Don't Look Back in Anger

by Monserrat Martinez Medellin

When all graduating students were informed we would need to provide baby pictures for the commencement ceremony, I immediateintertwined with nostalgia. I did not care

But still, I felt a tinge of embarrassment, and looked back to realize that I had rarely shown those kinds of pictures to my close friends.

I texted my mom for her help, and she quickly khaki shorts, tropical scenery in the background. fore lectures started, when our concerns were how late we would stay out partying or how we would decorate our rooms. It’s so enticing to unearth those memories during are stuck in a book and you can feel your eyesight deteriorating amidst the bright lights in Voltaire. second-nature to penalize myself over what I perceived to be failures. It became so easy to call myself ‘stupid’ when I embarrassed myself in a social setting, or to intentionally exacerbate the culpability I felt whenever I prioritized rest over productivity. Was denying myself the right to eat dinner really an - ish a PowerPoint presentation? Neglecting tribution to your community or academic performance. It is even harder when the expectations of your family and friends are at play, too. What I can tell you is that it is one of the most compassionate acts to rejoice in others’ success, but you owe it to yourself to celebrate your growth and accomplishments as well. your needs and restricting your social life become easier once you adopt a punitive attitude toward who you perceive to be culpable — yourself, and any human fault you may have been taught to scourge.

In one, I must be around three years old, showing the proudest of smiles as I climb over a couch. Another one shows me sneakily trying to eat a chocolate bar and getting caught in the act.

In all of the baby pictures, I quickly observed a few things: one, my wardrobe displayed striking 2000s today. Two, my parents had an uncanny fascination with cutting my hair into a bowlcut. Three, I look the happiest I have ever been.

I reminisced a lot when looking at these pictures. I thought about the cramped apartment we lived in before we moved into my childhood home, about that particular vacation to the beach, and about the featuring relatives who have since passed away.

Seeing that younger version of myself made me feel melancholic. I pictured her standing next to me, as if she were a person completely separate from myself. As strange as it may sound, I felt envious of how peaceful and content she looked in the pictures. She wouldn’t have to worry about years. She also hadn’t experienced the same solitude and grief as 20-something-year-old me had. I felt remorseful for resenting her over all the distress she hadn’t experienced.

Fostering self-kindness in the process of detaching yourself from a system that simultaneously nurtures your skills and the compulsion to discredit them can be extremely rewarding. Feeling like you’re falling behind is not unthinkable in a place where virtually every other student is thriving amongst friends or helming 37 committee events.

To success-driven people, like so many of us, feelings of inferiority are disorienting. But sometimes, as comedian Conan O’Brien said in his Dartmouth graduation address, “it is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimateideal to be able to rock a mullet instead of a bowlcut, maybe the and that is okay.

So when I looked at my wide-eyed toddler self in the pictures, I thought of that: of every degrading comment I had directed toward myself. If she were standing in front of me, would I be able to call her all the insults I had called myself?

It took a while to get out of that weird funk. I recognize that it is incredibly hard to disassociate your self-worth from your con-

At the same time, we should recognize the value in appreciating blissful moments whenever we experience them, completely as they are. It’s a process of self-forgiveness and self-care, of allowing ourselves to bask in our happiness not because we have exhaustively worked to earn it, but because we intrinsically deserve to feel at peace without there being any caveats. With the semester ending and giving way to a promising summer, I encourage anyone to welcome a compassionate version of themselves as they learn to let go of the critical, deprecating one they might’ve internalized over the years.

Easier said than done, but cut yourself some slack. And if not for me, do it for the wideeyed, chubby-cheeked toddler version of yourself staring back at you next time you’re browsing through old photographs.

Uby Elisa Uccello

Endings tend to make us emotional. Since - ché “what advice would I give to incoming students?”, I decided to recount a couple stories that summarize UCU for me. semester, it took a while for the bar to open for parties. I remember the excitement that the announcement that the regulations would be loosened. The bar was packed with faces that would eventually become familiar to me, and I stumbled around in search of people I knew, which, at that point, did not consist of much more than my introweek family and the girls I live with.

I’m not sure the people who know me would describe me as shy, but that understates how I felt when walking around way out of the huge, weirdly shaped building I was assigned to and, step by step, built up the courage to approach a circle of strangers sitting on the grass next to Coljoin?” After an hour or so of ice-breaking conversations about where we came from and how we ended up here, the yet outlandish Dutch weather drove us indoors.

As we sat around a room in what I was told to be an old military hospital, four people I had never seen before walked in and sat down on the couches. “What’s up? We’re playing a game, come join! You can grab a beer in the fridge if you want!” We stayed until past 2 AM listening to music, playing games, and talking. None of those people ended up in my friend circle, and only occasionally do I see them around. Yet I always make sure to smile their way, as they do mine. I never forgot how welcomed that evening made me feel.

