The
Boomerang Fall 2021
The Voices of the Crisis by Giulia Martinez Brenner
The Dutch sun was generous that day. It smiled down on the gathering and reflected off the fluttering flags and signs for indigenous liberation. The first thing I noticed was how colourful the crowd was. Yet it was instantly offset by the solemn atmosphere - heads bowed, hands clasped, eyes closed. The air was grave, as it should be.
Illustration © Jana Fragoulis
“The climate crisis is a colonial crisis.” Our global structures of profit are based on infinite exploitation of land and the peoples of the land. Ecocide and genocide go arm in arm, and the destruction of the environment is deeply connected to colonial, patriarchal violence towards marginalized groups. Indigenous peoples protect 80% of the world’s biodiversity, yet they are oppressed, displaced, and silenced. Environmental activism needs to be aware of the intersectional nature of climate justice, to then listen and learn from indigenous voices to better preserve life on earth.
climate emergency. They wrote it in light of the next annual UN Climate Change Conference (COP26), and specifically calls for a centralization of Indigenous People’s narratives in climate policy and a representation of their perspective to challenge colonialism and capitalism.
"The climate crisis is a colonial crisis" On the stage, speakers alternated with different groups of indigenous dancers, musicians, and other artists. In these moments I allowed myself to smile. Their clothes were dyed in vibrant shades, accentuated with feathers, beads, fringes moving rhythmically to music and wind.It had gotten colder at
that point. The onlookers surrounding me gave off some warmth, but I still shivered. “We must be critical of the narratives led by major Dutch and European institutions that claim to be fighting for climate justice, but fail to mention racism, Indigenous rights, class struggles, gender inequalities and other forms of oppression. Many of these institutions are inherently connected to exploitative practices or financially benefit from other institutions that do so.” This emergency involves so many aspects of inequality that must be acknowledged holistically and approached accordingly. The first step is becoming aware, but there is a dire necessity for something concrete. We need to create modes of support in which the people involved may be heard and structures for collective action so legislation always must involve indigenous consultation and collaboration. The train ride back to Utrecht felt shorter than the way there, as it always does. My mask itched and fogged up my glasses, but the flat, flat landscape passed quickly.
These are the ideas behind the manifestation. The event was organized by a collection of organizations like Milieudefensie, Aralez, Free West Papua Campaign NL; youth organizations like Extinction Rebellion, Fridays for Future, RADICAAL, and many more. They gathered and formed the Climate Solidarity Coalition to put forth a manifesto, signed by an additional number of groups, demanding indigenous rights to be acknowledged in the continuous fight against our
It is not just about the trees that are cut down. It’s about trees that were stolen and marked with human blood before then being burnt to cinders. We need to face the climate crisis, but we cannot do so without justice and solidarity.
"Indigenous peoples protect 80% of the world's biodiversity, yet they are oppressed, displaced, and silenced" Olympic Climbing
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Mo Wings, Mo Problem
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Ghosts in the Family
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Why You Should Hate Marvel
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Your Solo Trip to Paris
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Cinematic Waffle
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The Boomerang | Fall 2021
Olympic Climbing by Emile Johnston
What’s interesting is that the increasing popularity of the sport was influenced by quite a variety of factors which don’t affect most other sports. Perhaps most importantly, the gear used for protection and the safety standards of rock climbing have evolved a lot since its beginnings, thanks to new technologies and regulations. By today’s standards, much of the way climbing was practiced before the 60s would be considered almost suicidal. The fact that climbing is no longer that much of a dangerous sport means that you don’t have to be a bit of a daredevil to try it. Indoor climbing gyms make climbing simpler and safer – though somewhat less authentic – and most importantly it means that you don’t have to live near any rocks to practice regularly. This is good news for those who live in countries such as the Netherlands, which bears the curse of being completely devoid of any rock formation. "Not only were most climbers forced
to compete in two disciplines that they don’t usually train for"
This transition from an unconventional sport to a widespread one made climbing a logical candidate for the Olympic games. While this was easily agreed upon between the International Federation of Sport Climbing (IFSC) and the International Olympic Committee (IOC), the discussion was much trickier
set of races on the basis that it’s all ‘running’ – but each climber’s final score was the multiplication of their three rankings, with the smallest score being the best. This led to a system that seemed mathematically quite chaotic and rewarded performances in a strange, erratic manner. The twenty men and twenty women who qualified for the Olympics were a mix of well-known athletes with a rich history of world cup podiums, as well as quite a few young prodigies. However, the one who stood out the most was undoubtedly Janja Garnbret, who just continued her two-year trend of winning everything that stood in her way, as she fulfilled her fans’ best hopes by placing herself way above all the other women in both the qualification and final ranking, and making it look pretty easy. when it came to “how” it should be included, and the conclusion reached was quite controversial – considering that controversies are usually very low-profile in the climbing world. The three main disciplines in climbing, namely lead climbing (big wall, rope), bouldering (short wall, no rope) and speed climbing (go fast), were forcefully merged into one, because the IOC apparently could not afford more than one set of medals for each sex for the new sport. While combined rankings of the three disciplines do exist in the IFSC for the minority of climbers who are versatile enough to compete in all three, these rankings are always secondary to the rankings of each discipline. Not only were most climbers forced to compete in two disciplines that they don’t usually train for – it would be like putting 100m sprinters and marathon runners all together in the same
"he really wasn’t expecting to make it to the final, let alone to the podium" The men’s side, on the other hand, was extremely chaotic. In the end, excellent climbers like Colin Duffy and Adam Ondra ended up at the bottom of the ranking for the final, while the winner, Alberto Ginés López, only ended up on the podium because he won the speed discipline by getting lucky in all three races. He had said in an interview that he really wasn’t expecting to make it to the final, let alone to the podium. This probably explained the confused look on his face during the medal ceremony, that seemed to be internally screaming “how did I get here??”. But I guess unpredictability is also one of the things that make sports so entertaining, after all.
Illustration © Anonymous
This summer, on the third of August 2021, climbing made its debut as an Olympic sport. This is widely seen as a big step in the continuation of the growth of the sport, which has been accelerating worldwide more or less since the second half of the twentieth century. Rock climbing essentially started to become a sport of its own in late nineteenth century central Europe, derived from alpinism. Yet it remained a niche activity until the 60s and 70s and has only quite recently been turning into a mainstream sport. This is happening notably with the number of bouldering gyms exploding in many places around the world, from Tokyo to New York.
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Ghosts in the Family
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by Monserrat Martinez Medellin Ghost stories have always run in my family. They are an intrinsic part of our history, much like our secret recipes, idioms, and family gossip. Not all of our relatives are as religious as the older generations, but most (if not all) of them are to some degree superstitious. If anything could characterize the faith upheld towards vast sets of stories — from the Psalms and the Proverbs, to urban tales such as La Llorona or El Charro Negro — it was fervency.
