The red-eye flight to Fort Lauderdale blinked by, and after stretching our legs and filling out the entry forms, the 16 of us piled into three charter planes bound for Andros International Airport, a glorified landing strip in The Bahamas.

PTL. Wherever I looked, that acronym seemed to be scribbled, from chalk on the sidewalk to Facebook status updates. According to UrbanDictionary.com, "Post-Thesis Life" (or PTL for short) is “the beautiful time when a college senior is finally finished with their senior thesis and can enjoy senior spring like a normal human being.” The Princeton Senior Thesis is a yearlong academic project, usually around 100 pages, required of all Princeton students (though engineers are given the option to pursue a semester-long independent project instead).

I love to read, but I don't always carry a book under my arm or automatically analyze everything. I have favorite books, but I don't know the ins-and-outs of literature. And that'd always been fine to me. But somewhere in my early time at Princeton, this idea of a true, very best English major crept over my thoughts towards the concentration. I realized the good English major Aliisa is a literary buff who reads 24/7, and who loves to quote and speak extensively about a broad range of authors and niches of literature. And I realized I wasn't her.

Princeton physics classes are hard. In a typical week of lectures, a professor will cover around a chapter of material from the textbook. To accompany these lectures, the professor will assign a problem set meant to solidify our understanding of the material and encourage us to apply it in adept, creative ways. These problem sets require a lot of work. An "easy" problem set may take four hours, a difficult one 20 hours or more.  

Luckily, students are not alone in facing these challenges. Professors are always available at office hours, and it is very common for students to work together on mastering the material. Most physics classes run problem sessions once a week to facilitate this collaboration.  

Problem sessions are run by TAs, graduate students who assist the professor of a course. Usually, the TA will start the session by reviewing the material the class has covered in the past week. This can be quite helpful, because as graduate students, TAs have learned the material more recently than the professor, and therefore remember which topics they found confusing at first, and how they resolved that confusion.  

After this review, students will work together on solving that week's problem set. The TA will stay for a few hours, and we can ask her or him questions when we have trouble. The work is quite collaborative and very enthusiastic. This part of problem sessions is in fact one of my favorite parts of being a physics major. As I talk with other students about the week's problems, concepts that were previously unclear gradually come into focus.  

We also love to work problems on blackboards. There's something about drawing and doing math on a blackboard while talking with others that makes one feel like a real physicist. These blackboards can become quite messy, however, as we realize what we've done wrong and write corrections nearby. I've included some images of problem session work so that you can get a sense of what we do.

 

 

 

There are two kinds of classes at Princeton—lectures and seminars. Seminars are small classes with lots of professor-student interaction. For example, I’m taking a Woodrow Wilson School seminar on federal and state budgeting, and in class I always feel free to raise my hand whenever I have a question or wish the professor to further elaborate on something. In lectures, however, professors have a set amount of materials that they wish to cover, so they typically don’t answer questions during class. Students are encouraged to ask questions after class or go to office hours, and to enhance interactive learning, for every lecture class at Princeton students also enroll in a precept. Precepts are small discussion groups led by either a professor or a graduate student and are capped at 15 students.

Last semester I took "Practical Ethics" with renowned Australian philosopher Peter Singer, and the class had about 450 students—one of the largest classes at Princeton. As you could imagine, the professor rarely took questions in a class of this size. However, my preceptor, a Rhodes scholar who also did his undergraduate studies at Princeton, did an excellent job integrating lecture materials into our precept. For every precept, we had one student do a five-minute presentation on that week’s readings, and the student would also throw out a few questions to get the discussion started. We would then debate back and forth, voicing our own opinions and commenting on others’ with regard to the lectures and the readings.

In my precept we had a good mix of junior and senior philosophy majors (intimidating!) and underclassmen who knew nothing about philosophy before that class (a.k.a. me). Also, because this class was about contemporary ethical issues, such as abortion and euthanasia, it was controversial in nature. But regardless of our backgrounds and personal inclinations, everyone was respectful, open-minded and inquisitive during the discussions. Our preceptor acted more as a panel moderator than as a lecturer, as he let us direct the flow of the discussion, but pulled us back on track when we got too bogged down in details. Speaking out in the precept really helped me gain a deeper understanding of the materials in a way that I never could by just attending lectures. 

At Princeton, in addition to eating, hanging with friends, participating in fantastic classes and activities—all that jazz—we also do this thing called studying. For real! So just as much as everyone needs to have places to socialize, most people have little nooks and crannies on campus where they can slip away to study or read. Let me take you for a little tour of my favorite study spots and libraries!

Since early high school, I knew that I would pursue an academic field that some would regard as useless, self-centered, or even menial. Perhaps some of you can relate; have you ever had this conversation?

Cousin: "What are you going to major in at Princeton?"

Me: "English."

Cousin: "But like, what are you going to do with that?"

Or recently, my three closest high school friends (all of whom are prospective med schoolers) were asking about Princeton. One looked at me with legitimate concern and said, "But Dylan, you were good at science, why are you doing this?"

