Aló, hola y bienvenidos a todos to the News’ Living Latinidad special issue. We want to take a moment to acknowledge and celebrate Latine voices during this month and wish that everyone had a happy Indigenous Peoples’ Day.

When it comes to witnessing Latinidad at Yale, there are multiple things to celebrate this year. The number of undergraduate students who identify as Latine or Hispanic has increased from 14 percent to 18 percent —  a record number. This fall, Jocelyn Naranjo ’25 founded Yale’s first Andean dance group, with the aim of fostering a space for members of Indigenous Central and South American tribes to dance and find community. Last weekend’s LATINExcellence showcase was sold out, as audience and family members danced together to salsa and merengue played by La Orquesta Tertulia.  

We want to thank all the writers within and outside of the News who submitted content for this special issue, especially our guest contributors. 

Latinidad spans across continents and intersects with multiple identities, and the idea of what it means to be Latine or Hispanic at Yale is still expanding. We hope this special issue uplifts Latine and Hispanic voices across campus. Our goal is to contribute in fostering a space for students who feel compelled to share their stories, whether that be through the News or through other forms of media. 

Thank you to News reporters, desk editors, copy editors, production and design editors, audience editors, photographers, illustrators and management members who contributed their time and efforts in producing this special issue. 

And, most importantly, we want to thank our readers. We welcome feedback and encourage you to reach out to us.

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a current co-editor for the Opinion desk and a staff columnist for the News. Originally from Doral, Florida, she is a student in Timothy Dwight College majoring in English. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu. 

The post Welcome to the Living Latinidad special issue! appeared first on Yale Daily News.

I know the series released nine years ago. I know it has a predominantly Latine cast, an accomplishment for American television at the time. I know it’s set in my hometown, Miami, and that the three most prevalent characters — Jane Villanueva, her mother Xiomara and her abuela Alba — are Venezuelan, like me. It’s the exact show I’d want to see. 

I just couldn’t get around to watching it because of its unfamiliarity. 

There is no shortage of TV shows set in Miami. A couple of the first Miami shows I learned about were “Miami Vice” and “CSI Miami” while I was in elementary school. They were just pop culture references in my mind. No one would let a child watch a detective or police show, especially when said child had nightmares for a month after watching one of the Chucky movies. The first Miami show I sat down to watch was Disney Channel’s “Austin & Ally.” 

When it first aired in 2011, I was ecstatic. We made it on Disney. Every time the scene would cut to the b-roll where they would feature shots of colorful lifeguard towers on South Beach, I tried spotting the same towers when my family made the 30-minute drive from Doral (minus traffic). 

Even though the setting looked familiar, there was something off about the show. Maybe it was the classic-and-ever-omniscient-Disney laugh track, or the bright yellow Mall of Miami, or the upbeat Disney-style pop songs that sounded eerily similar to the other upbeat Disney-style pop songs.

Then I realized: Trish De La Rosa is the only visible, recurring Latine character in the show.

Trish is useful as comedic relief. Her job: Ally’s best friend. The token best friend who identifies and presents as a person of color was a common television trope then. It was useful. On the “black best friend” trope, critic Eric Deggans writes, it “[made] the cast of a TV show or film look diverse, while ensuring non white characters never really steal the spotlight for long.”

But wait! Trish is also a professional! She’s Austin and Ally’s manager! And that’s not the only job she has! She has many, but nearly all of them seem to be minimum-wage jobs that she often gets fired from because she’s a “terrible” employee and she “lacks discipline”! And they are funny jobs at funny companies that make her wear funny costumes! “Sausage cart,” “Suzy’s Soups,” Meatballas,” “Mailboxes and So Forth” — do you get the joke? Do you?

Alas, it’s not “Austin & Ally’s” responsibility to be authentic. After all, they could have changed the setting and nothing in the storyline would have been impacted (I don’t think any musical artists are concerned whether Austin and Ally’s experience of breaking into the music industry is authentic either). What makes me critical about “Jane the Virgin” is the fact that Miami and Venezuela are characters in the show, but they sit in the background. 