“Guys, come look! Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” At this point of the story, whoever happens to be narrating it has to act it out, imitating Luis. I find omitting this detail unfair to the story’s flair.
The first story I would like to share originates from a summer in the 80s that my dad, his siblings, and parents spent with their extended family in Veracruz. The cousins, back then all children, would get together and pass the days outside, sliding down sand hills and playing marbles; their parents would organize barbecues and play cards.
“There’s nothing there. Nothing. Go to sleep, it’s late.”
During their stay, my dad and his brothers shared one room, and my grandparents another. One night, my eldest uncle, Luis, had just put on his pajamas when he noticed something outside, in the garden.
“What did you see?”
The middle uncle, Arturo, ran into the room and peered outside too. He screamed, and forced Luis to fetch their mother. She ran into the room, turning pale when she looked out, and hurriedly drew the curtains closed.
Whenever my uncles tell this tale, they never outright disclose what they saw. Instead, they’ll turn to one of their brothers and ask them to finish the story to prove they all witnessed the same thing.
“I saw a woman with long dark hair. She looked like she’d come out of the ocean, wearing a dirty and soaked, white dress. Her face was so dark you couldn’t see her eyes. And then, right in the middle of her stomach, there was a huge red blood stain.”
Illustration © Jana Fragoulis
The second story is different from the previous one and only ever retold on particularly melancholic family gatherings. My paternal grandmother, Carmen, had a brother, Luis, and a sister, Rosa. After they had all gotten married, Rosa and Carmen even
having had children, Rosa was diagnosed with cancer. When she ultimately passed away, neither Carmen or Luis could bear the thought of letting their parents know. Luis agreed to do it, but, strangely, waited until the day of Rosa’s funeral to do so. When he arrived, he was surprised to find his parents getting dressed in funeral attire. When he asked, they told him that they had already been informed by someone else. “By who?” “Joaquin, the uncle of Manuel—” Manuel being Carmen’s husband— “came to notify us.” The Joaquin in question, however, had been dead for nearly two decades. To this day, no one truly knows who the messenger was, and whether it was Joaquin indeed. I don’t offer either of these anecdotes as proof of some supernatural realm. To me, the focus has never been their content, but the sharing itself. It is done like praying, manifesting a connection with whatever — whoever — might be listening. Ghosts mean something different to everyone. They are the what if’s and should have not’s of the living. They enlighten us about our anxieties, our hopes, and unfulfilled dreams. Not every ghost story is shared with the intent to scare. Some, like in my case, aim to create intergenerational bonds and help process the grief our forebears could not. Ghost stories are universal, and stories like my family’s are abound. Stories about the dead, just like those about the living, are just that — stories. As long as some of us live and others do not, we’ll be crafting tales in the hopes of rekindling connections. We’ll keep sharing them, solemnly, to sustain what is left by those we have lost.
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The Boomerang | Fall 2021
Making Trash: Facing Insecurity to Transform Ideas into Reality by Mathis Delestre
As I walk into Willai’s room, I walk into a whole universe: printed images of prominent artists and album covers plaster the walls. “I am a student, I do not need to spend too much money on decorations... it’s about what these images represent and the vibe they give off, not whether or not they are legitimate posters” he tells me. His home studio stands proud in front of his window. I already see that his room reflects his creative mindset: a musical ambiance created with the means at hand. We talk about his student life for a bit before plunging into the topic of his creative process and overall ideas about music.
Is that one of the reasons why you named your EP: “Making Trash”? Definitely. The title is really about: “OK. I actually want this to become more of a reality, so I'm going to embrace that it's trash. I'm going to set my bar so low, I'm going to call it “trash” so that I'm not scared. “From ideas to reality” is really the concept behind the album. Only by acknowledging the fact that it's imperfect and that your first thing is going to be trash, will you be able to actually do something. Otherwise, you’re just obligated to never reach the bar which you have in mind. I had to accept the imperfection to make it real.
So you are pretty active in posting your latest releases, notably dropping singles pretty often on your Soundcloud or Youtube, but not on streaming services like Spotify. Is it deliberate that you do not post your music on “legitimate” music platforms? Yeah, definitely… nothing official yet. I have a lot of ideas and I’m really content with them and the core of everything I make. But regarding the technical aspects of my music, I don't think I'm on the level yet that I want to be. I also don't spend a lot of time and effort in spreading my music and marketing it because I don't think it's ready yet. The thing is, I like making music and I think I have the right ideas, but technique wise, there still needs to be a lot of improvement. So was that technical imperfection an important factor in the creative process of making your EP? Yeah, it was. I'm quite a perfectionist, but “perfection” is only an idea. Nothing on this earth is perfect. As soon as you want to make something real, by definition, it has to be imperfect because otherwise, it couldn’t exist.
That’s interesting that you talk about that because when I listen to your EP, the themes of the songs, like “Glock Nine”, seem to be talking more about your inner demons and how you wish to make them evolve into something more positive…
The title of the album relates more to this concept of trying to create something despite it being imperfect, but the meaning of the album is more about my mind and my doubts and how I cope with them... more like, how I sort of captured them in…I don't want to say in art… but in a certain image I have, which can be expressed through music. So your writing process was more based around what goes on in your mind? It's hard to explain, and that's also because a lot of my writing is not conscious in a way. I'm very visual. I would almost explain it like a dream… You know, you have dreams, you wake up, and you're like: “What the fuck?” Yet it makes sense that there's such a strong feeling attached to it because you saw things so clearly and it made sense in the dream. Then later you realize, “Oh, this particular thing from my life is what showed up in my dream.” I like writing so much because I don't overthink it. It just flows. And then afterwards, I realize: “Oh, this line comes from here because I'm struggling with this, or this line represents this.” It’s very therapeutic. When I ask Willai if he is proud of this EP despite the technical imperfections he points out, he says that he is not confident enough to show it to the public yet. However, he really sees it as a strong first step in his musical endeavour, giving him more certainty for the future: “I wanted to push myself to put something out there and see if this was really something I wanted to pursue, and, thanks to this EP and the process of creating it, I'm now pretty certain it is something that I will keep on doing.”
