Tuesday was Bryn Mawr’s second annual Community Day of Learning, an incredible event that exemplifies Bryn Mawr’s commitment to activism, education, and community. Between 9 AM and 3:30 PM, classes are cancelled, offices are closed, and even essential departments limit their availability in order to make the Day of Learning accessible to everyone. This year’s theme was In/Visible: Class on Campus, Class in Our Lives. There were about 45 different options spread out over three sessions, including workshops, facilitated dialogues, discussion and experience panels, research lectures, films, service projects, and more. All faculty, staff, and students were invited to attend, and from what I saw, the turnout was incredible. The eagerness of the community to address difficult conversations and experience unusual learning opportunities has been one of my favorite things about Bryn Mawr.

I woke up at 9:55 and leapt out of bed, realizing I’d accidentally slept through President Cassidy’s opening remarks. I raced over to Carpenter Library just in time for Debunking Bryn Mawr: Perceptions and Realities of the Student Body led by Emma Porter ’17, Kirsten Adams ’16, Aarionna Goodman ’19, and Dean Christina Rose. The presenters are all members of Bryn Mawr’s First Go-ers, meaning they are first generation college students. We began by guessing percentages: students on any financial aid, on need-based, federal, work-study, students who are first generation, first go-ers on aid, etc. We compared our numbers with our neighbors. My neighbors and I had some guesses in common, but mine were significantly lower in other areas–I guess I’ve been hearing rumors that the freshman class is richer than previous years and I felt a bit disillusioned about Bryn Mawr’s ability to provide scholarships and aid for a large percentage of its students. When the real percentages were revealed, there was a lot of gasping, even from the many attendees who work in admissions (yay need-blind applications!). For those who are curious, here are my guesses compared to the reality:

information on financial aid and first generation college students (it got a bit wet)

After the exercise, we broke into groups to discuss our results. A handful of people expressed shock at the number of first generation students on campus, saying they didn’t know any. I’ve been lucky enough to be close friends with quite a few first go-ers, so I hadn’t been too surprised by the numbers. I and a few other members of my group pointed out that a first generation college student isn’t exactly something clearly visible about a person. For example, neither Emma nor Kirsten look like the stereotypical first go-er people might have in their minds (feel free to google “first generation college student” to see how these stereotypes are expressed–I don’t feel comfortable reproducing them here). We also talked about our perceptions of other groups on campus. One student said that because she knew international applications were not need-blind, she’d been under the impression that international students never received aid from the college and were all wealthy. Looking at the percentage of students on aid, and knowing that international students make up about a third of the community, she realized she’d been misinformed–clearly, at least some international students were receiving aid. A financial aid officer in our group confirmed this realization, telling us that Bryn Mawr tries its best to provide aid to international students since they can’t receive federal grants, but that many international students opt to conceal their need on applications in hope of increasing their chances of getting accepted while their families, extended families, and even whole communities make sacrifices for them to afford the costs. All in all, it was an incredible eye-opening discussion, and the panelists closed the session with touching personal anecdotes about their own experiences with class markers as first generation students. Even Dean Rose shared a sympathetic story about not knowing what NPR was and not bringing a mini fridge to college.

After that session, I made my way over to Dalton for Different Closets: Complicating Narratives of Class and Queerness, which was hosted by Meera Jayaraman ’17, Maya Ulin-O’Keefe ’17, and Kelsey Weymouth-Little ’16. This panel began with a silent writing exercise in response to the question, “how do you think queerness is expressed in rural and/or working class communities?” As I began to write, I realized that the extent of my knowledge was drawn from a high school production of The Laramie Project and a brief obsession with Billy Elliot. I decided that this meant I was definitely in the right place–it is, after all, a day of learning. We then shared our thoughts in groups and I was surprised to learn that two of the students next to me were able to speak from personal experience–I’d made assumptions about their class backgrounds without even knowing them at all. This is what I love about the Day of Learning: I’m learning about myself and how I allow my privilege to go unchecked while learning about the lives of others.

