Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?

Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..

As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.

If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.

Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.

back to unpoetic realities..

When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.

Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.

Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”  
We’ve grown so much at Yale.

Memories can become blurry, over time,
like underdeveloped photographs,
or incomplete, like sunlight through blinds.

Our lives move ever forward,
like the inflexible patterns of stars.

Once fevered and immediate events
recede, with frightening, doppler effect,
as remembered yesterdays,
become forgotten yesterdays.

New Haven was abuzz. The hotels were booked and moving trucks had taken every free parking space for miles. Last Sunday was freshmen move-in day and 1,554 freshmen moved into their Yale residences. It’s one of our favorite days of the year. The hubbub of freshmen moving, lunching, shopping and later, seeing off their departing parents, created a delicious emotional chaos that we watched unfold, like a Greek chorus.

The movie ‘Love Actually’ begins and ends with montages of people greeting friends, family and loved ones at Heathrow airport - it’s emotional and heartwarming. Move-in days are a lot like that - with their gordian knots of beginnings and endings. My parents were nervous and emotional on my freshman move-in day - as was I - but we all tried, desperately, not to show it.

Welcome to New Haven freshmen, everything’s beautiful, but you’ll get too busy to enjoy it much.

We upperclassmen move in tomorrow.

Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us

Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight

Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank

Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations


Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning

Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.

They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun

Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.

back at the bottom of the food chain,
lost in the sea of faces
in the many upperclassmen only 1 stood out.
a sophomore
wild, unprecedented attraction grew.
death stares exchanged and mystery of each other unraveled.
but i thought, he could never like me.
i'm just a mere small, skinny Asian girl.
no plans for the near future or ideas about what will happen.
and though i knew that "us" couldn't be possible, i still hoped.
that maybe a sophomore frat boy
noticed a
freshman.

its spring-
when all you can hear
is the SLAP
smack
of flip
flops
running
skipping
talking
laughing down the hallway.

its spring-
when the upperclassmen
OBSESS
for weeks
about prom.
while the underclassmen
sigh,
simply wishing to run away
into summer

its spring-
when its seems like
grades and exams are
the only thing
that's on everyone's mind
(besides prom),
and the quiet girl
in the back of the classroom
stares out the window
at the flower petals dropping from the trees...

its spring-
when people who
think that life
is completely hopeless,
and have had
one of the worst
-no, THE worst-
winters of their life,
out of nowhere:
find some hope.

because its spring.
and spring is just the beginning
all over again.

Two nights ago, Sophy and I were studying for our chemistry class in a library 24/7 room. Those feature large open areas with couches, tables with computers and some other, small desks behind cubicle walls. We were seated in the cubicle area. It was after 11pm, a time when the library rooms are usually deserted.

Suddenly, these five brolics come noisily into the open area. As soon as we heard them, Sophy and I exchanged a look where we asked each other, “Should we leave?” But we decided to wait and see if they’d settle down or stay.

There’s a native kind of white, frat **** I’ve encountered once or twice in my year at Yale. These men, usually upperclassmen, are big, rude, entitled and combative ***** who are positive they rule the universe. We derisively call them “scions”.

One time Leong and I were in line to buy snacks. Leong had just stepped up to the register and this scion walked up - cutting the line - to buy a drink. He reached out with his card almost hitting Leong in the face - like she wasn’t there, like the line wasn’t there. I'm sure the checkout lady just quickly processed his card to avoid a scene.

Now there were 5 of those jerks in one room - their inherent chaos introducing them. They were loud and bunxious (hello, can you say library QUIET?). One, in particular, had a very deep, grinding and irritating voice. He started truthing to his audience, crowing about a recent, violent, ******* encounter he’d had. Sophy and I looked at each other in shock, like “***??”

At the end of his explicit narration, he kept repeating “Bang’n it.. Bangin’ it.. Bangin’ it.. Bangin’ it..” slowly, rhythmically, grindingly over and over - he must have said it 80 times with various nasty inflections. While he was playing that out, the others were laughing and yelling encouragement and raunchy feedback over his “Bang’n it” mantra.

I’m sure they didn’t know we were there. But I turned a little and drew my feet up onto my chair, my knees becoming a small wall, in case the barbarians rounded the corner. I’ll admit that ******-guys like that scare me a little and there’s something in the tone of their voices that makes my skin crawl.

This seemed more than those “guy’s locker room talks” we’ve all heard about. The scene seemed oddly private and primitive, like a band of excited apes celebrating a ****. Perhaps something one was more likely to overhear in a dark fraternity basement than in a college library.

I guess I experienced a moment of gendered fear. Sophy and I both scrunched down in our seats a bit, exchanging “chagrinned, what now” looks. There just didn’t seem an opportune moment to reveal ourselves by leaving. Sophy showed me her phone - the app that summons a security escort if a student needs one was up - but I shook my head “no,” to mean “not yet,” and we decided to wait.