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Pondering with Jane by Jane Cole
How do I survive ‘beginning of semester stresses’ at UCU? Culture shock: it’s something we have likely all experienced. Yes you, don’t pretend you haven’t! Whether you are new at UCU or a returning student, UCU culture is something to adjust to. And yes, it is a culture. Since when do we remember each other, not by name, but by place? “I am from South Texas, but I have lived in Utrecht for the past five years.” That’s my well-recited line, and I’m sure you have one too, even if it is “I’m Dutch, fully Dutch, really please do not ask me again— I am Dutch, just Dutch, and nothing else.” It’s not that I mind telling people I am American, but I’m not sure how I feel about that being what people remember me by. Did you not want to ask about my hobbies or anything else first? Do we all just boil down to countries, cities, and states? This is kind of more second date material, don’t you think? And I have been pondering, am I allowed to use these hammocks? Courses, classroom culture, also a bit of a change. Maybe you got two math courses, no sciences, three colliding timeslots, and now your law course is online. When am I
going to have my tutor meeting? Because I need to complain to an adult. A fellow adult by the way, because there have been five speeches reminding you of that fact (like we needed to be reminded of this painful matter). You go to class, and after reading the 140 pages that were assigned (like the adult you are), your professor asks you to introduce yourself and please mention your pronouns, and you ponder: how have I managed to say something different each pronoun round? Am I having an identity crisis? What if my pronouns are different from what people expected? Everybody just admitted to being cis and now someone must announce they are the odd one out. Did my professor just say to call them by their first name? Who placed these two chairs in the middle of this U? Also, whose hammocks are those? The shock extends past the social interactions. You are a shock to yourself too. You come back to your unit to find a dirty hamper filled with a t-shirt, two pairs of socks, three tank tops, and 14 pairs of underwear. Is this a normal ratio of clothes? At what ‘toerental’ should I set the washer? Why do we have two microwaves and no ovens? We also have one fridge for ten people, two toasters,
three couches, but the table is gone. Who took the dining room table? Why are my clothes still wet? Maybe wrong ‘toerental’? Speaking of laundry, shouldn’t we wash the kitchen towels? And what about the bathroom towels? Who bought this toilet paper? How much money can I justify spending at Chris’? And we are all still wondering where the hammocks came from. Though in the end it is all worth it , this culture shock, and I cannot help but ponder, during these beginning of semester stresses: What made me deserve such sweet unit mates? — unit mates that bring me freshly baked cake or hand me a flower through my open window (true stories). And how lucky are we to have professors that care about pronouns, or a campus with such variety in cultures that our backgrounds stand out? And as we continue to ponder what it means to be an adult; we can be happy with washers with ‘toerentals’ that go up to 1600 (because you are going to want to set your washer as high as it can go), microwave ovens, and magically self-refilling toilet paper. And maybe one day the hammock sharer will reveal themselves, and we won’t have to ponder about that anymore.
Your Solo Trip to Paris by Giulia Martinez Brenner Part One
So you already hate everyone and this is even before the snores start. But whatevSo you decided to be original and go to Paris er, you settle into your seat and in front of for fall break. You also decided to go alone. you is a sticker that says, “take care of your Find yourself, spice it up a little. Of course neighbor, wear your mask”. So now you’re you take a Flixbus, and already that is an an- even expected to keep that obnoxiously itchy thropological experience in itself. A Flixbus thing on, and for the good of the dick stealis a portal into the animal kingdom. There ing your armrest? But fine, it’s fine. You put are different packs, different motives, but your headphones in, you forget about it. You the one thing you have in common is that the knew this was the way it was going to be anmoment you enter that bus, you feel entitled yway, you didn’t have any high expectations. The real problem is when they entice you to act like an asshole. with the promise of free wifi which obviously Lady, I don’t care if your son is three years doesn’t work. The cruelty of hope. old and you want to sit next to him, I got Thankfully you manage to sleep, the half here first? sleep of travel, that you’re grateful for beAnd the person in front of you puts their seat cause it passes the time. Until you wake up all the way back because the person in front and only 15 minutes have passed, your hair of them did the same thing and what are you is disgusting and filled with static, and you going to do? Be the fool with less space? No, desperately need to pee. Now here comes the you say fuck the person behind you because real inner turmoil, the question of a lifetime. it’s every man for themself and what did they Brave the Flixbus toilet? Or genuinely wet expect from such a cheap ticket? Actual leg yourself? Honestly, it really is not an easy answer and you know it. room? Come on.
After long excruciating minutes of silent debate, you stand up, say a prayer, and go downstairs to the on board bathroom. You cling, pitifully, to whatever you can, while the jerky movements of the bus attempt to sabotage your balance in any way possible. You're on your tiptoes, your shirt is tucked under your chin, limbs are bent at paranormal angles to avoid all surfaces, and oh, now you realize that you still have your mask on as well which is why you’re sweating buckets and your glasses are fogged up so you can’t even see if you’re peeing in a straight line anymore. Finally you’re done. You go back upstairs and begin to breathe normally again, you might even feel a glimmer of pride. And just then the driver announces that we will be stopping shortly for a food and bathroom break. Of. Course.
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6 BUBBLE Part Two So you’ve arrived in Paris. There have been many French geniuses throughout the centuries, you admit it, but excluded from that category is whoever made the metro ticket machines. An ungodly contraption, that involves a disobedient metal cylinder that you need to roll to select your option, and buttons that simply don’t make sense, and you take 27 minutes to understand how it works, all the while intensely aware of the covid you are definitely contracting. When you get to your hostel the sun is setting, but you’re committed to make the most of all the time you have. You start walking, no destination really in mind. After a while of wandering you check the map, and the closest monument is the Notre Dame, so you continue, now with a clear objective. And you’re halfway there before you remember that it burned down for God’s sake, but you might as well keep going, you’ve come this far. It’s still beautiful of course. Except for the couples ruining it with their PDA because even though it’s night time that’s really no excuse to be so shamelessly happy. Anyway, you go to take your picture, and you’re satisfied, because the full moon appears stealthily behind the facade, in the embrace of just enough clouds to not create a glare. Iphone storage full. Putain de merde. You begin the walk back. There is somethingso familiar in these streets. You breathe in, you breathe out. Ah yes. Every other person has a cigarette dangling from their mouth. The Netherlands may have weed, which you are in no way snubbing let’s be clear, but they don’t do nicotine addiction like the French.
s’il vous plaît. Half turning your head, with all the disgust you feel, “Je vais te péter la gueule.” Because the two things you should always know how to do is order food and fight. But however powerful you may have felt, deep down you know it was stupid. And so you run across the street, because keys between your knuckles are actually not as effective as they say. Now you’re finally on a more crowded rue. Brasseries line the sidewalk and everyone looks so happy and relaxed, drinking, chatting, smoking of course. You would really kill for a beer right about now. But is it weird that you’re alone? No, you just need to find the right place. Not too empty, that’s sad, but not too full, then you’re lame. You pass many that don’t make the cut, every time convincing yourself a better one will come up just ahead. Eventually, you scold yourself for caring what people think, and bravely sit down at the very next one. You order a pint of beer for a price that any other day would have made you self-flagellate, but now you’re on holiday and you deserve it. You sit, and sip, and spy. Everyone is so fashionable, so at ease in their charm. You wonder which ones are friends and which ones are lovers. You take out the book of short stories you’re reading and, opening it to the bookmarked page, you can’t help but wonder if this makes you better than everyone else? But you’re distracted, and after a few paragraphs you put it away. People are just so fun to look at. So you sit and sip and spy and you forget the fear that others may be doing the same to you because, let’s face it, they most likely are not.