“Jane the Virgin” doesn’t subscribe to any tropes except that of the telenovela, which it does so intentionally and with comedic and dramatic effect. It doesn’t scream “Hey, did you know these characters are Venezuelan? Because they are and you should know that they are sooo Venezuelan.” I respect that. 

Apart from using certain phrases and mentions though, the show doesn’t put much effort in leaning into Venezuelan culture. From the show’s first scene, it’s clear Jane loves three things: her “family, God and grilled cheese sandwiches.” Oh, and abuela’s arepas, but that’s revealed later in the first season (can’t get more Venezuelan-American than that). I remember Alba saying the word “chévere” in the way it’s used in Venezuela once (which isn’t exclusively Venezuelan, but I was still surprised). And throughout the entire show, it is never forgotten that Alba immigrated from Venezuela. The fact that she arrived in the U.S. undocumented is a major plot point in her arc. Where specifically, you ask? I wonder the same thing. 

Behind the camera, the representation is not much better. The three actresses that portray these strong, determined Venezuelan women are Puerto Rican. I’m not saying that only Puerto Ricans can play Puerto Ricans and Venezuelans must play Venezuelans. That is a different conversation that I think depends on the production and its resources. My play, “Mango,” has Venezuelan characters. Although it had a predominantly Latine cast the time it was read for the Yale Playwright’s Festival, only one actor identified as Venezuelan. 

But for a show that seems to have the budget to include celebrity cameos like Isabel Allende, David Bisbal, Juanes, Britney Spears and Bruno Mars, I find it hard to believe that there is a lack of talented Venezuelan actors perfect for the roles. The only Venezuelan actor I can name whom I think Americans would recognize from TV is Fred Armisen, who played a Venezuelan parks department vice director in “Parks and Recreation.” That’s a problem. 

It’s not enough to say that the show “proves diversity is more than skin deep,” as a 2015 Atlantic headline reads, and give the showrunners a gold star for Latine representation that feels complex and human. When a show presents characters that identify with underrepresented cultures in American media, it is key to treat that culture with intentionality, respect and the specificity that it deserves. Our culture is more than skin deep. It’s in our blood.

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a current co-editor for the Opinion desk and a staff columnist for the News. Originally from Doral, Florida, she is a senior in Timothy Dwight College majoring in English. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu. 

The post DOMINGUEZ: What does it mean to have Latine representation? appeared first on Yale Daily News.

Some may think of this inexperience as a weakness; how could I give the guidance necessary to navigate Yale when I haven’t done it through a prefrosh’s eyes? If you are one of these skeptics, I get it. But I would argue that Yale is much more than the experiences that the school will push you to do for a couple of days. The sampler that you will receive will show Yale at its most grand and prestigious: there will be classes with famous professors, you’ll gasp at the thousands of extracurricular groups and talents that thrive in this school and you’ll be living with a student host(s) who will impart knowledge about anything you’d like to know. This article will not be the primary or only resource you consult, and it definitely shouldn’t be. 

I write this encouraging you to deviate (slightly) from the Yale programming. It’s scary, I know. You’ll probably be using Google Maps and looking at posters on bulletin boards wondering “What is WLH? Or SSS?” This is all stuff that you will get accustomed to in your first year should you decide to matriculate here. You’ll be fine. 

These are just a few of the things that have defined my time here and that have influenced my college decisions. Maybe you’ll agree, maybe you won’t. But you’ll probably find things you like along the way.

When you go to breakfast, lunch or dinner, talk with the dining hall staff. This should be obvious, but it’s not something that many people stop to do. Not only are Yale’s dining hall staff incredible people, but they will most likely be the ones that you meet every morning, afternoon, and evening throughout your Yale career. Start with a “Hi, how are you?” Build up to having a conversation. Ask for their name and give yours. 

One of the reasons that I decided to apply to Yale was because of people like Uncle Frank. I had the opportunity to talk with him the summer before I applied, and he remains one of the most influential people that I’ve met here on campus (I could go on about Timothy Dwight’s dining hall staff too, but I think that I’m 100 percent biased there).