When the session turned back into a group-wide discussion, there were a few poignant moments that really stood out. One woman shared that in that group conversation she’d just come to understand bisexuality and that the group had helped her on her path to fully understanding and supporting her daughter. Another spoke about bringing her gender non-conforming child to a counseling and support center for queer youth, a resource she wouldn’t have had access to if she had lived in a different community. We also talked about queer fashion expression (flannels, work boots) as appropriated from the working class and how the intersections of race and class might make that expression of queerness inaccessible for certain people. One of my favorite takeaways from the day was when someone in the group stressed the importance of calling people in to discussions rather than calling them out for using the wrong language or not understanding something–it’s important to remember that not everyone has had the same exposure to education about gender and sexuality (or other topics) and to treat everyone as though they have good intentions and the ability to learn. The next activity involved responding to quotes from Steel Closets by Anne Balay and Exile and Pride by Eli Clare. I was impressed by the range of ways people interacted with the quotes and wished there was enough time to delver deeper than an introduction.

keynote speaker Helen Gym

I chose lunch over attending a third session, and all too soon, the Community Day of Learning had ended. Well, almost. The keynote speaker was local councilwoman and activist Helen Gym, a passionate proponent of education reform and Asian-American rights in Philly. She spoke about the deplorable conditions of Philadelphia’s public schools, many of which are suffering from the city’s rampant poverty, and how the schools are failing children from low-income backgrounds on many levels. Her remarks were a powerful call to consciousness and action, and her energy drew an emotional response from the crowd. After filling out a few reflection questions and talking to nearby friends about their days, I trudged uphill through the rain to get back to campus. Though the day had given me a lot to think about, the main thing on my mind was: I can’t wait to see what they do next year.

President Kim Cassidy at the closing ceremony

On Wednesday, I submitted my independent major proposal. It was just a click of a button on an online form, but it felt like a giant step towards having something to be proud of. The major isn’t even approved and I feel excited! After documenting the submission on snapchat, I began fielding a lot of questions–about the process, my major, my plans for the future–that I’d only really addressed with a handful of people. Since the Bryn Mawr website is a bit reticent when it comes to independent majors and there isn’t much of a community, I thought I’d try to explain the process as I’m encountering it.

how I felt after submitting my proposal (I know Kanye has been up to no good recently but come on)

First of all: what? I’m (hopefully) majoring in film and media studies, an interdisciplinary field that is currently only a minor here at Bryn Mawr. If my proposal is accepted, this will be my second major alongside anthropology. This field is pretty recognizable and straightforward, but I know other independent majors whose studies are a bit more difficult to summarize. Basically, an independent major is designed by the student when they feel that the preexisting programs do not suit their needs. This is obviously a lot more complicated than the already-difficult process of choosing and completing a major, so I only know of two other students whose majors were approved (though that’s just off the top of my head and I haven’t really sought anyone out).

Next up: why? Why would I want to submit myself to the many difficulties of double majoring, especially when one of the majors is independent and therefore lacks any conventional support system? I’m sure the answers are different for each and every independent major, but they all probably boil down to one thing: passion. I love film. I took an incredible two-year course in high school that reignited an interest I’d put on the back burner after middle school. I wasn’t able to take a film course during my first semester at Bryn Mawr, and I felt incomplete. I jumped at any chance to write about a movie in my classes. I came to Bryn Mawr planning to minor in film, but as I found myself losing interest in studying abroad, the idea popped into my head: I should just major in it.

Okay then: how? Declaring an independent major is not nearly as simple as saying I want to watch movies all the time. I met with my dean, I met with potential major advisers, I met with my anthropology adviser, I met with my dean again, I met with other independent majors–and I did all of this before I even started writing anything down. The proposal itself requires a list of courses I’d taken that I could use for the major, a list of courses I planned to take, and a list of alternate courses because I can’t predict the future. Each course needed to have a blurb explaining why it would be helpful for my studies. I had to demonstrate the interdisciplinary-ness of my major. And I had to write a proposal explaining what I wanted to study, why I needed to do it this way, what I might use this for in the future, and even what I might do for a thesis/capstone project. On top of that, I had to provide three letters of support: one from my dean and two from faculty members who have agreed to be my advisers. Now that I’ve submitted all of those materials, I’m actually not that much closer to being done. The independent major committee will review my proposal, interview me, and probably ask me to some changes before I submit it again. And possibly again.

Despite how awesome I and my advisers might consider my proposal to be, there is always a chance of rejection. I have a friend whose gender and sexuality major was approved after an extremely long revision process, but I also know of someone whose education major was rejected after she revised it. Since I already have an established major, the committee could just insist that I stick to minoring in film. Or, they could see my other major as a source of support that will enable me to better complete my independent major. They’ve approved many film/media studies proposals in the past, but that doesn’t mean they’ll like mine. My dean is head of the committee, so she knows how driven and prepared I am, but she also knows that I sometimes have trouble with deadlines. It all feels very hit-or-miss, and I’m trying not to have it on my mind constantly.

One of the most common questions I am asked is, “so what are you going to do with that?” I think that people are often confused by the combination of anthropology and film, though I see the two as not only compatible but more “practical” when combined. I have a lot to say in response to that question–as do liberal arts students everywhere–but for now, I’ll leave it at this: have you ever watched a documentary? or a foreign film? or been to a museum? or a film festival? Yeah.