Part Three The question everyone always asks themselves when visiting a new place is What do I need to see? You reserve a ticket for Le Louvre because you’re in Paris and you need to! You walk all the way to the Eiffel tower because you’re in Paris and you need to. Once plopped down on the grass and gazing at the tangled steel you think how you’d love to go up and see the view from the top. But you stay on the ground, and then walk all the way to the Louvre because your time slot is approaching and after yesterday’s beer you don’t even want to spend the 2 euro for the metro. You arrive and look around, that glass pyramid you have seen countless times through someone else’s lens. The line to enter is just to your right but suddenly you stop. Do you really want to go inside and look at the shoulders of the crowd in front of the Mona Lisa? Or do you need to? The entrance line is moving forward, but you stay put. You don’t need to do anything. This is your solo trip to Paris, what do you want to do? You want to go to la Café de la Mosquee and drink sweet mint tea in the courtyard just like your father did when he was your age and visiting Europe for the very first time. And you want to visit old book stores and wish you spoke French so you had an excuse to buy something. And you want to eat and walk and eat some more, until you reach the inconceivable point of being sick of bread and cheese. You want to watch rich Parisians in their chic outfits, their minimalistic clothing meticulously put together, smell the money on the fabric and in their perfume, because although taken separately, it would all be stuff you hate, beautiful things make you happy. And there is no shortage of beautiful things in Paris.
Illustration © Noor Hofs
You keep walking. It’s really dark now. You always glance in the shop windows to check the reflection of anyone behind you. Whenever you hear someone on your heels, you slow down, so they can overtake you. You never wear headphones at night. No eye contact, no faltering, no pauses. Now you hear footsteps, you slow, but the person behind you does too. You quicken your steps. They do too. They say something. You don’t understand the words but you don’t need to, the tone is always the same. You say the only sentence you’ve taken the care of learning besides je voudrais un pain au chocolat
The Boomerang | Fall 2021
A University College Student Association Magazine
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Mo Wings, Mo Problem: Who Fell Off W Roof? by Matt Cockram
Was the reason you fell this time be- I was extremely fortunate that I only broke cause you were drinking? my leg. The whole time I was in the hospital I was quite scared that I could have been I was also drinking the other times I’d been paralyzed. I also want to discourage any of up so I think I was just unlucky. I almost my friends from doing that. blame it on not having drunk enough, because I wasn’t super drunk so I felt the fear How is recovery going? more. In the early hours of the 17th September, It’s going good. I’m getting pretty quick with rumours spread round campus that some- What do you think of the response the crutches. I think in a couple of weeks I’ll one at the ABP party had fallen off the roof. from the emergency services? be fully recovered. Everyone thinks they know the story: the climb, the fall, the break. But what exactly is the truth behind the rumours? Who is the boy that fell off the roof of Building W? Matt Cockram speaks to Moritz Hake about what happened that night, and his new found fame on campus.
Moritz Hake was just a normal UCU student. He majored in Earth, Environment and Geography and was from Berlin. He liked bouldering, playing basketball, drawing and hanging out with friends. Most of that hasn’t changed, but overnight Mo and his broken leg also became the topic on everyone’s lips. Overnight you became what in the UK we call a BNOC - a Big Name on Campus. How do you think people knew of you here before the fall? I think people saw me around and knew that I existed, but they maybe didn’t know my name. I wasn’t very well known before.
It was really quick. The first people to help me were the UCSA board, and when the ambulance came they struggled to put the IV in my arm and I was a little annoyed about that but I was in shock. They did a fantastic job, also at the hospital. I was really glad they were there. I don’t fully remember everything. I don’t know if they loved me. I was on a lot of painkillers and I was saying a lot of stupid things to them while they were trying to do their job. I think I was a bit annoying. I was thanking them a lot.
The following morning, Martin Diedrix sent an email to the student body criticising the party culture on campus. What’s your take on the topic? It seems like Corona is slowing down and we’re all young and it feels like we’ve lost a lot of our social time. At least for me, as a third year, we had this semester and a half where party culture was very prominent and then nothing happened for a full year. And now that things have opened up again I think everyone is excited and we want to have fun as well. It is part of the experience of going to university.
Illustration © Avantika Bhowmik
What misconceptions did people have You’re a third year now, heading out about what happened? into the real world. What’s next for We’ve all done stupid things when I heard a lot of things. I heard some peo- Mo Hake? we’re drunk. You fell off a building. ple thought I’d died. Some people thought I How did that happen? broke both of my legs. Some people thought That’s a good question. I have no idea! There I fell on purpose. All of that is not true. I are a couple of programs I’ve looked at at I was at a party and I was hanging out with do feel a little bit bad because some people the UU that are all based around sustainability, sustainable development, sustainable a friend. We knew that another friend had didn’t take it very well. business and innovation. Or a gap year. climbed onto the roof of W, so we joined him. I already knew that it was going to be How has life changed for you since First of all, once I heal, I’d like to get back scary climbing down because I’d done it be- the fall? into bouldering. I’ve developed a bit of a fore. I wanted to get off of the roof as quickly as possible, I didn’t want to stay there too It wasn’t a positive experience but a positive fear of heights, but I’m looking forward to long. I kind of just fell. thing that I’ve taken out of it is that I never building my confidence back up again. want to do anything stupid like that again.
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The Boomerang | Fall 2021
Dearest Campus, I hope you have all had a good return from fall break, I hope the firsties are starting to feel properly at home, and I hope you are all back to dancing and partying to your heart's content. First of all, I want to welcome our new Boomerang board members, with Monse and Nina as editors, Jana in charge of art and illustrations, and Avantika on PR. Ivan, our veteran, is of course still with us and going strong, and you have Noor to thank for the sexy Blackout layout. We wanted to start our first edition by breaking the ice, and giving you the opportunity to write anonymously, a decision which did not disappoint. Ranging from earnest love stories to insightful interviews, you all had amazing things to say. This year also brings about a whole new batch of columnists, so buckle up for some hot takes on Marvel movies, gaydar, and our dear little quad hammocks. I admit, we got off to a slightly late start this semester, but we are truly proud of this issue and the many more to come. In the meantime, I shall try my best to fill Stanley’s shoes and I hope you enjoy this edition. Yours always, Giulia Martinez Brenner Editor-in-Chief
Why You Should Hate Marvel by Mats Meeurs
I was recently in a toy store to buy a birthday gift for my cousin. While I was looking for the Playmobil section, I noticed a large red spot in the corner of my eye: it was a man in a Spiderman sweatshirt who was stuffing Marvel-themed Funko Pops into his shopping cart. I never really understood how normal people become Marvel fans. I know a few real aficionados, but I always figured that the algorithm had predestined them to that particular rabbit hole by sheer chance, like how some people end up with K-Pop, astrology or fascism. I’ve since changed my mind: Marvel seems to be a different beast, afflicting young and old alike; a brain-worm uniquely capable of nestling itself into susceptible minds. So how does it happen? The creative process behind a Marvel movie is quite similar to that behind a new Doritos flavor. Every plot twist has to be focus grouped, every toymaker involved must be consulted, and if the story deals with the military, the Department of Defense will probably have to sign off on the script. Character deaths are weighed shrewdly, not as creative decisions, but as financial risks: will little Timmy still want to buy the Lego Infinity Gauntlet set if Throgororak kills Captain Beefball in the The Avengers III: Super Blood Deathmatch? It is potentially a million dollar question, analyzed by the brightest minds in the business. Marvel’s extreme success is indicative of a deeper trend in the film industry. Stu-
dios have been clobbered by the rise of streaming; they’re no longer just competing among themselves to sell movie tickets; they have to compete with services that can beam unlimited ad-free, mid-tier entertainment directly to users’ TV’s.
