Peer down over the light and let’s go back in time…

 On the edge of an island you can see four men at land’s edge near tranquil tan colored waters that parallel slightly lighter tranquil tan colored skies. A shirtless black man emerges from the bush; a basket atop his head filled with some tropical leaf. Another black man also shirtless with breezy white shorts stands on the far right attending to a horse whose coat is just a shade darker than his shorts; next to his feet is a basket full of orange fruit.

Both of these men are slaves, overseen by two other men between them who readily betray a European identity. Both are layered in billowy shirt, cape, large pants stuffed in riding boots, and wide brim hats (either the slaves must be quite cool or they quite warm). One of the overseers is mounted on his brown mare, and just behind him is the other. With hand raised as if to beckon someone, he looks across the waters to an island saturated with thick green vegetation, save for a vast clay crater revealing the orange-yellow foundation of all the green. Atop the island is a settlement of several limestone walled, red tile-topped buildings. Perhaps this is where the horse will trod sleepily through the sands, as the slaves follow with their goods?  

The Dutchman Franz Jonsz Post painted the scene I have tried to describe above, called "Itamaraca Island, Brazil" (1637). Had this painting not come first to mind perhaps I would have chosen Charles Sheeler’s "Water" (1945) depicting the power generators of the Tennessee Valley Authority. These massive machines stand monumentally under metallic skies, with all the pride and arrogance of Ozymandias—“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Or perhaps more homely Jean-Baptist Chardin’s "Still Life with a Basket of Peaches, White and Black Grapes with Cooler and Wineglass" (1759), in which said objects appear to the viewer at eye level, with one white grape hanging just over the table edge ready to be plucked.

I have not learned about these painting in an art history class, but on the second floor of McCormick Hall at the University where the Visual Resources Department is located. Four times a week I go there to work. My job is to sort, organize and discard the hundreds of thousands of 30mm slides once used to teach students about every image the hands of man have made from Lascaux to Warhol. The only tools I use for the job are a light table (to illuminate the images), a magnifier and my own notebook and pen, for while very few of these slides are called out of their shelves by professors, they now provide a more personal education to my own eyes, which just as Rilke’s are “learning to see.”

 I place the magnifier over the small strip of film cased in glass, and then I bring my eye down to it. I see myriad representations of history, culture, faith, passion and imagination, from long gone empires by now obscure artists, to names and places still very current today. I don’t like all works equally, but it would be to the disadvantage of my eyes and studies not to look earnestly upon yet another crucifixion—there must be hundreds in Western art—as I would the non-religious variety of modern art. After all, once an hour or so passes, I clean my workspace and bid farewell to the other people in the office, and return to looking at the literal world that has not chosen its colors so carefully or arranged object so meaningfully. Looking at that brings me real work. 

...Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 

I'm out in Singapore now, and I know that even if you're spending Winter Break away from campus (and cold), every tiger brings a little bit of Princeton home with them. Especially since exams are after break! Hahaaaa.

But actually, whether you're somehow connected to Princeton tigers or are just a sightseeing rando passing through this admission blog, I hope you have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 

Lots of love,

Aliisa

A week ago, I was hobbling from University Place to the Mathey Common Room with about 100 samosas precariously balanced in my arms, hoping that I wouldn’t trip or collide with anyone on my way. That night, I was also responsible for two Yule logs, dozens of Christmas cookies, three trays of baklava, a whole bunch of dumplings, dozens of jelly donuts, hundreds of potato latkes, and the biggest jar of applesauce I’ve ever seen. 

All of this was central to Mathey College’s second of four diversity events held throughout the year, Holidays of the World. With three other Mathey Residential College Advisers (RCAs), I helped to plan, organize and host this event. It went off without a hitch, except for the one tray of baklava that was dropped en route to the Mathey Common Room (unfortunately, the five-second rule doesn’t apply for baklava spilt all over the sidewalk). 

