My summer internship with the Quebec Labrador Foundation was a literal and figurative journey.

Hello, readers!

Imagine: a foreign language professor is trying to explain to you a complex grammatical point about how the endings of words change depending not only on those words’ parts of speech, but also on how they’re being used in a sentence, and that you also have to keep in mind the order of the words in that sentence, not forgetting to factor in whether or not said words are definite or indefinite, or apparently indefinite except that they’re part of a construction that arbitrarily makes them definite because grammarians say so.

Now imagine that lesson is taking place in said foreign language, that the professor is a native speaker with a native (and seemingly impenetrable) accent, and that you do not know half of the grammatical terms they’re using.

The end result looks something like this (and I swear this photo was not staged):

I’m spending my summer in the town of Ibri, Oman, at the Noor Majan Training Institute, where I’m studying Arabic courtesy of the Critical Language Scholarship Program of the U.S. Department of State. My description was, of course, a bit overblown, but there have certainly been days here where I’ve felt a bit out of my depth, whether linguistically, scholastically or culturally.

In all seriousness, the learning curve going into an Arabic immersion classroom was steep, but it improved quickly. Our instructor, Ustaadha Habiba, calibrated her teaching style to our level, and we learned the necessary classroom vocab (and got accustomed to her accent) by sheer exposure and repetition. By the third or fourth week, moments of utter confusion were few and far between, replaced by a sense of basic understanding, punctuated by moments of excitement when we reached a sort of collective “breakthrough” moment.

Four hours seems like a lot of time every day to spend on a single subject, but we mix things up. Every class starts with a 15-minute taqdiim, or presentation, from one of the students on a subject of their choosing. Then, we usually progress into a lesson of some sort about a grammar concept, or the use of a new phrase, construction, or set of vocabulary, which we follow with conversations designed to activate what we’ve just learned. We end class most days with a debate or discussion centered around something from the news media, which is also enlightening because Ustaadha Habiba will talk about Omani perceptions of the issues at hand.

Although it proved difficult at first, having a native speaker conduct the class wholly in Arabic is probably the best part of the program. Comprehension improves through exposure, and I’m exposed to 20 classroom hours every week. It’s at times mentally exhausting, but the rewards are clear now whenever I can get through a conversation with Omanis—be they teachers, taxi drivers or young people—without asking them to repeat themselves or clarify for my clunky Western ears.

Until my next post, when I’ll talk about Omani culture and our travels around the country!

A little look into my experience of Princeton in Beijing last summer. There were teachers and food, weather and adventures!

I'm a physics major, and studying that subject takes up the majority of my time. But one of the benefits of attending a liberal arts university like Princeton is that physics is never the only thing I am learning. I have taken a five-person seminar on autobiographical fiction in Latin America taught by a Mexican author and intellectual, a lecture on Grand Strategy by a prominent international relations theorist, and a class about the history of the United States' involvement in world affairs taught by an expert in U.S.-Indonesian relations.

Right now, I'm finishing up a very physics-heavy semester, but even so I've managed to explore nonscientific parts of the world. One of my favorite ways to do this is by listening to some of the many guest speakers who come to Princeton. For example, one afternoon after my condensed matter class, I ran from Jadwin Hall, home to the physics department, to Robertson Hall, home to the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs. That afternoon, the Woodrow Wilson School was hosting a talk by Christopher Hill, the former Ambassador to Iraq. I had read about Hill in various newspaper articles, so I was excited to see him in person.  

The subject of Hill's talk was global hotspots. He began by delivering what ended up being a rather depressing overview of current events. Syria, he thought, was a pressing, serious problem that was metastasizing across the Middle East. Ukraine was an especially concerning situation given Europe's dependence on Russian gas. North Korea's new leadership was more belligerent than the last; China was beginning to take on a dark, concerning role.  

The ambassador concluded his talk with more general reflections about diplomacy, which were not much cheerier. Diplomacy, he noted, was ultimately about asking people to do things they would rather not do. To make such requests successful, leaders must rely on personal relationships they have built with others. The alternative is to use force, but Hill says war is a horrific event that people tend to underestimate. 

Leaving Ambassador Hill's presentation, I was thinking about issues very different from the equations and graphs that usually fill my time. Though his talk was quite heavy, I was glad I went and it gave me an opportunity to learn about a field different from my own.

 

Over the past few days, I had the chance to interview members of pastoralist Maasai communities near Amboseli National Park. We arrived here late last week for the second part of our current course, "Ecology and Conservation of African Landscapes" with Paula Kahumbu, and a group of us are currently working on a project related to women’s empowerment. Specifically, we are interested in how education efforts supported by the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) and Kenyan government have impacted local communities, and we will have a chance to speak to representatives of the KWS as well as the U.S. ambassador to Kenya later this week about our work here. It was a wonderful experience to learn about the communities and their culture. Up to this point, we’ve been exposed mostly to the ecology and biology of animals and vegetation, which has been very informative and has taught me important ways to structure my thinking and questions, but I love the feeling of working directly with a community to evaluate the effectiveness of certain programs and to think about how to address their needs.

