Just over two-thirds of Princeton upperclassmen are members of an eating club. There are 11 clubs in total and each has its own distinct feel.

Juniors and seniors at Princeton have several eating options. Many become members of eating clubs, some elect to eat in residential college dining halls, some choose to “go independent” and cook food for themselves, and some join co-ops. I chose this final option and joined Brown Co-op.

Brown has around 30 members, and we have our own kitchen and dining room on the second floor of Brown Hall, a campus dormitory. We get regular food deliveries from a company that typically supplies businesses, so our pantries are always full.  

Once a week, each member joins a cook team of around four people to prepare dinner for the whole co-op. Here’s how a typical cook night goes down:

10 a.m.:  Select the meat 

Princeton has three co-ops: 2D, a vegetarian co-op; IFC, a co-op that focuses on international food; and Brown. Since Brown has no official theme, we joke that our unofficial theme is meat.  We eat meat nearly every night, and always have lots on hand. Each morning, a member of that night’s cook team will select a type of meat to defrost.  

4:30 p.m.:  Meet as a team and decide what to make 

We usually don’t plan meals in advance, so we start by looking around the kitchen to see what ingredients are available. The team then decides who will cook the meat, who will cook a vegetable, who will cook some sort of grain, and who will cook dessert.  I love making desserts, so I always hope for that job.

5:30 p.m.:  Cooking!! 

Cooking is always an adventure at Brown. A cook team has two hours to prepare food for 30 people, so we have little room for error. But nearly every night something goes wrong—we suddenly realize we’re out of eggs, the oven starts to smoke, or a burner stops working.  Somehow, though, everything always comes together in the end.

6:30 p.m.: Dinner time

Around 6:30 p.m., hungry co-op members start to arrive and begin to eat. Everyone sits around a long table, and we have lively conversations while enjoying our food.

7:15 p.m.: Cleaning up and saying goodbye

After dinner, the cook team cleans the kitchen and says goodbye, leaving with good memories of cooking and eating! 

What does it mean to “fit in” in a community where everyone is so different? When I came to Princeton, I initially felt apprehension about finding friends I would feel comfortable around. Sure, there were bound to be students who shared my interests, but I knew it wasn’t going to be like high school where everyone came from familiar backgrounds and had similar experiences. I realized the memories I spent four years creating were meaningless in a place where they weren’t shared by anyone but me, and I was intimidated.

During my first few days on campus, the biggest mistake I made was creating barriers with people who were different from me, which was basically everyone. Born on another continent? Different native tongue? I automatically assumed that no matter how hard I tried, I would not be able to connect with these people in any way, shape, or form because of our differing backgrounds. And so I didn’t bother trying in the first place. I kept waiting for the day that my clone would pop up at any moment to give me some sort of comfort.

But that never happened, and after being frustrated about the situation for a while, I wondered if other students were feeling the same way. I asked one of my hall mates how he felt about “fitting in.” He told me, “Everyone is different, but that’s cool. That’s why I wanted to come here in the first place.”

I had never thought about actively stepping outside my comfort zone just for the sake of it. But the longer I pondered his words, the more sense they made. I reflected on the fact that everyone I met had their own unique character, backstory, and purpose. No one person was so similar to another.  So why were they able to make friends and I couldn’t? The fact is they accepted that everyone was different, and rather than letting intimidation hinder them, they used their excitement of the unknown to meet new people. Rather than changing themselves to fit a social norm or waiting for familiarity to bring comfort, they took their Princeton experience into their own hands.

Based on my experience, I think it’s wrong to try to “fit in” at Princeton. Everyone’s differences make them stand out from the other 7,911 students who roam the campus, and this paradoxically creates a community that one cannot help but feel part of.  No other student shares my memories or past experiences, but when I look at things through a different perspective I realize that this is exactly what allows me to connect with my fellow Princetonians.

 

LIGHTS.

CAMERA.

JEWS.

This year, I have been granted the privilege of directing the Center for Jewish Life’s annual play.  This play, open to the entire university regardless of religious affiliation, is designed to be accessible to Jewish students who, like me, keep the Sabbath laws (no electricity, writing, and other daily work activities from sunset on Friday until sundown on Saturday, yeah, it sounds crazy—but that’s a topic for another post).  Because Sabbath restrictions are so expansive, the rehearsals and performances do not take place on Friday night, and the Saturday performance is after sundown.

[caption] Signup sheet is posted in Theater Intime: Princeton's main performance hub[/caption]

Because, who says Jews can’t be dramatic, right?

The show typically involves some kind of Jewish theme.  This year, I have selected Wendy Wasserstein’s “Isn’t it Romantic,” a show about two twenty-somethings, one Jewish and the other of no religion, as they struggle to navigate relationships, jobs, and the nonstop advice of their overbearing families.  Through snapshots of each of their lives, the interplay between traditionalism, progressivism, and the drive toward independence becomes a growing force. 

The play, which has been around now for five years, goes up in the spring, which means the audition process is starting RIGHT NOW.  And what’s crazy about that is that it will be my first time directing. Ever.

And I’m pumped. 

My roommate calls the day the registrar posts classes for the next semester my “mid-semester crisis.” From that day, right up until the moment when I register during the last week of classes, I will spend unholy amounts of time planning, re-planning, rethinking and rearranging my course options.