As you go on about your day exploring Yale’s campus, search for details. You will be bombarded with posters advertising countless clubs, organizations and publications.

People will tell you that you should talk with this person if you’re interested in this thing, or go to this place if you’re wondering about what goes on inside it. While these things may define your unique experience in the future, there are things that will connect you to Yale’s larger history.

Yale has funny little sculptures in corners you might not expect. In Sterling, there’s an owl with the face of a man. In one of the Trumbull courtyards, there’s a boy sitting on a toilet. In almost every wall, there’s names attached to years and quotes. In hidden areas, you might find old letters belonging to alumni. But if you’re in Franklin and you see someone sitting on a bench at night, it’s most likely Benjamin Franklin (he is not willing to help you out if you need swipe access — he’s a stone-cold jerk).

Sometimes there will be paper cranes sitting on shelves in the libraries. On bulletin boards, there’s always events happening in-and-out of campus and posters bringing awareness to issues that students and New Haveners are passionate about. 

But don’t forget to get out of campus and into New Haven. I initially believed that with the semi-scattered layout of the residential colleges and academic buildings that campus wouldn’t feel so much like a bubble. I was wrong. If you wanted to, you could stay within campus borders and have minimal interaction with the city of New Haven. But this city has a lot to offer besides the apizza and other foods that Yale will promote in its brochures. There are countless opportunities to engage with the city and to explore, and you should walk through the city with as much curiosity as you will have walking through campus. There are countless communities that have been here for decades and centuries, and they have shaped Yale.

And in every place you go to, be respectful of Yale workers, faculty, students and New Haveners. Welcome to Yale. 

ISA DOMINGUEZ ’24 is a junior in Timothy Dwight College. Her fortnightly column “Classroom Banter” is a lively discussion of campus and student life. She can be reached at isa.dominguez@yale.edu.

The post DOMINGUEZ: The bulldog ways appeared first on Yale Daily News.

I can only hear the hum of air conditioning and constant typing. The light above me is almost yellow enough that it doesn’t resemble hospital LED-lights, but it’s still bright enough that it burns into my retina, even if I dare to close my eyes. Books are meticulously arranged in black metal shelves that are too smooth and don’t feel cold or warm or any temperature. There’s an outlet right below the black leather table I have my laptop propped on, so I can never stand up and my laptop will never die, which means that I am obligated to do my work. There’s an image of a missing cat named “Forbes” who was last seen on March 4. I can feel the tears of students that have evaporated into the air around me. 

I’m doing what most, if not all, Yale students do at least once in their Yale career: sit in Bass. 

I’m only here for research purposes; I don’t come here on principle. Unlike countless other students who claim that Bass is one of the most productive places to work in, I think that it is the most unmotivating place on campus. As I walked down the stairs from Sterling Library to Bass, memories of first-year Isa scrambling to write English papers or trying to figure out a statistics p-set emerge from the grave. I was so innocent and young, I had no idea where I truly was. Descending further down the red-brick hallway, I felt an increasing weight on my shoulders, making my backpack feel heavier. Gravity decided that it wanted a piggy-back ride, and it grabbed onto me and pushed me down closer to the ground. 

If I had tripped down the steps, it would have made sense: the weight from the pressure and the stress that consumed the air would have been more than enough. I might have stayed there on the gray carpeted floor. I don’t think anyone would have noticed; so many people stare into their screens that I think all peripheral vision is lost until the last word is written, the last question is answered, the last line of code is typed, the last index card is memorized. Bass is the place where things get done. And while good grades, graduation and admission to graduate school is a fine goal, I’m not a fan of working into the wee hours of the night. I prefer seeing what long, good-quality sleep feels like.

When I ask students who frequent this place “Why? Why here?” it’s almost always because they feel like they have no choice. They need to grind and cram. Though I would argue that there is always a choice. There are so many other locations on campus where one could study. The Beanjamin, Haas Library, Blue State — oh wait. Scratch Blue State. There’s just two other places. But really anywhere is better than Bass. 