After hours of dancing to Abba and Pitbull, a girl pulled me towards the counter. It took me at least half a minute to realize I recognized her face from the many times she had been in my living room hanging out with my unitmates. “Hey, I forgot my wallet. Can you pay for my drink and I’ll pay you back tomorrow?” I nodded, hesitantly (people in Brazil won’t pay you back tomorrow). She asked for my phone, added her contact, texted herself and then replied from her phone: “I OWE YOU

To go along with the new country, new university, and new life, I decided I should try playing a new sport. Tennis open practices were fun, despite the fact that I had never touched a racquet before and everyone else seemed to have practiced religiously

Nevertheless, it was a great way to meet people, and I found out I was in the same psychology class as a very nice girl on the team. On the following day, we sat next to each other in class. During break, when I came back from the bathroom, she was having a conversation, in Dutch, with the boy sitting on her other side, so I pulled my phone out and started scrolling through Instagram. At one point she turned to me and said “You’re also joining the tennis team, right?” I was taken aback by the question since I couldn’t follow their conversation. Nevertheless, the three of us chatted some more and I found out the boy and I had the exact same classes. A couple weeks later we had our midterm exam, and in a moment of despair I searched his name up on the lounge was. He didn’t answer since he had already put his phone away in preparation for the test, but the next day he sent me a message asking if I wanted to grab lunch in Dining Hall and work on a philosophy paper we’d been assigned. I did, and that’s the random story of how I met my best friend. tually funny? Besides Borat? No? That will no longer be the case once you meet After Hoursprived taste buds and make you giggle likeett goes to a café to unwind. Sipping his coffee, he sees Marcy as she’s reading her book. only be the beginning of an unfortunate series of events waiting for him that night. next piece of bad luck hitting Paul. Appar- ently, the young professional under threat is a genre of its own. The name is the “yuppie nightmare cycle” where “yuppie” is a cooler way of saying “young urban professional”.

Although these accounts are quite unrelated and perhaps foolish, I think they highlight something extremely special about UCU. I don’t think there is an environment that makes it easier for us to meet, talk, and open-minded, and amazing individuals. Asless other stories of incredible friendships and unforgettable memories, I just wanted to take a second to appreciate the unique sense of community that we have here. After all, it is beyond gratifying to be surrounded by people who make me feel at home.

Having read the same book he, of course, starts a conversation. Paul ends up visiting Marcy that night in her apartment in SoHo.

After Hours turn-arounds, and everything in between. Scorsese manages to surprise us every time.

Regarding artsy cinema movements to tell your friends about and other impor-

Paul’s shaved unibrow changes. Sometimes it’s there, sometimes it’s not, and sometimes it winks at us with hair in the centre of the brows. Isn’t that crazy.

Previously, I told you about journalism in Turkey, women looking for rights, and Hollywood nightmares. Unlike all that, After Hours doesn’t serve any higher purpose. It’s just about Paul. One might say, there is a lot to learn from Paul’s bad luck. Possible life lessons including but not limited to: never take only $20 in cash if you’re going to the other end of the city, don’t pee in strangers’ toilets, and don’t try to break into a mo-

Kindle-ing

by Anonymous

hawk night if you don’t have a mohawk.

As the days get longer and the rain pours harder, it is also the UCU after hours for some of us, including me. Hoping that it will be more fortunate than SoHo after hours, I wish you all the happiest hottest summer(term). It was a delight to get to shout into the abyss every month to know that some of you added them to your watchlists. Lastly, dear upcoming - tions for taking over this divine task. I am looking forward to going through future Boomerangs and reading about all the in- mery paintings that I know you will love. So take some time to lie down in the grass, relax and enjoy your well-deserved summer reading.

Hope to see you all in another newspaper one day!

Almond Blossom might be one of my favourites of all time. Vincent, incredibly close to his brother, painted it as a gift for his newborn nephew who was named after him. This is a book about their lives and how they intersected, with stories based sent each other. It is a lovely tribute and testament to a deep love and friendship that endured great sorrow and trial.

Birdsong in Springtime. Lee Tiller (2020)

The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett awe-inspiring scenery and emotional resonance. This period of poetry often touched on the beauty and grandeur of nature, and its capability to wake imagination. It’s dramatic. Very dramatic. And then you get out there and see it for yourself, and you understand.

For a spring classic to match Renoir’s roses, we have the story of a rude, hot-headed child sent to live with her distant uncle. The discovery of his late wife’s hidden garden changes her life and transforms her into a kinder person. This is a story about change, memory and how real friendship and love can save your life.

The colours in this painting remind me of the specks of sunlight trickling in through a forest canopy. As it turns out, trees can remember, struggle, and communicate to keep each other alive and well. This beautiful book explores the entangled relationships between them, drawing on new scien- time you walk into a forest.

Romantic Poetry and Prose

I hope everyone gets to stand in the Mont Blanc valley one day and take in a view like this. A number of Romantic poets spent time in the mountains or wrote about their

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, by V.E

Addie LaRue is born in rural France, and travels with her father through landscapes like these by carriage. When she makes a before her wedding, she is doomed to be forgotten by everyone and live through the ages alone. Her courage in the face of injustice, crushing solitude and a boundless desire to be remembered by someone reminds you that you that you can weather any season, but with some help.