,” about yourself, your life, and the world around you.

Once you do, you gain a little more: more strength, more resilience, more inner power, and most importantly, more clarity.

So what did I learn exactly? A lot of personal babble which I won’t bore you with, but also a lot of things I think many people need to be reminded of on a daily basis, especially as we embark on the new academic year: 1. You cannot please everybody. You will have to say no to people and opportunities, and it will break your heart, but at the end of the day you have to do what is best for you. I learned that those who truly care about you and value you will stand by your side, even if they do not fully understand the decisions you make. And from surviving these experiences comes a growth of respect and trust between you and those who believed in you enough to not turn their backs.

2. It’s okay to be weak. In moments of vulnerability, you show the extent of your strength. Many people I know sometimes forget they are still merely human, and that it’s okay to not be okay.

3. There will be people who want to hurt you, and who, even unbeknownst to them, will find pleasure in your unhappi-

Surrounded by Screens If you’ve heard anything about theater in the past year (not including Hamilton—sorry, fellow history geeks), it was most likely about the Tony Award-winning smash hit musical Dear Evan Hansen. The story centers on an ordinary teenager, Evan Hansen (surprise), who is plagued by social anxiety.

When a classmate commits suicide within the first half of act one, Evan is given an opportunity to write himself into the narrative, to pretend he was the late Connor’s best friend. The show makes us question society’s obsession with “fitting in” and the lengths that we are willing to go to in order to make ourselves feel noticed. While these questions are troubling, the musical’s set design brings up a different pressing issue: social media.

Walking in to Broadway’s Music Box Theater, the first things that caught my attention (and probably everyone else’s) were the giant screens that surrounded the entire stage. They made the actors look small, and they made me, as an audience member, feel even smaller. When the first chord of music struck, these screens lit up, flashing social media updates from different characters from the play in tandem with breaking news headlines. All of the action was backdropped by an ever-changing tapestry of lights and words, shifting so quickly that I found myself stressed out by the constant feed of information about people who I knew didn’t even exist.

For the next two hours, I watched Evan squirm at the screens, surrounded by his classmates’ takes on his behavior. Even at his weakest moments, he could not escape the flow of information. I was reluctant

Kylie is More Intellectual than You Think ness. Remember that it’s not always a “you” thing, but oftentimes a “them” thing. If selfish idiots bring you down to make themselves feel better about their own insecurities, pull yourself back up. Once you do, you must prevail and push forward for yourself, and not to prove anything to anyone else.

Cheesy cliches aside, I’ve decided to live my life a little more like Kylie. No, not in the sense that I’ll take endless steamy pictures in sunglasses and lingerie, or get pregnant at 20 with a guy I’ve dated for only a month. Instead, I’ve decided to stick my middle finger up at the world and be who I want to be. People criticize Kylie all the time—she was made fun of for her thin lips, yet judged for getting fillers; she was shunned for dating a man seven years her senior yet was endlessly pestered after she broke up with him; her status as a businesswoman is made fun of all the time, yet people keep asking her for more products.

But what does she do under all this very public scrutiny? Shrug, pout, and continue being the person she wants to be.

On a less extreme scale, everyone is criticized for similar things on the daily. You either don’t eat enough, or you eat too much; you’re either too nice, or you’re a raging bitch; you either talk excessively about politics and healthcare, or you’re a vapid airhead who only cares about frivolous things. There is quite literally no in between, and if King Kylie has taught me anything, it’s to brush off the haters like the trash that they are and

continue doing you. Because there will be people rooting for your failure, but there will also be the special ones who want nothing for you but success and happiness. It’s these people you must heed and gain strength from. And that is exactly what I did this summer—I learned that it’s okay to ask for help if you need it, and it’s perfectly normal to let yourself be taken care of from time to time. From these moments of weakness I gained a clarity about who and what were really important in my life, and this clarity gave me the strength to stand up, look life in the face, and be fearless once again.

And so, much like the youngest member of the KarJenner clan, I’ve decided to stop apologizing for not being perfect. I’ve decided to do what I damn well please (within reason, of course) and stop worrying so much about what other people think. Life’s too short to dwell on the haters and the bullshit, and if I cannot change people and their actions, I can change the way they affect me.

As long as I see myself and remember to like what I see, then who cares about the rest?

I am the King Kylie of my world, and I am going to own it.

Chantal Marauta staff writer

Doris Liou

he ad illustr ator

Connecting to Dear Evan Hansen and Each Other

to turn my phone back on after leaving the theater. I didn’t want to see the screen glaring back at me, to scroll through a string of updates about events that I didn’t attend or didn’t know about. For the first time, I felt consciously aware of how one look at a video of a friend dancing, or laughing, or frankly showing any kind of joy, could make me feel utterly lonely in the matter of a few seconds.

Arriving at Brown, I felt like I may as well have been back in the Music Box, surrounded by overpowering screens. Each face was new, each building unfamiliar, every Snapchat story I saw of my high school friends captioned “I love college!” or “Best day ever!” made me want to sink onto the floor and just stay there. For days (which felt like years), my phone was like a torture device, showing me all of the selfies I should have been taking with all of the best friends I should have made.

I wondered what was wrong with me.

It had been a week. How could I not already have made a solid group of friends? How was everyone on my Instagram feed posting from parties while I was still getting lost on my way to class that morning? Was I so incapable of making friends that even after a week of living on campus, I still had not posted a Facebook update of me drinking bubble tea on the street with some girls in matching outfits? How was I going to find a roommate for sophomore year? How was I going to meet my future maid of honor? I felt like Evan Hansen. I was surrounded by screens and feeling the constant crushing feeling of inadequacy and solitude.