It was our hope that students coming through could get a welcome reprieve from their end-of-the-semester cramming, enjoy some good food, and learn a bit about the religious and cultural traditions associated with the dishes we were serving. At best, we hoped that our fellow Mathey-ites would actively engage with the student representatives we had asked to be present at each table; at the least, we hoped that our fellow Mathey-ites would try some items that they had never had before. 

To be honest, planning the whole thing was more of an event than the event itself. There were the humorous aspects: trying to explain to a very sweet and also very skeptical store owner that I did, in fact, want to order 150 pieces of baklava; the panicked phone calls about who was to pick up 100 jelly donuts and potato latkes; the horror when we thought we had misplaced all the plastic silverware and plates minutes before the event was to start. 

There were also more serious aspects. In some ways, I found the very concept of being asked to plan and host a "diversity event” to be rather uncomfortable. I value and respect other cultures and beliefs as much as my own, and am happy to attend events that celebrate other cultures and beliefs. However, I often find that events that are programmed around teaching about diversity can be rather clunky. For our event, we hoped to include a variety of major cultural and religious holidays from fall through spring—Diwali, Eid, Christmas and Hannukah—in a manner that was sensitive and inclusive to all. Hopefully, we achieved that. 

Planning Holidays of the World was a fun, frustrating, and ultimately rewarding experience. I laughed a lot at the ridiculous crises and shared some good memories with my fellow RCAs. But, more significantly, it made me seriously reflect on how the topic of diversity should be approached and addressed on college campuses in ways that are useful and constructive.

At 185 Nassau St. stands an old elementary school. At first glance, it is mysterious. If you walk by at night—10 p.m., midnight, or even 3 a.m.—you'll see the lights are always on. Maybe you'll get a glimpse of a mysterious shadow through a 2nd floor window, or maybe you'll see lights flicker from the 4th floor attic. You'll hear weird sounds, too—the sound of an electric saw, maybe a pounding, vibrating beat. 

This building is the Lewis Center for the Arts, and home to many programs, including the Program in Visual Arts, also known as VIS, or as I like to put it, Princeton's best kept secret. Students enrolled in the Certificate and Program 2 are not only able to take studio courses, but are given their own individual studio spaces, funding for materials and individual advisers. In return, we get to make whatever we want to. It's a pretty good deal.

As a result, I've spent a good amount of time in my studio at 185. As I shape my senior thesis, a solo exhibition, it's become my second home. The building features: 

• a film theater 
• an acting studio
• multiple dance studios
• a ceramics studio
• a darkroom
• painting and drawing studios
• a sculpture shop
• digital studios (for film, photography and graphic design)
• a typography studio/printing press
• a printmaking studio

And, most important:

• Student visual arts studios

I'm constantly amazed by all of the work that my peers are doing. Our studios are spaces where we are free to explore and create whatever we want. We are able to paint, manipulate, tack things onto the floors and walls. They become our sanctuaries and the places where we make sense of the issues we are thinking about, and the questions we are asking. And accordingly, they are deeply personal, incredibly inspiring and sometimes bizarre spaces. And so, to give you all a glimpse into our lives, I decided to ask my peers for photos of their studios. Specifically, I told them to "send me something weird." Interpret as you will.

Jaime Ding '16

Amalya Megerman '16

Ben Denzer '15

You can find part of his senior thesis here. 

Louisa Wills '16

Me (Wendy Li '15)

It’s easy to sit back and let Princeton life wash over you. But if you want to see that crazy city, it's only a few train rides away. Come on board!

Just before Thanksgiving, Princeton Disabilities Awareness, popularly known as PDA, hosted its first fall conference/carnival. This event involved two simultaneous programs: a conference including keynote speakers such as Rachel Adams, famed author of Raising Henry; and a carnival for children with disabilities, pairing students with children and setting up activities run by student groups.

The event is entirely volunteer-based and built by students from the ground up. For it to succeed, each party’s participation is crucial. If not for the student organizers, the impressive panel of speakers, which draws parents to come to Princeton for the day, would not come together.  If not for the parents and their interest in coming to Princeton for the day, including some who travel considerably to make it to the event, the Princeton student body would not have the opportunity to interact with these children, an unforgettable experience for many. 

