I’ll be writing my next few pieces on what it’s like to be studying abroad at a university in the United Kingdom.
I have no opinions.Well, I should qualify that statement. I have an abundance of opinions, but I have very few opinions that I feel comfortable articulating outside the realm of writing.
College, we are told, is the time to try new things; finding the opportunities, resources and like-minded adventurous peers who abound around campus is only a matter of showing up to a meeting or striking up conversation with an upperclassman.
Over the past two years the Wilson School has seen large changes to its programs. As the school has moved away from its status as Princeton’s only selective major, students have seen requirements added, task forces changed and the end of the certificate program.
If you’d asked me two weeks ago what I expected of college, I certainly would not have said crooning “Wagon Wheel” in the company of people donning “Rage with Romney” bro tanks and American-flag Chubbies, and then pledging allegiance to an American flag hung on one wall of a cramped dorm on 9/11 (it should be noted that no one was sober in that room). I would never have foreseen my attending a pregame for the College Republicans during Freshman Week, trying to dodge fireballs in clamorous political discourse over Fireball. I should mention that I’m not actually a Republican.
The other day in the dining hall, I overheard a group of students exchanging academic horror stories much like old soldiers sharing their battle wounds.“Four all-nighters in two weeks!
The Office of the Registrar’s add/drop deadline marks the time when students begin to reflect on their course load, thinking about what courses they should take in the future, and what they would have done differently if they could return to the first few weeks of September and re-enroll in classes.
Nobody is going to argue that Ivy League schools aren’t exclusive. We all feel a sense of pride being here, precisely because it’s such a challenge to get to this point.
If I could sit my freshman self down at the dawn of my Princeton career, I’d have quite a few things to say.
Taking the rush hour train across Midtown always seemed to show me the best of the city. The indescribable odors.
I am a feminist, so the first words I spoke at a recent town hall meeting on the new sexual assault procedures were in praise of the University’s speedy response to the new Title IX regulations.
Coming into Princeton, I knew I wanted to get involved with community service. At the Activities Fair, I spent most of my time under the Pace Center for Civic Engagement tent.
The week we, the freshman class, marched through FitzRandolph Gate, we were bombarded with activities that initiated the four-year-long journey that will be our Princeton careers.
’Tis the season to be rejected. The acceptance emails and rowdy pickups have maxed out now as student organizations across campus take their pick of the deliciously talented cornucopia of applicants.
You would think the author of an essay titled “Don’t Send Your Kids to the Ivy League” would get a chilly reception in a room of Princeton students.