accused Scorsese of name-dropping Marvel out of cynical self-promotion. They said that he was irrelevant, that he was old-fashioned, and worst of all: that he hated Marvel because it was popular; because it made real movies enjoyed by real people.
Studios know that we’re going to the movies less, and they’ve had to adapt. Eyeballs are never guaranteed, so every new movie has to make a splash, to be an event for which consumers will be willing to pry themselves from their couches; ergo, the marketing budget must be enormous.
The reason this kind of thinking is moronic is simple: it is predicated on the belief that Marvel’s popularity is somehow democratic. The exact opposite is the case. Marvel movies aren’t popular because they have a bold creative vision “the people” decided they liked; they’re popular because they’re written by a committee of psychologists who are experts at dishing out the formulaic slop they know their audience will eat up.
One of the few safe bets is the classic Marvel formula: roided-out, recognizable orangutans in neon suits beating each other senseless, animated with a couple million dollars of special effects. These films scratch the itch for entertainment while being truly interesting to no one. You can expect a crossover, a few product placements, some new, expendable characters (complete with limited-edition Funko Pops), a large and expensive fight scene from which the cookie-cutter protagonist emerges victorious, and a sappy resolution with a message that might as well have been lifted straight from My Little Pony. I am, of course, exaggerating slightly. Liking bad movies is okay. But what does genuinely irk me about Marvel is how its goons respond to criticism. When Martin Scorsese, the director of Taxi Driver and Goodfellas, said in an interview that he didn’t consider Marvel films to be cinema, an internet mob instantly materialized that
I love lowbrow entertainment. I’m the proud owner of a bound copy of the first fifteen years of Batman comics. But what makes Marvel so awful is how aggressively top-down it is. Marvel movies might credit writers and directors, but in reality they’re conceived by a faceless corporate blob of advertisers, focus group directors and creative consultants. That’s the thing about being a Marvel fan: knowing that every single scene is either trying to sell you something or pulling your primal levers. Being drowned in product placement, and not only tolerating, but relishing it.
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(Un)blissful Ignorance by Elisa Uccello
As a child, growing up in the parched Midwest of Brazil, I was surrounded by a very convincing illusion of progress. Over half of the Brazilian population is black, so it’s weird how few of my parents’ colleagues were black though they worked at a public institution as large as the National Central Bank. Conversations about homophobia happened occasionally in my household; coincidentally the topic always came up right before a gay cousin or friend came to visit. My mother, a proud feminist, always talked to my sister and me about how we had to work to become economically independent and never submit to a man’s idea of us. When I said a bad word, she would tell me that’s not how a lady should act. As the years go by, we want to expect tomorrow to be better, more equal, more just than today. Yet, 2 and a half years ago, I found myself sitting motionless in front of the television. It only took the two seconds the reporter needed to pronounce the name of the winner of the presidential race for my country to regress half a century.
"As the old saying goes, ignorance is bliss. So how blissful my home country must be" After 12 years of corruption scandals dominating the news, the population was anything but happy with the governing party. Therefore, as the 2018 elections approached, most of the people I knew seemed pretty convicted about who they were going to support. These people, I must add, are educated, middle to high-class Brazilians who have traveled to numerous countries, and have access to any and all news services, books, television programs, and media outlets. Yet they elected a man named Jair Bolsonaro for the presidency of one of the biggest
countries in the world. 58 million votes. 58 million people left their houses, went to a voting booth, and selected this man to be their leader. As the old saying goes, ignorance is bliss. So how blissful my home country must be. “She is not worth raping; she is very ugly. Not my type." “I would be incapable of loving my son if he was homosexual. I would prefer my son died in a car accident than showed up with some bloke with a mustache.” “If I see two men kissing each other on the street, I’ll beat them up.” “I’m in favor of torture, you know that.” “My son wouldn’t fall in love with a black woman. I don’t run that risk because my sons were very well educated.” “I’m sorry for the dead (victims of COVID-19), I’m sorry. But we’re all going to die one day, everyone here will die. There’s no point running away from it, running away from reality. You need to stop being a country of fagg*ts.” All of these words came out of the mouth of a man that now serves as the executive chief of a country with over two hundred million people. A country with unparalleled natural beauty, with a warm and welcoming culture, with renowned parties, brilliant art, delicious food, incredible diversity, and unlimited potential. But plagued by ignorance.
"There are moments when we must let ourselves feel others’ pains" The question I asked myself as I sat in front of the TV all these months ago is the same I’ve asked myself every day since Bolsonaro
was elected: Why? Why did these 60 million people vote for him? Why aren’t they bothered enough by his claims? And this is not just Brazil. Despite the misfortune that my country is facing, discrimination exists everywhere. It is an issue everywhere. We have an optimistic tendency to look at it in a relative manner, always comparing how it is now to how it was in the past, or how it is here to how it is in poorer countries, but this relativity builds an illusion. I don’t think all the people who voted for Bolsonaro are as racist, sexist, homophobic, and overall hateful as he is. I think most of them are simply ignorant. Ignorance isn’t simply a lack of knowledge, but a lack of acknowledgment. We know there are billions of people that have nothing to eat, we know of the deaths of people of color who have done nothing wrong, we know that young girls are being raped and then called liars in court, we know there are gay kids being kicked out of their homes because of dogmatic parents. We have knowledge of a lot of misery that we don’t have to face. And although it is true that to acknowledge this misery all the time does nothing but make us guilty of everything we have that others don’t, there are moments when we need to sit with it. There are moments when we must let ourselves feel others’ pains. Because if we don’t, progress will forever remain an illusion. As the old saying goes, ignorance is bliss. But it is also an antonym of all of that which makes us worthy of our praised benevolence. So let us choose awareness over false bliss. Let us choose compassion over comfort. There is no other way forward. This is not about Brazil. It is about humanity.