So, why am I doing this? Yesterday, I was in class with my philosophy prof, and we were talking about the absolutely crazy stuff they're doing in the Princeton Plasma Lab. (Something involving an artificial star?) I said something along the lines of "makes you scared to go into the humanities, when the other guys are making stars." But my prof was unfazed. He said that every era with great technological advancement was coupled with great humanistic advancement. I agree, and I believe that my English degree will directly profit some faction of my future community. That being said, the reason I choose to study literature is pretty simple. 

It wasn't even much of a choice really— more of a compulsion. I've always preferred Marx to markets and Proust to petri dishes. Even with the so-called "right" fields, I couldn't seem to gravitate to the questions that had black and white answers. Any class was more interesting if it ended in the word "theory." What I've come to realize is that I don't need to support my academic path. Words fail to qualify the adoration I harbor for my favorite pieces of fiction, and often, words fail to characterize the reason why I dedicate a large portion of my life to doing just that. My latest piece of independent work was entitled, "Away Come Away: Yeats, Fairies, and Folklore." But the paper really could have been called, "Yeats is so fantastically brilliant that he'll change the way you look at your own existence in three stanzas." 

I've devoted a good chunk of my young adulthood to the practice of reading, understanding and critiquing the greatest creative works in the history of Western thought. I have many regrets, but none where literature is concerned. I know not yet what I will do with my English degree, but I do know that I refuse to apologize for it. 

This semester, I’m studying abroad through the department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, taking courses in ecology, animal behavior, and conservation.

Hello from Japan!

I am writing my blog entries now from my dorm room at Keio University, sitting by my window that overlooks the glowing city of Tokyo. Though the sun is setting here, I know that my family and friends across the world are just waking up along America's East Coast.

This is my third time going abroad as a Princeton student, so I am used to this extreme space and time difference. The summers after freshmen and sophomore year, I studied in China and worked in India, respectively, gaining exposure to the international perspective. As someone whose primary academic interest is international relations, I love to travel and experience new cultures as often as I can.

Though I am back in Asia once again, this is my first time actually spending a semester as a study-abroad student, and I will consequently be spending my longest time away from home. Four other Princeton students and I are taking part of a brand new Comparative East Asian Studies program hosted through the Woodrow Wilson School. The program includes study and internship across Japan, Korea, and Hong Kong, extending over the summer and spanning in total six months.

A lot of my friends back on campus questioned why I would devote so much of my time with Princeton living and traveling abroad. But I simply can't turn down the wonderful Princeton study abroad opportunities, especially when they are subsidized by scholarships and financial aid. More important, many of my greatest college experiences have come outside of the Orange Bubble, and outside of the United States. In my opinion, many more students should gain international experience while in college (it's one of the easiest times to do so), and I hope more departments adopt an international experience requirement similar to that of the Woodrow Wilson School.

This semester, and this new adventure abroad, has just begun. Things I instantly love about Japan are the foods, the hospitality, and the pop-culture. Though I’ve only been here two weeks, I’ve already learned so much about Japanese language and culture from classes and my new friends (from the latter, I've mostly learned fun slang terms). I’m stoked to see what Korea and Hong Kong have to offer over the next few months. You’ll continue to hear from me on this blog during my program, both about campus life and life abroad. For now, Sayonara!

An awesome tree near Tokyo, Japan.[/caption]

 

 

How does an engineer find herself in London spending a week analyzing Pre-Raphaelite photography and painting for an Art History class?

Interested in international development, I typed "poverty" in the course selection search box during enrollment period and came across Prof. Anne McCauley’s course titled "History of Photography: Pre-Raphaelite Photography and Painting" in the Art History Department. I immediately applied and became ecstatic when I heard the news that I would be joining ten other students on a journey to London over Spring Break as part of the course.

The class posing inside Windsor Castle.

After a few pre-trip assignments and layers of clothing checked through airport security, we found ourselves in London, where we were based in a comfortable Central London hotel for a week. We spent days viewing galleries in museums such as the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum. We even had the chance to visit Oxford University and Windsor Castle, where we interacted with key works from Queen Victoria’s private photo collection! This was all done with the best ‘curator’ any budding art historian could ask for – Prof. McCauley.

Of course, we were also given the chance to explore London by shopping in Camden Market, walking around Big Ben, and eating some mouthwatering crème brûlée (I had seconds!).

Having some mouthwatering crème brûlée in London.

The approach to the syllabus that such a travel-oriented class provided was an unparalleled tangible learning experience.  For instance, Prof. McCauley would lead an in-depth discussion about the texture and cultural significance of each painting, aspects we would not have fully appreciated in 2D on a classroom’s projector screen.

An obligatory cheesy touristy photo.

Seeing the artworks in person inspired my final paper topic for the class. When we visited the Pitt Rivers anthropological photography collection in Oxford, I was particularly struck by the portrayal of slavery in Africa and thus decided to write my final paper on a similar note, titled “Revealing the Unseen: Depiction of the Victorian Working Class in Greenwood and Concanen’s Works.”

As an engineer interested in international development, this class was the perfect medium for understanding the various dimensions of working in the field,  and for transcending the quantitative and written components of the usual classroom. Indeed, taking the course gave me a practical foundation to step out of my comfort zone and pursue my research interests and general academic curiosity from a visual stance, in which there is need to both create and analyze media.

A Princeton education is anything you want to make of it, and in fact anywhere you want to make of it.