I have nothing against the people who work here; it’s not our fault that we have to do homework and get them done in time. In the wise words of my Mami, “That’s college. What else would you be doing?” It’s the place. For a library whose name is a homonym of a fish, an instrument and a tone, it is not as exciting as any of these things. It’s clickbait.

If I ever say that I’m studying, find me in the Good Life Center, sitting in an orange bean bag and coloring.

The post DOMINGUEZ: The Bad Life Center appeared first on Yale Daily News.

But then I had a classmate who loved to use it in every sentence they spoke. “It’s interesting that,” “So that’s why I found that so interesting,” “What struck me as interesting” — I couldn’t handle it. And it was contagious. Everyone said it. 

“They bring up an interesting point.”

“Interesting question.”

“That’s actually so interesting because —”

I heard it until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I felt like I was getting hit on the head by a word that demanded my attention. Why wouldn’t you listen to something that’s “interesting”? Aren’t you curious? Sure you are, what a ridiculous question. I started thinking: why does this word exist? Why do we use it? 

“Interesting” does have an interesting history. Its first known use was in 1768, younger than Yale. And when it comes to pronunciation, the word has always been flexible. One could say it using three syllables or four, with accents stressed on different letters. 

More than 200 years after “interesting” came into use, the word has evolved, but it has become more misleading. I don’t find what my classmates think of as “interesting” as, well, interesting. It’s not that what they’re saying is not “of concern” (as the word originally meant). I don’t know how they actually feel about the things that they say. The word is vague, spilling with connotations and definitions that range from positive to negative, and it relies heavily on a person’s tone. “How did you like the class?” I ask my classmates. “It was interesting.” 

The thing is, for the spectrum of connotations that “interesting” covers, the way that one says it in a seminar is neutral. Without context, it’s too easy to get confused as to what a classmate means. 

Classmates usually use it to introduce a point. But it feels slow. “Interesting” is the waiting in line to get to whatever it is that may or may not be actually interesting. It’s the biting into a food to get to the delicious center. It’s an expectation, not a descriptor. 

I implicate myself as I’m writing this. I’ve abused the word. We all have. And I know how writing an opinion piece about one insignificant word makes me sound pretentious. If you’ve never met me, I wouldn’t blame you if you thought, “Wow, what an insufferable nerd,” while you were reading this. If you have, I wouldn’t blame you if you thought, “Isa, you’ve become a full-fledged English major. I mean, you look like one, but this — this — proves it.” Couldn’t the point that one makes in a seminar still matter regardless if they decide to sprinkle in “interesting” into a couple of their sentences? Yes, it could. But I think that for an argument to be received, understood, and remain resonant in discussion, it should be plainly spoken. And it helps when one deletes the words that no one needs and that no one cares about. 

“Interesting” is no longer interesting. Please, use a more interesting word. 

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a junior in Timothy Dwight College. Her column, “Classroom Banter,” analyzes student life and campus culture. She can be reached at isa.dominguez@yale.edu.

The post DOMINGUEZ: It’s not as “interesting” as you think appeared first on Yale Daily News.

But, in practice, shopping period often felt like a hectic scramble for students and a logistical nightmare for administrators and professors. There was too much confusion with students signing up for more than ten courses and sporadically coming in and out of classrooms. Registration lists could never be finalized, and it wasn’t until shopping period was over that professors had an idea as to who would remain in their courses. Add to that the amount of homework that inevitably piled up as students had to figure out which assignments they had to prioritize for each class that they registered for. 

That’s why shopping period had to die. 

At least that’s what I’m told. As a junior who “explored” classes for the first time through Zoom, I never had the chance to fully experience Yale’s shopping period before it passed. But I didn’t need to fret. No. From shopping period’s grave arose its cooler, more “effective” counterpart: early registration. Want to register for classes? Better do it during break or, better yet, finals season. Don’t spend too long browsing the thousands of courses available: those lecture and section spots will fill up quickly. 