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Kindle-ing by Anonymous Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Thriller First line: “I forget everything between footsteps.” Stars: So many. All the good mystery stars and dark haunted house stars. Also some characters stars with old family secret stars. There’s nothing like reading a book that you can’t put down. When a story unfolds just right, drawing you in so well you forget any time has passed before it's late and you’re convincing yourself to read just one more chapter anyway. I just finished a book exactly like that. It’s called “The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle” by Stuart Turton, and if you’re looking for something seasonally scary to read around Halloween, it’s a great bet. I’ve read a lot of murder mystery stories, and I think I’ve gotten pretty adept at breaking down the tropes that always seem to come back. Chances are the story is set in a grand old house, somewhere remote with oil lamps, suspicious butlers and guests that all know each other’s secrets and dark pasts. Then someone dies and there’s just one bit of evidence at the crime scene that doesn’t
make any sense. Undoubtedly somebody is having an affair and people don’t turn out to be who they say they are. Finally, the murderer is revealed, and almost every time it’s about money or love, or both. But I’ve never read anything like this. This book opens with someone who doesn’t remember why he’s scurrying through the undergrowth of a forest chasing a shadowy figure. He’s so frazzled he doesn’t know who he is anymore, and here’s the thing, he’s not actually himself, or rather, it’s not his own body he’s inhabiting. Yes, this is a 1920s style, body hopping, eerily twisty murder mystery story, and you’re not ready. The protagonist soon learns his real name is Aiden Bishop, and that he’s at Blackheath house for a reason. At 11pm, Evelyn Hardcastle, the daughter of the strangely absent hosts, is going to be murdered in front of a ballroom of people, and it’s up to him to save her. Here’s the catch: he’s going to be reliving the day this happens over and over, waking up in the body of a different guest each time. The only way to escape is to solve the murder, and bring the answer to a mysterious masked figure: who killed Evelyn, and why?If he doesn't manage to do this on the seventh day, the time loop will start over, and his memories will be wiped.
Of course the reader is given a map with the layout of the house, and the formal invitation to the party with a helpful guest list to try and work it out (I can’t say I didn’t try). It sounds easy enough, with a week’s worth of chances to investigate. But then there's the fact that there are others in the house like Aiden, and only one of them is going to be allowed to escape. In a similar effort to make things difficult, it turns out that the lines between Aiden's own conscience and that of the person he inhabits are becoming more and more blurred each day, and solving the mystery will get harder and harder. This book doesn’t follow the old formula, but it draws from its best parts and unnerving atmosphere to create something really inventive and original. It’s a little hard to get your head around the time travel fantasy parameters sometimes, sure. But I suggest you surrender to its dazzling magic anyway, it worked pretty well for me. This was one of the most creepy, enjoyable and absorbing reading experiences I’ve had. So go along for the ride. You won’t regret it.
Cinematic Waffle
by Yağmur Zubaroğlu
Hello dear old and new dwellers of UCU! Welcome to my first ever film column. After long hours during class, I decided that the very first film I will be writing to you about is Festen (Thomas Vinterberg, 1998): Danish dark comedy at its finest. Helge, the respected family patriarch, decides to celebrate his 60th birthday at a countryside manor. The whole family is invited: drunk uncles, long lost cousins, elders with questionable opinions, and of course, family secrets. We are welcomed by Helge’s three grown-up children Christian, Michael, and Helene. It is your usual family gathering with endless small talk and subtle show-offs, until Christian makes a speech nobody will ever forget.
Serious accusations and life changing confessions are revealed throughout the night! Unspeakable scandals! And then, then…? Nothing. Nothing happens. Christian’s speech proceeds with the main course. Both the family and the guests refuse to see the ginormous two-headed elephant in the room. We face many hard truths as the night goes on. Yet, harder truths only lead to greater denial. The plot progresses in a cruel cycle of action and no-reaction. The carelessness of the crowd reaches to such an absurd degree that is very very annoying at times. good guys don’t win, justice is not served, and the lesson is not learnt. But this is what we are here for. We’re here to watch the celebration. We came to this Danish manor to celebrate, and that is what we are
doing. Regardless of the scandals, The Celebration continues. What I like – or actually, LOVE about this film is the absurdity hidden in lines. While watching Festen, we are on a futile look out for “something to happen”. At the end of the film, after whatever happens happens (I’m trying hard not to spoil), we see the guests eating together again, having breakfast this time. That’s it! Even at the end of the film, the celebration still continues.
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And now, I will be cheesy enough to say that that’s life. Whatever happens and whatever we do, in the end, life continues. I realised after seeing Festen that life is an absurd celebration with lots and lots of dark comedy. Good guys don’t always win, and sometimes just nothing happens. And guess what? It continues regardless. On a historical note, Festen is more than just the best film in the world – it is the very first film of the Dogme 95 movement. Created by two Danish friends Lars von Trier and Thomas Vinterberg in 1995, the
“Dogme 95 Manifesto” aimed to return to the traditional values of cinema. The goal was to “take back power for the directors as artists” as Vinterberg said. “Vow of Chastity” included no special effects, no filters, no additional props. Only hand-held cameras were allowed, and shooting had to be done on location. The movement grew quickly with the involvement of other directors. Soon enough the “Dogme Certificate” came around to honour the directors who manage to abide by the rules. Although it was a turning point in low-budget film production, Dogme 95 rules weren’t easy to follow.
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Even Vinterberg himself happened to be cheating; rumour has it that he covered a window during the shooting of one scene in Festen! The audacity! Are you interested in questioning the importance of appearance and fear of bad reputation? Do you want to enlighten the unit movie night? Festen is the way to go this weekend. I assure you it is more than just 101 minutes of family drama.
Day 5 Into The Queer Apocalypse: Conversations Among the Queerios of Campus by Cate Zanardi already part of a minority, you might – if Issue 1: Gaydar? you have the chance to safely do so, she adds – want to make it easier for yourself to find UQS #1, student, 20 y/o, she/they. people that are also part of it. If you are not part of a norm, you might want to be celeSoundtrack: “Something,” Abbey Road, The brated by those who share a similar experiBeatles, 1969. ence. Possibly the most stereotypical topic to start a queer column with. And yet, I would argue, the thrill you get from a pair of alternatively tied-up Doc Martens is an integral part of the LGBTQ+ experience. My friend Unidentified Queer Subject number 1 and are eating pizza on a Sunday night and chatting, both of us wearing our institutionally mandated Docs. The mere idea that a complex and universal feature of the self - such as sexual orientation – could be ascribed to a brand of shoes or a certain way to tuck your floral shirt into your kilokilo pants is at the very best ridiculous. Sometimes, when I scroll a bit too long on the gay side of TikTok, I get a weird alienation to see how a part of my identity is limited to a set of markers – somewhat reduced to a brand, a “currency” to find others of my kind. Also, just try to put this into perspective thinking about gender identity: the whole idea that one’s gender should be directly reflected in the way they present is cisnormative by definition. Plus, the whole thing of pointing out behaviours and style choices as “gay” is also a staple homophobic thing to do, as I am sure we are all aware. But, in the end, I want to look gay! UQS #1 points out. Their rationale is that if you are
I agree, but having mentioned how the whole idea of gaydar is kind of meh given how the idea of identity=looks is kind of meh, what exactly makes a person look queer? What looks are there that we share as queer people, across styles and gender identities and cultures and eras?
