Opinion: A chubby girl’s guide to a glow up
From the Newsstands: This story appeared in The Eagle's December 2023 print edition. You can find the digital version here.
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From the Newsstands: This story appeared in The Eagle's December 2023 print edition. You can find the digital version here.
On Oct. 3 at 11:59 p.m., I sat in my bedroom with bated breath. In a few moments, I would enter a new era of my life — a prospect that was both enchanting and terrifying. Much like Cinderella, I looked at the clock as it tolled to midnight, waiting for the fairytale transformation.
It was December 2021, and for the graduating high school Class of 2022, winter had begun with a period of anxiety: college admissions. For some of us, we were submitting last-minute applications, hoping to meet the January deadlines. Some others had submitted our applications months ago, aiming to be one of the few accepted into coveted early action and early decision spots. I fell into the latter category. Days before my senior year winter break, I awaited 7 p.m., when Columbia University would release its decision. By 7:02 p.m., I had been rejected.
It was moving day of my freshman year at American University, and I was sitting in the passenger seat, listening to the newest playlist I had curated, while the line of cars moved abysmally slow. As we inched closer to Anderson Hall, which would become my residence hall that year, I realized what was causing the traffic: a line of protesters advocating for workers’ rights at the University. When I stepped onto the Letts-Anderson quad for the very first time, a protester handed me a pamphlet.
I was 18 years old, walking through the streets of Harlem with my mother. We had just finished touring Columbia University — a microcosm of different identities, cultures and languages housed in the urban campus. I walked past a bunch of people, many of them speaking different languages, even employing a form of fluidity as they switched between English and a second language.