As I wait to hear back about my fate (I can’t help but think of it in such dramatic terms), I’ve been trying to distract myself by throwing myself wholeheartedly into my work. Okay, I’m actually really focused on preparing for WTF week (T minus 1.5 days!!!), but I promise I’m doing work too! Anyways, the whole process makes me think of a quote by Terry Pratchett: “The whole of life is just like watching a film. Only it’s as though you always get in ten minutes after the big picture has started, and no-one will tell you the plot, so you have to work it out all yourself from the clues.”

I spent a lot of winter break searching for internships, jobs, fellowships, and other programs to do this summer. This search has continued into the school year as I rush to complete a host of applications on top of my schoolwork. Writing internship application after internship application has forced me to revisit college applications, just to figure out how I used to write about myself. In high school, the limit of ten extracurriculars on the Common App felt like I was being cheated: I was the head of costuming for the theatre, I’d founded a photography club, I was in three honors societies, and that was barely the tip of the iceberg. I wanted to include every service activity I’d done (I amassed more than 260 service hours in order to win an award at graduation) as well as the Leadership Fellows program I’d participated in, my multiple creative and historical writing awards, music lessons, and all the random clubs I took part in. I definitely felt like my accomplishments were impressive, numerous, and important. They solidified me as a real person in my eyes, most notably because they were easily demonstrable in a clear list for others and because of the recognition I received for them. I was also excelling academically, and had such a hard time choosing teachers to write my recommendations that I eventually sent three along with a non-academic mentor as a supplement. I felt impressive.

me at my high school graduation – note the various tassels and pins

Flash forward two years, and writing applications caused me to go into a full-on panic earlier this week. I just didn’t have enough to offer–no previous research experiences, a barely demonstrable interest in “natural sciences” (it was for a museum position), and a list of background experience that drew heavily from my high school activities. It was hard to choose professors to write my recommendations, but for very different reasons. Instead of having far too many professors to choose from who I knew I had a good relationship with, I only had about three professors whose courses were relevant to the position and who I had interacted with enough to feel comfortable asking. In college, I haven’t amassed the resumé I had in high school, but that old set of accomplishments feels dated and inappropriate. I haven’t done any costuming, I barely attend club meetings or SGA, and I’m really only regularly involved with this blog and the literary arts magazine (which seems less impressive as it hasn’t been published yet).

freshman year in philly with my customs group

On Tuesday, as I frantically scrambled to finish my application, I took a break to go into town and buy some things I needed. I stood in the grocery store wondering if I had a favorite food or if I even wanted to buy anything at all. I almost started to cry when they didn’t have the crackers I wanted, and then became angry with myself for getting upset over such a silly thing–if I couldn’t handle that, who was I to presume I deserved an internship? But then I checked my email. I’d been nominated for an SGA position. I felt confused, then almost angry, and then relieved to the point of semi-hysterical laughter (I was definitely disturbing the good patrons of Acme at this point). I remembered last year, when I was nominated for a different position and lost the election. Then I thought about the club fair, when I’d signed up for around 20 clubs only to never hear back from most of them, or find out their meetings conflicted with class, or attend one meeting and lose interest. I remembered trying out for a capella groups, contacting various theatre people, and applying for jobs and internships on and off campus.

Once I realized I wasn’t totally drifting from myself, I thought about who I was freshman and sophomore year of high school. At the beginning, I came straight home almost every single day–no activities, few friends, nothing to indicate the successful person who would graduate in a few years. I found one or two things I liked and began to blossom once I’d taken root. I didn’t show up on the first day thinking I’d be leaving a permanently installed mural or countless other achievements in that building. As I walked back to campus, I formulated a revised essay in my head. I’m still that high-achieving artist, student, and person that I was when Bryn Mawr accepted me. I just need to give myself time to dig my roots in before I see myself bloom again.

when I officially enrolled in Bryn Mawr on an accepted students day

Right before I was going to publish this blog post, Devica posted a crazy similar piece. I couldn’t believe the coincidence–until I realized that it probably wasn’t a coincidence. I think a lot of sophomores probably feel the same way. We aren’t brand new anymore, and we’re starting to feel like we’re running out of time to make our marks on Bryn Mawr and to find ourselves. We both feel estranged from ourselves during a year that is so overwhelmingly about cementing your future as a Bryn Mawr student: declaring majors, deciding whether to study abroad, starting to hold dorm/campus leadership positions, etc. But I happen to believe that the sophomore slump is an illusion, and I like to remember what President Cassidy said on moving in day last year: none of us was a mistake. We are all here because we deserve to be Mawrtyrs. And it’s totally okay that we don’t know exactly who we are yet. There’s always room to grow.