gled version of ourselves: one that shines through our clothes, interests, and favourite music. The idea is that when you have gone through or are going through the process of questioning hetero and/or cisnormativity, you quickly realize that any other societal expectation is also constructed and can therefore be challenged and revolutionized. We know that you can be incredibly stylish and revolutionary regardless of your orientation or gender identity. But at the same time, I also would argue that maybe that flair, that edge that makes you one of a kind also comes from an experience of deconstruction, of ownership of yourself against whatever it was that you were supposed to be. There is a sort of fluency in being able to embody a style, a cultural wave, to mark yourself as part of a community: just like in a language, we are the most aware of its grammar and unwritten constructs when we take it apart. And if you’ve ever reconsidered your sexual orientation or gender identity, you know that there’s quite a lot of taking apart to be done to get to an answer.
UQS#1 says that, in her friend group, the people that “looked the most gay” - although they were actually straight after all - were those who cared the least about what they were supposed to look like, given their gender and social role. A friend used to wear a lot of sports gear in an environment in which girls were expected to wear makeup. We know that this is a known stereotype – the sporty masc lesbian - yet I trust my friend when she says that their perception was mostly about the way this specific girl “Way to justify your deeply conformist shoe made it a point to wear what she wanted re- choices, Zanardi!” you might point out – gardless of what people thought of her. and you would not be wrong. But just keep in mind, all of this is pure and quite biased I had never thought about this on these terms rambling from me and other people of this before, but it’s beautiful to hypothesize that community that have the misfortune to be certain air around queer or queer-looking asked queer-coded questions whilst they try people to be given by a general sense of free- to peacefully enjoy their Sunday pizza. dom; as if in ascribing to certain aesthetic markers that we consider part of our com- Until next time, munity (and creating new ones) we were offering to the world a liberated and untan- Cate
12 QUAS QUERIES
The Boomerang | Fall 2021
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Boomerang uses wind energy printers The Boomerang is a periodical newspaper. It comes out eight times a year. This is the first issue of the academic year.
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The Boomerang | Fall 2021
Can You Keep Me from Falling in Love? by Anonymous In the careful glimpses taken in reluctance, hands? What a foolish stunt. It’s this wild atit is clear that people in love need no reason tempt at making yourself feel remotely betto hide it. It feels like a shiny new piece tak- ter by fixing someone else. This undeniable ing residence in the exposed houses during urge to feel validated when they seek you out Christmas time. But I don't wish to fall in or even just look at you differently. love. What a strange gimmick it is. Buy them flowers and lay your heart out. No no, I think Is this why people feel the urge to make rothey tell you to leave it unprotected. mantic comedies? The never-ending documentation of gender roles and expectations. The very expectation that you eventually project onto your partner and later, tell your friends another version of it. This isn’t an expose or an opinion piece. I could never be able to make up my mind to call it anything. While you read this, feel free to psychoanalyse me, it’s only fair. And as you’re doing this, tell me - what makes someone worthy of love? What makes it acceptable or even appropriate to flaunt it? Walk into Jumbo and hold hands? Cycle and hold
Or what about that sinking feeling of being frozen, realizing you might never be loved? This is a projection of my fear. This might be the forecast of my future. It is etched in
the possible glances I could’ve received but never did. But this is all mere frustration, nothing else. Because the next morning, such a strong belief in love will come over me that I will barely remember the remnants of such mistrust. It won’t sicken me as it once used to. If you see me reaching for a hand to hold in Jumbo, thrust this out for me to read. I might fold it carefully and place it in the confines of a bag I will never use or I might just tell you I was wrong. I probably am.
Hello, Goodbye by Anonymous
The weather is perfect and with an empty of communication, nothing concrete. Some- slow down, and almost never answer truthgrocery bag in each hand I cross campus on time, somewhere we are all going to catch up fully? Of course, I am exaggerating. Not my way to the supermarket. Walking slowly, with someone. Because admit it, we have all everyone on campus behaves this way and if the unfamiliar faces of first years glide past made these same vague plans. they do, who knows, it might just be a peras I approach the gate. Then, from around a sonal thing. Still, I tend to miss the sincere corner, a friendly face appears. It’s that per- I am not bitter or upset. I don’t want to hate and direct greetings that I’m used to, and son I talked to last week at that one party. Or on campus or cancel our cherished culture. these shallow alternatives can make me feel that person I took two courses with that one I am simply wondering. Where are these quite insecure. Is nobody interested in me? semester. Or that person I have known since customs actually coming from? Could it be my introweek. As we get closer our mouths an international thing? Afterall, countless "Where are these customs actually comsimultaneously morph into a smile. Forced other aspects of expat life have seeped into ing from? Could it be an international or authentic, who can tell anymore. I raise our student experience. Or perhaps it’s an thing?" my hand as if someone is pulling it up. I have American thing. As Amazon packages flood turned into a puppet, my strings pulled by the reception and the free world is indoc- But when I go home over the break these UCU etiquette. We walk as we wave. ‘How trinating us with their letter grades (by the very greeting habits accompany me. They sit are you?’, they say. ‘Good, and you?’, I reply. way, the E is missing), why not also greet the next to me on the train, they ride shotgun ‘Fine’. And the exchange ends. American way? in my car and walk alongside me as I enter my parent’s house. Yesterday, as I was walkOr maybe it’s just a young people thing. We ing down the street, a neighbour greeted me. might just be unwilling to have clumsy con- In passing I asked her, ‘how are you?’, and versations in our awkward states of being. then quickly walked on. She turned around, watching me go, confused. While this might be the norm on campus, it is not where I am from. ‘Did you ignore our neighbour?’, my mum asked me this morning. Embarrassed, I stuttered, ‘yes’. On good days or when meeting exceptional people these conversations may be extended. ‘Good’ could turn into ‘tired’, along with a brief summation of due dates. ‘How are you’, might include a short delay in movement, like when someone almost comes to a stop. And of course, there is always that special version of the campus greeting. That meaningful addition specifically meant to cover the tracks of our indifference: ‘we should catch up!’ No time frame, no mode
Yet there is also some logic to these instances of asocial socializing. We live on a small acreage, we trot down common paths, and frequent the same buildings. Not to mention, everyone knows everyone. So if we were to start chatting, we might never stop. Is that why we keep it short, why we don’t
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A Contemporary Love Between Reason and Imagination by Anonymous
The trouble of loving an impossibility is that the knowledge of impossibility itself isn’t enough. With relationships, imagination and reason go hand in hand. They need each other, imagination desperately allowing reason to do what is right, so that reason can reign in imagination when it runs wild. Love complicates things between the two, muddling the boundaries on where they’re allowed to act, and where they should stay hidden. I never expected my first unofficial boyfriend to be a Mormon. When I discovered my own bisexuality, I was a nervous wreck telling my best friend. I knew about his religious convictions, and I didn’t want him to think less of me. Living in a sheltered liberal international community, I hadn’t actually needed to come out to anyone yet. Bisexuality was an afterthought and female sexual fluidity was almost a given. Yet with him it was different.
