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On-campus housing is a debacle. It’s a struggle of push and pull. It is unfair, unequal, inequitable, and honestly cruel. Our lives are so hard. But you reading this, you don’t actually have it that bad. Imagine if your roommate snored. Imagine if you couldn’t get one lick of sleep a night because of your noisy roommate. Nightmare material. See, while the Fossil Free Penn protests were going on, there was a group that deserved a space in those tents – those who were woken up by snores. I propose a solution to this problem: Penn should start a program where they isolate snoring students in Stouffer. Snoozing Snoring Stouffer! Perfect. Hopefully they won’t disturb the Wawa employees. Five Guys is probably not opened yet solely because of all these violent noises. Disgusting...
I was having a conversation with one of my many acquaintances who are so overwhelmingly in love with me that they pop the question: “Where do you live?” Why do you want to know? Do you want to bed me? It’s a personal question. I steer the conversation, because I’m really not one for hook up culture. I prefer trysts that begin with long walks and chaste conversations. You really have to get to know me before I answer questions that pertain to my soul, and it’s hard to really know me. I’m a bit of a popular loner. If they continue to probe, I always find a way to answer the question in an elusive, flirty, and honestly sexy way: “I’m a nomad, a traveler, right now I live in on-campus housing, next year I’ll live in a different on-campus housing, and after that, god only knows.” I know what they really want to hear is: “Maybe we can find a place to settle down together, start a family in one of those funky high rises.” But, like I said, I don’t move that fast.
A Message to the Penn Undergraduates
Last semester was full of McClelland bowl idealism. These bowls were yummy little lunches that included rice, cucumbers, carrots, popcorn chicken, and sauces. However, after students filled out the end of semester dining hall questionnaire, it was realized that there was no gratitude for these bowls. Did they really think that carrots and cucumbers were a given? Their tuition can hardly cover such expensive vegetables. Not to mention, popcorn chicken is simply luxurious when chicken nuggets are so affordable.
It happens when I least expect it. I’m definitely a sympathetic person, at times empathetic. I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on for a friend. But I am not the empath that strangers assume me to be. Too often I find myself being a therapist for classmates, acquaintances, and complete strangers. All I have to ask is, “How are you?” and they plummet into a sob story that I couldn’t care less about. Walking back from class I learned that my classmate was forced to speak in tongues every Sunday from ages 5 to 16. The whole time I was consumed by my anger at him for stealing the armrest from me in class. A few days later on the bus another classmate told me that his fifteen year old brother tried ketamine and he doesn’t know how to tell his parents. In the bathroom, a hallmate tells me from another stall that the boy she’s in love with is in an ethically non monogamous relationship but still not interested in her. All of this leaves me thinking, “Damn! I didn’t ask for the whole story!”