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(09/23/22 2:29am)
There’s a tree so tall and so sprawling that a still-low morning sun produces a shadow so long that it blankets a large swath of Washington Road and even strains to graze the grass before 1879 Hall. The tree sits on the northwest corner of the Princeton Tower Club’s lot. I often enjoy sitting under the tree’s shade on cooler, late summer afternoons and well into autumn before the tree drowns the yard in its leaves. This tree dominates over Prospect Avenue, dwarfing recently planted trees that line the street under its canopy. I know the tree best in its barren state — only its massive trunk and its innumerable branches fragmenting into a mute sky during the core of the academic year. Truthfully, the imposing trunk is what has recently been confronting my imagination most.
(09/19/22 2:08am)
“Table for one.” It’s such a seemingly odd, out-of-the-ordinary request that the Princeton Triangle Club has a whole song about it. A duet, the song rides on its singers’ desire for a “table for two” — which they fatefully, perfectly achieve by the melody’s end. I’ve seen the song play out countless times, but a “table for one” holds such a different place in my life: It’s not odd. No, it feels too familiar. I’ve taken myself out to dinner or lunch, to breakfast or for coffee innumerable times. Often it’s simply out of necessity — but a few solo meals stand apart, persisting at the front of my memory for the greater emotion they carried.
(09/09/22 2:43am)
How does one come to love this school? It’s a question that’s recently been on my mind. I couldn’t avoid it at Reunions, with the passion of the alumni in attendance on display no matter where I turned. I couldn’t avoid it as I returned from my summer program, feeling the stress of a semester at this school slowly creeping back up into my jaw. I couldn’t avoid it as I moved in for my final year at this school, filled with dread for the goodbyes lying ahead.
(09/07/22 2:37am)
This piece is part two of a two-part Dispatch collection and part of the Dispatch summer 2022 series. Dispatches at The Prospect are brief reflections from our writers that focus on their experiences during the summer break.
(08/31/22 1:23am)
This piece is part one of a two-part Dispatch collection and part of the Dispatch summer 2022 series. Dispatches at The Prospect are brief reflections from our writers that focus on their experiences during the summer break.
(08/03/22 2:51am)
Content Warning: The following piece contains mentions of death.
(05/12/22 2:35am)
On the last day of April, I was rudely awakened by the noise outside my window. Assuming it was from the museum construction, I tossed in my bed and attempted to capture a few more precious minutes of sleep. Having failed in this attempt, however, I soon walked over to my window only to discover that the noise — the banging and humming, the occasional cracks and deep thuds — was not from the raising of a new museum but from the razing of the tree right in front of my dorm.
(05/06/22 3:01am)
There is something unusually cruel about making friends in the four short years of college.
(04/22/22 4:13am)
Anyone who has read my Self essay from last fall for National Coming Out Day might recall that I first came out to people by writing letters to them. I found safety and confidence in writing what I could not yet bring myself to speak out loud. I discovered the power in writing and sharing a story because in those moments, when I was writing and sharing my story, I happened to be saving myself, in a way, as well.
(04/11/22 12:31am)
As I’ve written and published more essays in these pages, I’ve discovered a great joy in knowing that I’m writing myself into the story of this place, Princeton. It may only be a few thousand words by the time I graduate, but they’ll be there. Alongside headlines of prestigious prize winners and major world events, I’ve added, among others, one celebrating my birthday, some mourning my losses, and one honoring my identity.
(03/14/22 4:00am)
This March 14th, I’m turning 22 years old, and just like these very words as I first write them down are filling the very first page of a brand new, blank notebook, I feel like I’m entering this year with the world wide open before me.
(03/04/22 3:39am)
It ended like it began: with a prematurely-published website update blowing up group chats and social media, all in anticipation of an official announcement intended to be released on the Wednesday of spring midterms. What began and ended in this manner isn’t the COVID-19 pandemic itself, of course. Rather, these parallel fumbled announcements — to send us home two years ago and now, to remove most precautions — so neatly bookend this pandemic chapter at Princeton.
(02/09/22 3:54am)
I spent nearly 18 months buying myself flowers every two weeks. Starting March 2020, it had fallen on me to venture out of the family home to buy groceries. I took the solitary trip to Costco and Kroger — and occasionally another store, like the Mexican market shop — only once every two weeks. I didn’t go more frequently, at first because that was the longest that we could store fresh food in our fridge space, and then — once our initial precautions relaxed — because the habit had formed.
(01/28/22 2:32am)
On Wednesday afternoon, as I sat in the first meeting of my French seminar, I found myself writing — in French, of course — a version of the following question: What is the significance of live theater? The exercise was to write the introduction of an essay about a topic on my mind, and thanks to the many hours I’ve recently spent in rehearsal for the Princeton Triangle Club’s upcoming show, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the significance and privilege of once again participating in live theater.
(12/30/21 1:00pm)
In 2021, The Prospect saw Princeton’s arts and culture continue to flourish despite the difficulties of the year. As the year comes to a close, we look back on 25 articles, reviews, essays and much more that capture Princeton life over the past year. If not redirected, click here.
(12/24/21 4:49am)
Throughout my years, I’ve had the opportunity to live, and other times, I’ve had the task to survive. I was reminded of this while traveling home for the holidays. Scrolling through Twitter while waiting in an airport terminal, I stumbled across a short essay by Jonny Sun that reminded me of this distinction. The former allows — encourages — flourishing, while the latter necessitates endurance, at the cost of pretty much everything else.
(12/08/21 5:33am)
I recently realized that come Dean’s Date, I’ll be exactly three months away from turning 22, and this provoked a mini existential crisis along the same lines of a question I’ve been asking myself all semester long: What do I want to do with the time I have left?
(11/04/21 2:56am)
Every semester, in the wake of midterm’s stress, there’s always one day that feels just like Christmas: the day the Office of the Registrar releases the course offerings for the upcoming semester. For me, it feels like the academic equivalent of running down the stairs on Christmas morning to discover what magically appeared under the tree overnight. There’s an element of surprise, of possibility, of newness, and even a bit of discovery shared between the two days.
(10/11/21 10:00am)
I was recently at a small party when I found myself rushing to the bathroom, sensing that the tear in the corner of my eye was ready to burst. I shut and locked the door as fast as I could, and after a single deep breath I felt myself cry in a way I hadn’t in a long time. But then, I took another deep breath, wiped everything away with a few squares of toilet paper, and returned to my friends to say, “I’m all good” when asked how my night was going.
(09/10/21 1:08pm)
A walk across the Princeton campus with attentive-enough eyes reveals it as a collection of monuments and memorials. Every stone laid, every piece of wood fitted, and every last bit that makes up this campus seems to carry with it a name or story of some sort. As students, we live and learn among arches, towers, and halls spotted with engravings, plaques, and other markers that both embody and perpetuate the history of this nation and university.