In the past, early registration during the semester felt brief. It was inconveniently timed, but it lasted for a week. By 5 p.m., you had to have a list of classes that you thought you might want to take. And if you didn’t register for more than three courses by that time, then you get a $50 fee. — which makes me wonder what exactly administrators would do with an extra $50 in their big Yale-blue pockets. 

But last semester’s early registration period felt prolonged. Spots filled long before the period ended after Thanksgiving. I thought that I had time to register, that there would still be availability after I had finished digesting my turkey, stuffing, plantains and yuca. Instead, I was scrambling to find courses with open seats on the last day of early registration.

Its second round this month should have assuaged the “unnecessary complexity” that is associated with the process. But it only dragged on the stress. It’s not a revelation that students and faculty have been frustrated with early registration. It has been documented in articles, it can be heard in dining hall conversations, and I have seen students switching between CourseTable and Yale Course Search on their laptops, browsing endlessly for open classes. I could write about early registration’s issues and what I believe should be the ultimate solution, but I’m not sure what other options there are. What I do know is that compared to the exploratory spirit that shopping period seemed to promote (at least from an outsider’s perspective), early registration seems to invoke the opposite. It demands that you know what you want to pursue. Forget “And” — it’s either/or. 

If I had the chance to rewrite my “Why Yale” essay, I know for sure that I wouldn’t have written about early registration. I probably would have written about how nuanced Yale is: how awesome it is to attend a school with a vast amount of resources and how fantastic it is to get into unproductive and unnecessary competition with fellow students just to access them. If that’s the way that Yale is going to operate, say that. 

I’ve got to give it to Yale’s brochure writers though: “With more than 1,000 courses offered each semester, selecting just four or five is a challenge.” They’re right — it’s more of a challenge that any one of us could have ever expected. The best advice I could give to upcoming classes? Have your list of classes on hand and get your alarms ready. Because class registration starts months before you even step foot on campus. 

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a junior in Timothy Dwight College. Her column, “Classroom Banter,” analyzes student life and campus culture. She can be reached at isa.dominguez@yale.edu.

The post DOMINGUEZ: Why, Yale? Why early registration? appeared first on Yale Daily News.

It was visible from the start of my isolation experience and that of others who were there too just how much Yale was expecting us to compromise during our recovery. On April 22 at 10 p.m., I entered a room that was already occupied by someone who had arrived that afternoon. We stared at each other in shock — she hadn’t been notified of my arrival and I didn’t know that I should expect roommates. Glancing at the other empty bed across the room, there weren’t any linens. I eventually found some in another room, thanks to a friend that I was lucky enough to have there with me.

Another student told me that they arrived around 9 p.m. at a bunk bed on the third floor where there were no linens or towels. After emailing Yale Isolation Housing, they were told that there were linens on the second floor. But there weren’t. “If the expectation is that we are supposed to proactively get bedding for ourselves when we’re dealing with an illness, then that should be clearly communicated,” he told me. He slept with his sweatshirt as his pillow.

The next morning, I received an email from Yale Hospitality that my food had been delivered. It wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be delivered tomorrow either: it was supposedly a one-time delivery that was meant to sustain me for Saturday and Sunday. I used my $75 in Grubhub credit to stay fed.

On day four, five girls suddenly moved into the suite, all on their first day. There was no notification from Yale — even after students have asked for a heads-up. A nurse told me through the phone that this was “standard hospital protocol” for patients with COVID-19. But this isn’t a hospital. And it shouldn’t be expected for undergraduate students with limited to no background in medical protocols to know this upon arrival.

I called Yale Isolation Housing to find out what was going on since more people were moving into the floor and more suites were being filled up. And I received mixed messaging. I learned that day that McClMellan Hall was closed for an “event” and that that was why more people were being crammed into Arnold Hall. Another nurse told me that it was closed for maintenance. A recently published Yale Daily News article briefly mentioned that admitted students coming in for Bulldog Days and who tested positive were being placed in isolation housing on-campus — I can only hope that this isn’t true, considering that it shows blatant disregard for current students over potential ones. 

