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There’s nothing inherently wrong with the idea of a liberal arts education. The liberal arts model gives students a chance to explore a wide breadth of academic areas, meaning they can decide on a major through experience, rather than through parental pressure or other factors. I don’t envy my friends in Europe who have committed to studying one thing and one thing only, often running into trouble when they don’t find themselves actually enjoying their choice (I do, however, envy their tuition costs).
I attended a small preparatory high school, the Episcopal School of Jacksonville, known colloquially as Episcopal. For about 890 students, ranging from sixth to 12th grade, the school provides a sense of home, safety, and possibility. It’s the type of school generations of families attend with its manicured courtyards and stately brick buildings.
Life is more frail than we often perceive.
Go to U-Store. Online or in person, doesn’t matter. Buy a Princeton University shirt or hoodie. Make sure that the big, orange letters of “Princeton” are emblazoned across the front. Wear the gear to the airport. Enjoy not getting stopped by the metal detector that always mysteriously beeps when you get close to it.
The University of Pennsylvania Health System’s recent acquisition of Princeton Health is a major step in improving access to medical care for the region. Previously, Princeton Health — which includes Princeton Medical Center, a leading teaching hospital in New Jersey — had been “evaluating partnership opportunities to ensure its continued success in the future,” but ultimately announced its intent to partner with UPHS in 2016. This transaction officially took place early in January, making highly specialized care more accessible via Penn Medicine’s umbrella system.
How do you speak up when you are not sure your voice will be heard? If you are looking for inspiration, take cues from the students of Stoneman Douglas, who are taking what will likely be the single most traumatic incident of their lives and refusing to be quiet about it — organizing rallies, giving interviews, and forcing everyone to talk about something that is as old as our nation itself, and frankly, overdue for a change: our gun laws.
I couldn’t believe the news when I heard it. Another school shooting — really? After Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Sandy Hook, how was this still happening? Even the President seemed personally shaken by this one.
A month ago at eight in the morning, I was in my dorm room on the phone, trying to set up an appointment to get my anti-psychotic medication. The person on the line figured I needed immediate help. Two Public Safety officers barged into my room, assaulted me, pinned me down to my bed, handcuffed me, and dragged me out to the ambulance waiting outside my dorm building. My hands were bleeding. My mind was in shock.
On Monday, Feb. 12, former U.S. President Barack Obama and artist Kehinde Wiley stood atop the stage at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, each grasping the ends of a black veil that covered the seven-foot tall canvas between them. With the unveiling of the portrait traditional and customary for every American president since the opening of the portrait gallery in 1968, the bounds and parameters of this sustained custom to commemorate each president with a unique portrait in the gallery were pushed, experimented with, and revolutionized while maintaining the respect, solidarity, and sanctity of the ceremony for the nation’s highest office.
The following 15 outstanding applicants were selected out of an extremely selective applicant pool to be contributing columnists.
They crossed the border in search of refuge, and were welcomed and guided by the hands of the free and the brave. This is a reality someone might anticipate, based on the impression of our nation’s ideals. But for 28 undocumented single mothers and their children, who came from Central America, this was a fantasy. Upon entering Texas in 2015, these women and children were immediately deported without going before a judge. Although they petitioned for a proper hearing, a federal appeals court denied them this on the grounds that they were seized near the border.
At all stages of undergraduate life, Princeton is challenging. Freshmen take on the difficulty of first-year adjustments to campus life, and the rigorous independent work demands of junior and senior year are well documented. But, strangely, the struggles of sophomores often go under the radar. Many Princeton students who are (unsurprisingly) not sophomores say that sophomore year is the “best” year at Princeton, since there are no formal independent-research requirements, the first-year adjustment period is over, and graduation is far enough away to be out of mind.
I don’t remember when I started to feel guilty for picking up the Xbox controller. For the longest time, this mindless form of entertainment served as a break from a busy day or as a means to simply unwind in times of stress. Now, however, something has punctured that digital bubble of escapism: relaxation, a once acceptable pastime, has been equated to misdoing. This trend is particularly pervasive on this campus.
On Feb. 26, 2018, the University published a “Statement About Applicants’ Right to Protest.” The University has stated that students who “act on their conscience in peaceful, principled protest will receive full consideration in our admissions process,” and that “If students are disciplined by their high school, they will be encouraged to augment their application to Princeton with a statement that addresses why they were moved to protest . . . .” The University is affirming students’ rights to protest in high school. Though the statement was released in response to the protests involving gun control, it seems noteworthy that the University seems to be affirming high schoolers’ rights to protest in cases that meet two criteria: the protest must be peaceful and principled.
March 29, 2017: the inaugural night of the University’s unofficial Bollywood Club. Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi students, among others, flocked to the Wilson Black Box Theater, dragging their roommates and friends along for a taste of samosas and Bollywood. The movie of the night was Karan Johar’s “Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani,” a two-and-a-half-hour romantic saga with all the typical ingredients: drama, romance, and (a lot of) dancing. To me, the loud, pulsing music, sequined costumes, and abundant tears elicited a strong sense of nostalgia, making me feel like I was sitting in my living room with my family in Delhi. The other South Asians probably felt the same, judging by the smiles on people’s faces as they explained the movie to friends.