In memoriam: Miriam Marian

Miriam Marian was a student at Princeton University. A bright young girl, brimming with intellectual curiosity and compassion for humanity, she came armed with a stellar resume, practically perfect grades, spelling bee awards and a letter of recommendation from Kofi Annan. In high school, she volunteered to help underprivileged children read in 12 different languages; in the rest of her spare time, she attended forums on deforestation, feminism, queer theory, democracy and the preservation of Inca relics. The only child of proletariat parents, she represented the social rise of poor people. She reminded us all that in the melting pot of capitalist society, not everyone at the bottom gets burnt.

Princeton represented everything she had dreamt of. "The tree of knowledge grows there," she said to herself. "It is a place where men of learning spring from and go to. It would just suit me." (Having memorized the works of Thomas Hardy on her daily commute to the Center for Incan Culture, she often quoted him.) Her roommate was a rich girl who had many beautiful and expensive items in her room. It was a beautifully decorated room, but her roommate never slept in it anyway. This meant that Miriam had plenty of time to study and do her work in peace, though the frat parties next door often kept her awake at night. Miriam was not a superficial person; eye bags and premature aging did not bother her.

But what a frightful shock it was for Miriam when she received a B in her writing seminar! "B?" she thought to herself, her face ashen. "This has never happened to me before. I shan't take that Swahili literature class after all. Or teach those stupid children Arabic in my free time."

She bought a studded whip from the University Store at a special members-only discounted price of $8,000 and began to flagellate herself at night so she would not fall asleep. This displeased her roommate very much, who did not enjoy having bits of flesh strewn all across the room. She would not put up with such ridiculous behavior for very long, and indeed the time came for them to have a serious conversation.

"Miriam," said Stella, her roommate.

"You're completely insane. You need to relax and enjoy college."

"I'm not like you," croaked Miriam, whose pasty, holey face now resembled Swiss cheese and was quite ghastly to look at. "I don't have rich parents with connections. I'm not pretty. I won't be able to join Ivy as a junior and wear its tie as a belt to my first job interview."

"Silly girl," cooed Stella soothingly. "Only men wear ties as belts. Besides, why not be a little more open-minded? You are bound to find second-rate, I mean like-minded, people, in the other clubs. I'll help you fit in, and have some fun."

Stella, who had been brought up to be generous and kindhearted, bought Miriam some new clothes, some pot and three bottles of vodka. She introduced her to some senior boys, who introduced her to a game they called Sausages and Eggs. Within a year, Miriam began to feel like a normal person. By sleeping with all the male officers of a second-rate eating club, she succeeded at Bicker. She learned how to make small talk. The intricacies of the brand of humor that is absolutely necessary to be a college undergrad with a social life became second nature to her. Her grades plummeted, but it didn't matter, because everyone's grades were abysmal as well, except for those bizarre self-flagellating creatures whose names were taboo in well-mannered social settings.

"How dumb I was," she muttered pensively. "Life is but a continuous string of pleasurable sensations. Championing causes and helping others is for third-world countries. I admit that I sometimes miss the sense of moral superiority that comes from community service and all that — next year I shall find a way to please myself hedonistically and morally at the same time. I shall call it Project Perfect. But for now, I need to choose what to wear to my JPMorgan internship interview. To enjoy pleasures requires money, and I need to be rich."

Unfortunately, Miriam Marian was killed by a bus on her way to that interview. Our condolences to her friends and lovers. She will be missed by all. Johann Loh is a sophomore from Singapore. He can be reached at loh@princeton.edu.