fingertips slowly up one another’s thighs, waiting for a reaction. Exploring one another’s bodies in a way that didn’t cross the carefully mapped out borders of his faith. Everything except everything I wanted to do to him. Placing my hands everywhere but where it mattered. The tension building amidst secret dates before and after school in classrooms and closets, hiding away from the world. Two communities colliding, a wonder of fascination and amazement at the way he saw the world. A sea of intrigue at the way I saw mine. A river, chaotic and turbulent between us, but reckless teenage minds that chose not to see it. He had obligations within the LDS Church to date. Dating meant to date with intent to marry, However, it also meant dating somebody within the church. When he went on a date with somebody else without telling me, I experienced my first heartbreak. I saw the river, and I gasped for air as I drowned, but his religious conviction was stronger than my pain.
For months we didn’t speak. High school ended and we went our separate ways. A few
“That sucks, because I actually really like you. Like, I like you like you.”
“I have to follow God. I have to do right by Him.”
Soon after I finished explaining that I wasn’t “gay”, but I liked both girls and boys, he turned silent. The pit in my heart grew larger, blinding and painful.
weeks before his missionary assignment, I reached out. I told him I forgave him, and he saw the errors in his ways. We started to exchange emails, the old fashioned way. On your LDS mission you are allowed laptop time 1 hour per week to email, and all emails pass through the LDS accounts. Once a week, a response would come in, and my heart would skip a beat. Our exchanges were hopeful. Reason on paper, imagination implied. Since his return, the calls grow longer each day, and the unspoken love is a pain in our hearts. Obstacles so great our reason knows to turn around and go home. Obstacles so exciting our imagination is ready to jump. He is in an LDS College in Utah, I am here. He is strongly convicted of his religious ideology, and I hold opposing views on so many topics. He can only date within the church, looking to get married within the next 3 years, whereas I could never abandon my principles and settle down. And yet the yearning grows. Reason alone cannot save us from heartbreak. Yet with every set of lips that hangs on mine I wish they were his, despite having never tasted them. With every date he goes on I feel a pang of jealousy. It’s not fair, we say. We can’t hold each other back. We have no future together. My imagination takes me on a journey. I pack up my things and go live in Utah with him. Married at 21, kids on the way, church every morning. I kiss my love and feel his embrace, devoted and smiling. My imagination takes me on a journey. He comes to me, leaving his family and his community. I am enough for him. I kiss my love and feel his embrace, devoted and smiling.
Conflicting ideologies and visions about the world, rules and traditions he wanted to follow. A catastrophe of passion, confusion, and frustration.
Illustration © Annelise van den Akker
What followed were weeks of long conversations about feelings. Feelings he had been taught to suppress, feelings he didn’t have the vocabulary for. Feelings I didn’t know how to pull out of him, and feelings I didn’t realise I had for him until they were out on the table, naked and vulnerable and squirming in the sunlight. Troubles emerged that we hadn’t faced as friends.
Imagination itself isn’t enough. Reason cannot save us. The two dance together on a floor of knives, smiling and ignoring. We set each other free. We bleed in silence. We love amidst the dance.
We dated in secret. Dating meant holding hands when nobody was looking, tracing our
The
Blackout Fall 2021
This is Not How I Imagined UCU by Anonymous
I have now experienced seven weeks at UCU This was a relief, but it only lasted a couple and, honestly, it hasn’t been the best time of of days. He told me how I could meet new my life. I started here, excited for what was people and how to prepare for social events. to come but also a bit scared. Nevertheless, I Not to be a dick, my tutor is great, but this started introweek enthusiastically, hoping I was not very helpful. I mean, he was right, had made the right decision in coming here. but I knew how to be social and how to interact, yet for some reason I could not settle on campus.
"When I return to campus after having been away for a few days, it just sucks to be back"
Still, I want to keep trying and not give up, because I want the life most people on campus have and I do enjoy the academics.I want to persevere at UCU. But I don’t know if I can. UCU is taking its toll on me. First, I went into a downward spiral and now I just shut my feelings down. I have accepted how I feel and that this is just the way it is, but things haven’t improved. Every once in a while I feel terrible about it all and then I just continue as if nothing happened. No one on campus really knows how I feel. I just put on my happy face and act as if everything is fine, because I have no UCU peers to turn to. I try to fill up my schedule so I don’t have to think about everything too much, but I can feel myself getting demotivated, not feeling as happy as I usually feel, and I don’t even like to go out anymore.
Illustration © Jana Fragoulis
Introweek was not what I expected. Instead of a week full of fun, meeting new people, and discovering campus, it was a week full of mental breakdowns, not joining activities, and feeling horrible. I was told that introweek was overwhelming for everyone, but that it would get better. I didn’t have to worry. I decided to just let it pass and start the school year. I actually thought that it would get better. Spoiler alert, it did not. I saw people on campus growing closer, doing activities together, and having fun. It seemed as if everyone was having a good time, except for me. Even though I was trying hard to connect and go to campus events to meet new people, I just couldn’t find my people. Neither did I connect with my unitmates, so I felt really alone on campus. I wanted to try, but it felt like nothing worked, as if I didn’t belong here.
"Even though I was trying hard to connect and go to campus events to meet new people, I just couldn’t find my people" The mental breakdowns happened quite frequently, and I even had a panic attack. Wanting to find a solution, I went to my tutor. Our conversations were calming and he assured me that it was okay to feel this way.
"I want to persevere at UCU. But I don’t know if I can"
Almost every time when the small talk is done I don’t know what to ask or say anymore and I just shut down. I keep trying to talk to people but it’s hard. I know that, for me, it takes more time to make deep connections, that everyone on campus needs time to settle down, and that the first year at a new university, in a new home, with new people can be intense and overwhelming, but it just doesn’t feel right.
When I return to campus after having been away for a few days, it just sucks to be back. I know that this is not how you are supposed to feel, but I just keep going. Of course I will talk to someone about how I feel, but I also wanted to put my story out there, getting it off my chest and showing others, who feel the same way, that they are not alone. I hope I will find some friends on campus and have the amazing time everyone else seems to be having, but we’ll just have to see if and when that will happen.