COVID-19 is scary. And it’s serious. My parents went to the hospital because of how debilitating their symptoms were in December 2020, when we knew less about the virus and when vaccines were just announced. No one wants to be infected, even now with the luxury of vaccines, boosters, hindsight and more information. It makes sense that Yale is being cautious. 

But those who already are infected with COVID-19 and who have to deal with physical symptoms, changing housing situations and increased anxiety surrounding upcoming assignment deadlines while trying to recover from a virus deserve to understand the circumstances they will encounter. The least that Yale can do is care about the students already infected with COVID-19 just as much as they care about potentially spreading it. Tell students about potential roommates before they arrive at isolation housing. Ensure that food and linens are delivered, without having to rely on sick students demanding that they need these, especially when they’re arriving at night. Check in on students in isolation and ask about their health. Be communicative about what to expect within isolation housing. Be proactive for the students whose primary concern should be their recovery.

Isolation is difficult enough and we’re trying to do what we can within these four walls. Please, Yale, do your best to show that you care.

Isa Dominguez is a sophomore in Timothy Dwight College.  Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu

The post DOMINGUEZ: Dear Yale, from Arnold Hall appeared first on Yale Daily News.

She thanked me. As she walked away, I called out, “Wait, what are those photos for?” She turned around and smiled. “They’re for my photography class. We’re studying shadows.” We briefly talk about the class, and she shows me the photos. They seem candid, but I know that my “studious” face is a pose: I’m pretending to concentrate on my Japanese grammar worksheet. “I’m trying to get over my fear of approaching people in public and asking to take pictures of them,” she said. 

Two other people pass by, one after the other. The first hugs me. He had a biochemistry exam in the morning and a physics exam in the evening the next day. Another girl joins us. “How do you know each other?” I ask. “Shared trauma. We were both here in the winter.”

I look up and see someone on a scooter with a purple backpack. I call out her name. “Can I join you?” she asks. I say, “Of course.” In the next two minutes, another friend passes by. I call out his name. He waves and takes out his earbuds. He also joins us on the stone. They chat. She talks about her “Halloween curse” and how past Halloweekend “was no exception.” 

These conversations happened in the span of three hours. I deliberately planned this time to see what kind of conversations I could hold with others. It’s an act that I call “intentional spontaneity.” It sounds like a contradiction. And it is. I’m referring to the intent to be spontaneous. To do whatever it is that can be done because you want to do it.

Forgetting to enjoy college is easy. Classes and extracurriculars quickly accumulate before one realizes that they need to catch up. I might remember how many times a week I’ve gone to the Sterling Starr Reading room to study — or to look like I’ve been studying — but I won’t remember the passages I read or the facts that I memorized for a test. I probably had an assignment due that November afternoon, but I don’t remember. What I do remember are those conversations and the people. They were random, simple, short, long. 

When I look at Cross Campus now, I wonder how many conversations I’m missing, how many people I haven’t seen or have yet to run into. I’m waiting for a warmer time when the ice has melted from the stone, and people gather to sit down and bask in the sun before it sets at 6 p.m. instead of at 4 p.m. I’m leaving my Google Calendar open for that day.

Spontaneity often doesn’t have intent. But let’s make it intentional. 

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a Sophomore in Timothy Dwight College. Her Column, “Isaential Readings,” runs every other Monday. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu. l

The post DOMINGUEZ: Intentional Spontaneity appeared first on Yale Daily News.

At 7 a.m., a Marimba alarm blared. I fell out of my bed and tried to read whatever reading I needed to do for a class. I leaned closer, my chin resting on my desk, as I squinted at the 10-point, Times New Roman letters. I understand that I’m reading English — that’s a great sign that I’m awake and that I can still read.

I waited for September, October, November, December to see if my routine would change and if there would be a time when I could jump up, pump my fists, and shout, “Put me on a balance beam right now because I’ve found the balance.”

It’s a new semester now and I still haven’t found it. And I’m starting to wonder if I ever will. 