Over the ensuing days, I began to

feel slightly more comfortable. I talked to new people every day and even began to formulate some actual friendships. My dorm room began to look familiar, and my inbox was full of emails about club meetings and upcoming events. I was still plagued by the internet, but I have begun to accept that the stream of pictures, videos, and status updates I see every day creates an image of the world that is so far from the truth that it might as well be its own fictional play.

I wouldn’t post a picture of myself crying in my dorm room, or doing homework in the library, or calling my mom for the third time that day, so I doubt anyone else would either. Like Evan Hansen, I had to find a way to become aware of the falsities being shoved in my face by screens every day. I wonder how many of the pictures I’ve seen were taken purely to post on Snapchat. I

have learned that homesickness, awkward conversation, and confusion are the most common activities college students partake in daily, including me. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to feel at home in my new environment. Maybe I never fully will. But I know that every day gets better. And no matter what my phone wants me to believe, I’ve decided that this progress is enough.

Music and Lyrics | Pasek and Paul Main Cast | Ben Platt, Laura Dreyfuss, Rachel Bay Jones Rating / Runtime | R / 2h 30m

Emma Lopez

contributing writer

Katie McLoughlin illustr ator

Boston Strong?

Hometown Hero Struggles in Stronger

W

hat makes a hero, and who decides who is one? Director David Gordon Green sets out to answer this question in Stronger, which follows Jeff Bauman, a resident of Chelmsford, Massachusetts, who lost his legs from the knees down in the terrorist bombings of the Boston Marathon in 2013.

Based on Bauman’s autobiography of the same title, Bauman (Jake Gyllenhaal) struggles to return to normalcy following the bombings. Bauman is a passive, affable man-child who still lives with his mother (Miranda Richardson). Notorious for not “showing up,” Bauman is called to action when he sees his on-and-off girlfriend Erin Hurley (Tatiana Maslany) at a bar. After learning she intends to run the marathon, Bauman springs into action, and shows up at the finish line the next day on an impulse to win her back, flourishing a bright poster for her. He also sees one of the bombers moments before the explosion.

The first act goes by quickly, not focusing too much on the recent, still-sensitive bombing. Gordon Green, best known for directing the comedy Pineapple Express, doesn’t quite know what narrative he wants to push, instead opting to touch on all of them, creating arcs on Bauman’s PTSD and the shaky relationships he has with his mother and Erin. His relationship with Erin, rekindled partly due to the suspension bridge effect, is never fully believable, as Erin ends up as Bauman’s babysitter as he slowly reverts back to his lazy, childish ways as an unmotivated couch potato.

In Boston, however, Bauman becomes a hometown hero and symbol of hope and resiliency. In his mind, it’s unearned praise—he was simply in the

8

Bauman realizes he needs to change his lifestyle. Gordon Green manages, somehow, to leave out how Bauman motivates himself to suddenly be the man he hasn’t been his entire life.

It’s challenging to review a film based on a true story, especially one involving an event so recent and etched in memory.

But this story weighs itself down with its importance. Gyllenhaal and Maslany are, particularly in the final act, both given difficult emotional scenes, but perhaps too many, as the scenes feel unjustified and indulge in bathos.

Bauman’s story is inspiring, and is clearly an extremely difficult and unfocused time for him. Hopefully his life continues to improve as he heads toward a productive lifestyle. Too many narratives and an inconsistent tone provide the pitfalls to this sincere story. Unfortunately, none of the narratives reach their potentials.

wrong place at the wrong time. He isn’t “Bauman Strong” or “Boston Strong,” a theme touched on in the film. Few cities in the world have cultures that revolve so passionately around sports as much as Boston, and that culture is reflected in the movie, with the Bruins’s Gillette Stadium and the Red Sox’s Fenway Park playing the backdrop to pivotal moments in Bauman’s recovery.

When the city and heart of Boston

stop getting incorporated, however, it’s noticeable. Most of the film ambles along for its two-hour runtime. The camera work is ordinary, and often distracting, as the shots and edits, like the narrative, don’t know what to focus on.

The film’s second half, which focuses on Bauman’s relationships with his mother and Erin, are set up without a payoff.

The mother and Erin disappear altogether in the third act, a quick 20 minutes after

Release | September 22, 2017 Genre | Biography, Drama Director | David Gordon Green Main Cast | Jake Gyllenhaal, Tatiana Maslany, Miranda Richardson Rating / Runtime | R / 1h 56m Personal Rating | 6.0/10 Avon Showtimes : September 29 - October 5, Daily at 1:30, 3:55, 6:20, 8:40 See www.avoncinema.com for additional showtimes.

Zander Kim copy editor

Seo Jung Shin illustr ator

Things You Think In Class But Can’t Say Out Loud 1 2 3 4

5 6 7 8 9 10

I have to pee.

This professor is really hot.

Who are these people?

It’s a nice day outside. I am just going to think about every single thing in my life.

What’s at the Ratty today?

I really, really have to pee.

I did none of this reading.

Did literally everyone do the readings except me?

When’s the drop dropline?

Would it be weird if I left right now?

ne o h yp ” m ke that. o r t b erve s u e r j I de s d n k “Ti thin I but

“IDK ho w I feel; I haven’t figure ou been abl t his pol e to itical po his Face sition fr book.” om