I have had the distinct pleasure of watching students who had filled out “no prior experience” on the application really open up and give all of their energy to a child they were introduced to that morning.  It is a beautiful thing to watch.  And of course, if not for the student volunteers, the children would not have the fun of having a “buddy” they can treat as a big brother or sister. Given the smiles on the kids faces and their reluctance to go home at the end of the day, it is clear that they too have fallen under the spell that is this fantastic and inspiring day.

When I was a freshman at the first PDA carnival, I was so impressed by all who devoted time and energy to making this event possible. Now, as a junior, I feel lucky to have been able to be on the board this year, coordinating volunteers among other things and working with other passionate students to create the event of the semester. 

I can’t wait for the spring carnival!

Like all freshman, I was assigned to a Residential College Adviser (RCA) when I came into Princeton. Each RCA is responsible for a group of around 15-20 advisees (“zees”), and the primary role of the RCA is—as the RCA Handbook says—to "foster a welcoming, safe, and stimulating environment for all residents of the college” and to help ease the transition into college life.

My RCA was fantastic—thoughtful, funny, and full of advice. I was so grateful for all that she did for us. She held weekly study breaks (which are a great excuse to take a break from work to get together with friends and hallmates and eat a bunch of food), doled out tons of snacks, and stayed up late listening to our complaints and making us feel better about our worries. I couldn’t believe how generous she was. I knew she was a full-time student and involved in a million activities and writing a thesis and applying for jobs, and yet she took time out of her days and weeks to be there for us. I felt like I was so lucky to have such a wonderful role model to look out for me. 

What I’ve realized since becoming an RCA is that this feeling goes both ways. I am so grateful for everything I do as an RCA. Yes, it can be time-consuming, especially at the beginning of the year, but it’s work that I enjoy.

Last year, I worked with some amazing sophomores, and this year I have a group of wonderful freshmen. My zees are among some of the most incredible people that I have met at Princeton—thoughtful and talented, generous and respectful. Each of my zees has such an incredible story; each one has such big goals. And to see Princeton through a freshman’s eyes again! It's rejuvenating. Listening to their stories and answering their questions reminds me of all that I felt when I first came to campus. It reminds me of just how engaging and vibrant our campus can be, and of just how frustrating and scary it can be, too. 

For some, the RCA and zee group structure is something that helps the zees immensely, and they become very involved in this community. For some, the RCA and zee group factor very little into the zees' Princeton experience, and they find their place outside the zee group.

As RCAs, we're happy either way—the idea behind the zee group is just to provide built-in support for freshmen if they want it. For most, the RCA role and zee group is something that is important for the first few weeks, when zees want someone to field their questions, and when they need friendly faces to help them navigate somewhere new, and the RCA and zee group becomes less important over time. For me, the RCA role is something that has spanned across my years at Princeton, and I am so grateful for that experience and for all those I have met through the role. 

I don’t remember how I joined the rugby team. I probably met an upperclass woman who told me to come to practice, or I put my name on a signup sheet, or something. I don’t remember.

I wish I did, though, so I could point to that memory and say that it was the best decision I've made at Princeton.

Joining the rugby team changed my life. I am a stronger person, both physically and mentally. I have learned so much from the game and from my teammates, who are among the most diverse, inspiring people I have met on campus. I have learned to love my body through a sport that values all body types. I have made lifelong friends on and off the field. I live with them, I eat with them, I study with them and I play rugby with them.

It’s been a long journey, both physically and metaphorically, since my first days as a freshman, and I’ve been so fortunate to have my teammates with me. We’ve traveled everywhere, including:

All up and down the East Coast

New York, New Haven, Cambridge, Hanover, Philly, Pittsburgh, Charlottesville, you name it. If we can get there on a bus, we'll be there. Our bus rides have been infamous. While some are more tame—people will do their reading, some will sleep, maybe we'll watch a movie—all sorts of shenanigans have happened on the bus rides, including, but not limited to: impromptu dance parties and deep conversations about the meaning of life.