I’ve asked others about achieving it, but most of my friends and classmates seem just as confused as I am. They pepper “should” or “could” into their rants about managing their college life. They could be putting more effort and time into all that they’re doing. They should be more responsible with their classes and extracurriculars. Why can’t we juggle everything like we did last year? Why is everything suddenly so overwhelming and uncertain? What happened?

Our conversations almost always end with a shrug: neither of us knows. 

Balance is not just a goal at Yale; it is the expectation, anchored by the spirit of “and.” On the first page of Yale’s admissions brochure, they claim that “Yale is best defined” by it. Students can do math and english and history and global affairs and ethics, politics and economics. We take our classes and we do extracurriculars and we talk with others in dining halls and in our suites about topics ranging from Toads to classic literature and — if we have an hour or two — we sleep.

It was easier to overload when the mode of transportation was the click of a button. But I’ve found that in the transition to in-person education, achieving balance is physically impossible. Needs take time: we sleep for eight hours (on an ideal campus), wake up, get dressed, eat, walk, talk, eat, walk, wonder, eat, rant, get ready for bed. The spaces where one can cram in work or social events are limited. 

And we only have so much energy that we can expend. Life happens: an injury, a difficult conversation, a sudden death can immediately shift anyone’s mood or focus, affecting how the day, week or month goes. 

We circle back to the original issue: how do we achieve balance?

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a Sophomore in Timothy Dwight College. Her Column, “Isaential Readings,” runs every other Monday. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu. 

The post DOMINGUEZ: The Myth of Perfect Balance appeared first on Yale Daily News.

I believe, however, that there are Yale students that strive to swim against “this current of selfish thinking.” It may take “a single bad experience with generosity to become subconsciously convinced that others-oriented thinking is not worth the mental energy anymore,” but it can also take a single good experience to remember that generosity thrives in the simple.

I had 30 minutes before class time. There was no need for me to sprint to the Watson Center, but I was desperate to study for an exam the next day. I flopped onto a chair, threw my heavy backpack on the floor beside me and stared at the long list of 70 unfamiliar vocabulary words written in another language. As I was repeating each word out loud, I was thinking that I could have studied in the morning, during lunch, on the walk. At this rate, I should study in class while the professor is figuring out how to run the projector for the tenth time.

Twenty-five minutes later, my classmate approached me with a steaming cup from Fussy Coffee in his hand. I glanced up at him, smiled, said hello and grabbed my backpack to enter the lecture hall. I memorized nothing. 

Before I got up from the chair, he stretched out his hand, offering the cup to me. “They gave me an extra chai latte. It was part of a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal,” he said. There’s no way. “Are you sure?” I asked, surprised. Why me? Why now? What had I done?

His answer was simple: “You have a ‘horrible poker face.’” “You read my article?” He hesitated. “No, it’s just obvious to see that you’re stressed.” He later admitted that he had read it, but that he didn’t want to be seen as “weird” for doing a random act of kindness. The “why’s” didn’t matter; he simply wanted to.

The answer as to why I was initially surprised by his act comes down to the generosity problem: combine “the stress in the life of a Yale student” and “a lack of character-oriented education, and you have a recipe for a very selfish person,” as Boles wrote. I thought that any random showing of kindness was just that: random. It’s easier to assume that everyone is focused on paving their respective paths, fulfilling their goals, which means that I should be doing the same.

But throughout last semester and at the beginning of this spring, I’ve realized that these moments happen often and that they take small forms. Sometimes, generosity appears in offering to take an aimless walk at night, talking about the anxious and the joyful things or not talking at all. It shows in a meme that touches on a previous dinner conversation or on a curated Spotify playlist. It shows in the persistence to reach out, to pray.

Acknowledging the simple is easy to forget, especially when there are much more “important” and “urgent” things to do for oneself while bearing “the weight of future success,” as Boles pointed out. It’s up to the students to come up with different ingredients. 

If Yale is the generosity killer, then students are the remedy.

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a Sophomore in Timothy Dwight College. Her Column, “Isaential Readings,” runs every other Monday. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu. 

The post DOMINGUEZ: The Generosity Remedy appeared first on Yale Daily News.