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As I near graduation, I have been trying to come to peace with my time here. While I am grateful for the knowledge and friendships I cultivated, I am not particularly proud of my romantic encounters. I was often driven more by ego than affection. I went out many drunken nights with instrumental mindset of gleaning pleasure from others. Along the way, I have hurt some, including myself.
I ask for forgiveness. For what we Christians have done, and not done. Forgetting our origin as the persecuted, we have abandoned Jesus’ call to love and justice and have become oppressors against religious, racial and sexual minorities. Forgetting that Jesus’ acts for the marginalized spoke louder than his words, we hypocritically preach compassion into the microphone. We have become largely irrelevant among the liberal intelligentsia, and are no longer the salt and light of the world.
I feel sorry for teachers in America. Every Teachers’ Day on May 15, students shower teachers with flowers in Korea. During my last eight years in America, however, I have never seen anyone observe Teachers’ Day in the United States (it’s May 7, by the way), and the World Teachers’ Day on Oct. 15 passes with equal silence. So with Thanksgiving as our ultimate feast of gratitude, here’s a toast to all my professors who have nurtured my inchoate mind.
What’s wrong with Wharton?” asked the Sept. 27 headline of a Wall Street Journal article. While the article focused on Wharton’s dimming prestige, our more pernicious plague is the eclipse of ethics.
After my Boston Consulting Group interview this year, my interviewer told me I should work either in writing, teaching or entrepreneurship. Although I was pleased to receive gratuitous advice from a company that charges millions for its services, I still struggle to muster the courage to implement its recommendations.
Wharton junior Joon Choi did not come back to Penn this year. As his toddler company Piki Cast receives over 10 million visitors weekly on its Facebook video-sharing platform and boasts Warner Brothers and North Face among its clients, school could wait.
My world turned upside down last month. I separated with my immortal beloved who had been my soulmate. My family botanical garden business, the joy of my family, was posted for sale after its cancerous debt poisoned the flowers. Then death reared its beastly head and dared to lay its eyes upon my mother.
As I read about Magellan’s first circumnavigation in 1522 and “Around the World in 80 Days” at my Van Pelt carrel, I reminisced upon my globe-hopping gap year. During that year, the kaleidoscope of spectacles and spices impregnated every morning with magical possibilities.
At home this weekend, we thanked our families and friends over fat turkeys and overflowing cups. But we probably forgot to thank beloved ones at our second home in West Philly.
I began wearing fedoras because my mom got me one in the early ’10s. I began wearing fedoras, because my mom begot me in the early ’90s.
Dear President Gutmann,
Last Sunday, hundreds of students danced to the beat of “Gangnam Style” at a flash mob on High Rise Field. The Korean song traces its home a nouveau riche section of Seoul.
Although this year marks the fourth I’ve lived in West Philadelphia, it’s never felt like home. After seven scores here, Penn probably feels the same way.