California

For the past two years, PUWRFC (Princeton University Women's Rugby Football Club) has traveled to California over spring break. Last year, we went to San Francisco, and the year before, San Diego. Now, for those of you who are from California, you might not be so impressed. But after a long chilly winter in New Jersey spent poring over books, the chance to bask in the sun is welcome.

In California, we've played against university teams, club teams, and premier teams. We've visited Chula Vista, where the national rugby team trains (along with many other Olympic teams). We've played rugby and eaten our way through the state. 

England

My freshman year, our team went to London and Cambridge, England, for spring break. We played against two teams, the Cambridge Women's Rugby team and the Thurrock RFC, one of the top teams in England.

In between, we were everywhere from the rivers of Cambridge to the typical London tourist sights.

Princeton

Now, this probably goes without saying. But the old adage holds true: There's no place like home. Although we've had adventures around the world, every day with the rugby team at Princeton still feels like an adventure. It's crazy to think about all that has happened here. When I arrived, I had no idea what a rugby ball even looked like. A couple weeks ago, a bunch of senior ruggers got together over bubble tea, and we began to reminisce about everything that has happened since. That time a squirrel got into our room sophomore year. Our horrible haircuts over the years. The all-nighters we've pulled to write papers (bad idea). The all-nighters we pulled, just because we loved hanging out with each other (great idea). Even though the mood was nostalgic and bittersweet, I couldn't help but feel happy. After graduating, we may be in different corners of the world, but we'll always have Princeton to come back to. These are women that I'm going to remember when I think about my college experience. When I come back for reunions, these are the women I'm going to be looking for first. It's been a long journey, but it's certainly not over. 

 

Tentatively, I step into the classroom. Momentarily blinded by the stark fluorescent lighting, I blink to see staring back at me the nine faces of the students I will be teaching for the next semester. They are about my age, they are interested in philosophy, and they are inmates in a New Jersey state prison.

Never had I imagined that I would see the inside of an American jail—much less interact so closely with those on the inside. But here at Princeton, through a program supported by Pace Center for Civic Engagement, I have found myself doing exactly that.

Over the coming months, these 15 prisoners will become my interlocutors in candid and often surprising discussions about ethics, epistemology and the nuances of contemporary thought. Together, we learn to separate premises from conclusions, to reject fallacious reasoning, and to read, write and think like a philosopher. There are no papers or homework, and our readings are done together. Here, answers are far less important than the questions.

Our conversation topics are broad, but more often than not they will come to bear on deeply intractable issues—problems to which I frequently have no better solutions than my students.  

In these moments, a surprising thing happens. Against the backdrop of history’s most difficult challenges, there is no longer teacher and student, Princetonian and prisoner. Grappling together with these obscure questions, what remains is a group of equals, in a sphere where reason, thoughtfulness and critical thinking are all that matters. In prison, a context where opportunities for egalitarian dialogue can sometimes be sparse, our work provides unique avenues for self-expression, personal growth, and the development of broadly transferable skills in reading, writing and oral communication. The prisoners leave intellectually enriched, better prepared for re-entry, and perhaps most important, endowed with a genuine passion for learning and a healthy sense of critical skepticism. 

Numerous things have surprised me over the course of the past few months, but nothing has been more striking than the transformations we have witnessed in students. Many who were initially reticent to engage in discussion have become some of the most active participants—challenging their classmates, pushing back on unsatisfying conclusions and perpetually asking the hard questions.

The benefits of this experience, however, have not only accrued to the prisoners. Indeed, I have come away with a profoundly transformed view of the criminal justice system—aware of its failings, cognizant of its challenges and deeply moved to continue working with those behind bars.

For me, this experience has been deeply emblematic of Princeton’s informal motto: in the nation’s service and in the service of all nations. Service opportunities at the University abound, and whatever your passion, you will inevitably find either an existing program to join or broad support for starting something new. While it’s often difficult to find time for service amidst life here, it is infinitely worth doing. You may well be changing someone’s life in the process, and perhaps your very own in turn.