After about 15 minutes one of them said, “Let's get a drink” and they left. Thank God. I wonder what would have happened if we stood up and left. Hopefully nothing, but even now I shudder at the memory of that guy's voice. Those guys were way, way more than creepy.

the next morning i didnt now what to do with myself. i was in a funk, essentially. so i did the only thing i could think of. i wrote a letter back to him.

hi, um. im not very good at writing letters. and we both know im worse than you with expressing feelings. so im going to try. its probably going to be ****. anyways i like the mixtape, its cool. all my favorite songs. i like the thought. thanks. i hope you've been well. i've been ok, could be better.
hows your first year of high school? i hope the upperclassmen aren't too ******* you, because you are a 16-year old freshman. and i hope you found some biker friends.
i know you dont care about my life but i have no one to talk to, so i'll tell you.
well junior year has been- well its definetly been busy, but its been fun. i have a freshman in band that loves me.
well thats all i really have to update on my life.
i hope we can talk soon. maybe even in person.
sincerely,
K

i put the pen down and read over the letter. i was so lame. i sounded like a robot.

i picked up another piece of paper and started writing again; letting it all come out.

P.S. well that first part was really lame, i apologize. but i didnt know what to write and i don't have any package to explain, so i was lost. anyways this is real; every following word is true. i might've never said any of these, i might've said all of them. but they are all true.
wow where do i start.
i guess i'll kinda react/respond to things you said in your letter.
i didn't believe in love at first sight until you either. i also remember the first time i saw you. well really saw you. because i dont really remember the first time i saw you. i dont remember much about laying my eyes on you those first few days.
all i really remember is you literally took my breath away. i don't think i've ever felt butterflies like the first time i saw you.
you were on your bike. and of course i thought that was really hot. and i saw you again that time you mentioned. i was so self-concious because i could see you looking at me. i avoided looking at you completely. thats why i walked away right away. and then again (i think that night) when i was beside the playground and you showed up and started talking to my brother.
that night i went to bed happier than i had ever in a while. and then the next day. that was fun, as little as we did, it was the most fun day i've had in a while.
you brought me happiness. even before, you know.
i thought it was the cutest thing how determined you were to get the soccer ball back to me that day.
i loved how you would show up somewhere a few minutes after us.
well i just put everything onto paper for you. your welcome.
i still love you too. but i don't know what to do about this.
you may be the same age as me, but im going to college in a year and a half. you'll still be in high school. what are we going to do then? i don't know. do i want to get back together? i don't know. i don't know anything right now. do you? if you have any idea what to do, tell me please: enlighten me. i really do hope we can talk soon; really soon. i love you. always will, always did.
love, K

i thought of something and ran to my room, coming back out with notebook in my hand.

*P.P.S. i've attached some things in a notebook. i'll let you figure out what they are by yourself. feel free to use the rest of the notebook for anything. i have other copies of the things in the notebook.
-K

Before,
I only had a flimsy, hazy memory of one autumn evening.
I was waiting to pick up in the boys' hall, lounging on the floor when he appeared from nowhere and introduced himself.
Charming and tall and self-deprecating, I warmed to him immediately. (His eyes still have the same affect on me as they did back then)
Later, he told me he remembered the first time we met, and it wasn't in that moment.
The weekend before classes started, I was smashed in the courtyard with D, getting hit on by these nasty *** upperclassmen, when he walked by with a group of friends.
I, obnoxious, drunkenly charming, singled him out and I--
I hit on him.
Inebriated, unabashedly. Later, his comments about his eyebrows and the faces he pulled confused me, until
one night, laughingly, he asked me if I remembered the night I met him. He told me, gleefully, how I complimented him on his eyebrows. I don't think I've ever been more mortified, only to find out that he was just as embarrassed by the joke he made the night he found me outside his door, the night I thought we first met...

A tear runs down their face
Falling like a drop of blood
Into a pool of sharks
The fruit is still only maturing
But the monsters fully grown
Won’t wait for it to fall from the tree
You’re so mature for your age
You have a pretty young woman’s face
The boys your age don’t know
How to appreciate a beauty like yours

Silver-tongued devils roam the halls of the church
It couldn’t happen here
Somewhere so sacred and secure
But such places draw the vulnerable and trusting
How could cannibals like them resist
The urge to prey on those who pray so desperately

In the halls of the school
The young are ****** into the final phase
The final ascent to adulthood
The steps will get you there eventually
But there are many with a taste for young blood
Who would be happy to show you the elevator

Upperclassmen, Teachers, Pastors, Family and Family Friends
Those who have positions of power
The trusted and respected
How could I speak out
What risk would that bring me
What if no one believes me....

Monsters, cannibals, zombies, vampires
All fictional to the rest
But for many these evil beings
Are as real as the heart beating in your chest

The worst of it is, they’re told to keep quiet. This could ruin somebody’s life. Without acknowledging that it already has, and that who they’re protecting is the antagonist. I hope you have trouble sleeping tonight. I hope you trust the locks on your doors. Because you’ve caused some to lose the ability to trust at all, and you go on living without remorse. If your only fear is of being caught, or you try to justify what you’ve done. Then I’ll have as little remorse, when the time for reckoning comes. No longer will we tolerate a society that keeps your names and faces safe. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but you’re not dealing with anyone as self-righteous as yourself.