It’s been extremely enlightening for me. Before our visit to the communities, I thought the greatest obstacle that prevented children from getting a good education in this area would be the cost. In some ways this was true, but there seemed to be a number of cultural considerations that affect the ability of certain children to attend school as well. In one community we visited, only 22 of the roughly 50 primary school children from 2013 went on to secondary school. Of the graduating class, only nine were girls and only two of those girls went on to attend secondary school. To me, it seems critical to explore and address the reasons for this disparity, and this is the sentiment we hope to inspire in those to whom we will present our work. 

I enjoyed this experience so much—it is the kind of thing that evokes passion in me, which makes me believe that it is possible to apply things I have learned and am learning in classes to effect some change in this world. I have always felt that an education should be more than simply rote memorization or competition for grades, and I am very grateful for the chance to experience education as something more tangible and rewarding than that. 

Little did I know that at Princeton there would be a multitude of other avenues for me to express myself through fashion, even in an academic setting.

In a typical English course, my grade is made up of two papers, a test and class participation. The two papers come at midterms and finals, and they can range from five to 15 pages. Here’s the gist of a regular prompt in the English department— “Choose a passage from one of the books we’ve read and use it to create an argument.”  Depending on your comfort level, this prompt can be either awesome or terrifying. I’ve found that it’s usually awesome, albeit rather stressful. So here’s the process I use to write one of these free-wielding papers. Hope it’s helpful.

1) Choosing a topic

This first step necessitates the actual first step—reading the book. While reading, I always have a pen in hand. Mostly, I underline sentences I find odd. Weirdness is a great measure for a good paper topic—tonal shifts, alien metaphors, words that don’t seem to fit etc. After reading, I go back and find a passage that I didn’t understand. I read that passage over and over and over again. Next, I see if I can get anywhere with it. Usually the answer is no, sometimes it’s yes.

2) Coming up with an argument

My best (and perhaps only) piece of real advice is that you should check out the Oxford English Dictionary (oed.com.) It’s beautiful. It’s so much better than any other dictionary, like MLB to your little league team. If I’m writing about a poem, I’ll look up nearly every word in the OED. This is an awesome way to detect possible puns, which facilitates detecting possible interpretations. What is the word doing, what weight is it carrying, what is it referring to, is it sarcastic or sincere… become obsessed with the language the author is using. English arguments need to come from the language of the piece, not from your intuition or past experience.

3) Organizing.

My mind is a total mess, so developing prose that makes any sense whatsoever is a challenge. I start by typing up anything interesting in a word document: words that mean two things, interesting punctuation, symbols, allusions to other pieces of work. I then try to create some sort of order by dragging and dropping my paragraphs into another word document. The second word doc is organized by various themes. I drag and drop again—the third word doc is organized in some sort of argumentative order. This theme kinda proves this point that kinda proves this etc. Then I drag and drop again—the fourth word doc is hopefully my outline.

4) Writing

I write anywhere from three to five drafts before the final. I write pretty quickly. When I can’t think of how to phrase something well, I phrase it poorly and move on. Computers are great, because words can be deleted. Don’t worry about sounding like an idiot. If I want to write five good pages, I try to write 10 okay pages, and then I delete the worst half and keep the better half. My “editing” process is pretty much a glorified “deleting” process.

I know it’s not much—but after 2 1/2 years at Princeton, this is the best I could come up with. I’ll let you know when I get better, and maybe I can revise this post. 

I lead a Scholar Lifestyle because of my passion for learning. But this passion didn’t exist at all until I came to Princeton.

Before entering Princeton, my motivation to learn was simple: to obtain the knowledge to get better grades. Working hard was just a means to raise my GPA.

But eventually my old preconceptions about learning died away. The rigor of Princeton’s courses demanded more from me than working hard for the sake of getting high grades. I realized there needed to be a higher purpose behind my hours of struggling to write analytical papers and straining to absorb thousands of words into my brain.

After my first semester, a thought came to me: I mentor, write and run because I’m truly passionate about each Lifestyle. If I could apply the same passion to learning, then maybe I could endure large amounts of it, just like how I push myself in other areas of my life.

I began to evaluate why I enjoyed reading literature in the first place. I remembered how my life changed when I picked up a tattered copy of "The Sea-Wolf" by Jack London in the 7th grade. The book turned me into an avid reader after years of shunning books as modes of storytelling. Jack London's prose really captivated me, and he changed my perspective on reading. To this day I attribute my decision to become an English major to Jack London.

At the start of my second semester, I began reading literature with a renewed purpose: to gain something from everything I read like I unexpectedly did with "The Sea-Wolf." Eventually the hard work didn’t feel like work anymore. I felt like I was truly gaining something other than a means to obtain a good grade. I was gaining awareness about the history, philosophy, religion and politics of the past. Regardless of my final grade on a paper or assignment, I always walked away with an invaluable gift that couldn’t be dampened by red ink.

As my junior year approaches, I actually feel excited about conducting research on Jack London. I feel an obligation to continue his scholarship so more students may feel inspired by his writing. A few years ago, I would have never imagined doing research for sheer enjoyment. But now I enjoy learning, which I view as a type of self-development, and I have Princeton's rigor to thank for that.

This semester, in order to spice up my schedule a bit, I decided to enroll in a visual arts class. 

Day 4 continued: My team was closest to camp, so we could see the water creeping toward our tents, probably an inch every few seconds. We ran back just as the first few tents were inundated, and we began dragging the tents onto the highest ground possible.