Amanda Rizkalla – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com Breaking news from the Farm since 1892 Thu, 21 Nov 2019 00:54:16 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.3 https://stanforddaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/cropped-DailyIcon-CardinalRed.png?w=32 Amanda Rizkalla – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com 32 32 204779320 FLI abroad https://stanforddaily.com/2019/11/20/fli-abroad/ https://stanforddaily.com/2019/11/20/fli-abroad/#respond Thu, 21 Nov 2019 00:44:20 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1160889 When I was researching Stanford before I applied, I remember browsing through the Bing Overseas Studies Program’s website in a state of disbelief. I could learn Italian in Italy if I wanted to, learn how to snorkel in Australia while studying coastal ecosystems or learn about social justice in the context of Cape Town’s history and politics.

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When I was researching Stanford before I applied, I remember browsing through the Bing Overseas Studies Program’s website in a state of disbelief. I could learn Italian in Italy if I wanted to, learn how to snorkel in Australia while studying coastal ecosystems or learn about social justice in the context of Cape Town’s history and politics. And because of the flexibility built into the quarter system, I knew I would have enough time in my schedule to study abroad at least once.

Fast forward a few years, and now I am a senior who has studied abroad twice. I spent winter quarter of my junior year in Florence, where I took classes in film studies, Italian language, abstract art and contemporary Italian politics and culture, in addition to working as a culinary intern at a restaurant near the palace (yes, palace) where classes are held. In Florence, I stayed with my host parents and their two sons, each of whom went out of their way to make me feel at home. 

FLI abroad
(Photo: Amanda Rizkalla/The Stanford Daily)

I spent the following quarter at Oxford, where I took philosophy of language, a tutorial in creative writing, an independent study about Jane Austen and a directed reading in Italian language. There, I lived with the rest of the spring cohort at the Stanford House, a short walk away from the college I was affiliated with throughout my time there. At Oxford, I experienced what it is like to attend an institution grounded in its centuries-old traditions — which is in stark contrast to Stanford and its focus on innovation.

Looking back, my study abroad experience has been one of the most, if not the most, rewarding part of my time at Stanford. I learned how to get by in a country whose primary language I did not speak fluently. I learned how to navigate two different cultures and what it meant to approach them as an American. I learned how to ask for help when I needed it — from program staff, from new friends and even from strangers. 

As a First-Generation Low Income (FLI) student, the possibility of studying abroad was an exciting one. After all, when else would I have the chance to live in a different country and have that come at little cost to me and my family? However, it was also daunting at times: how would I afford the cost of airfare? In the absence of my on-campus job, how would I support myself financially? To share what I have learned in the process, here are some FLI-specific tips for before, during and after your time abroad.

FLI abroad
(Photo: Amanda Rizkalla/The Stanford Daily)

Before

  1. The Overseas Grant. If you are a student receiving a significant amount of financial aid, you may be eligible for a one-time Overseas Grant. Use this grant carefully — either to reimburse yourself for your plane ticket, to purchase necessary clothes specific to the needs of your program (for example, a heavy snow coat if you are studying abroad in the winter), or to set money aside for an emergency fund. If you plan on studying abroad more than once, make sure to set aside enough of the grant to support yourself during the other quarters you anticipate being away from campus.
  1. Figure out your phone plan. Depending on your specific phone plan, plan to pause your current one and get a different SIM card abroad, which might involve signing up for a new plan. I personally used T-Mobile, which did not charge me extra for texting or using data while away from the United States, but did charge me by the minute for phone calls not made over Wi-Fi. 
  1. Save up. If you have an on-campus job or summer earnings, save money before you leave. Although some programs have exceptions to this, it might be the case that you are ineligible to work and earn wages in your new country of residence. For example, while the program in Florence offers a few paid positions for students interested in running the program’s social media accounts or helping coordinate major events, the program in Oxford does not. If your ability to work while abroad is something you are concerned about, it is worth contacting the program in advance to see if they offer any form of student employment. 
  1. Understand your health insurance. Depending on the country, you may be required to pay for your own medical expenses up-front, even if you have Cardinal Care insurance. In some cases, the program may be willing to pay for the medical expenses on your behalf and charge them to your student bill for you to pay back later. Understanding how your insurance works in relation to the country’s healthcare system will help you plan how much money you should save for expected or unexpected medical expenses. 

During

  1. Find a community. Because the FLI identity is not necessarily a visible one, it can be challenging to know who you can count on to understand the struggles you face and who may be facing them as well. Many study abroad programs don’t have a large FLI group, and it can be difficult to find people who share your background. Both times I studied abroad, I was one of only a couple of FLI students in my cohort. Regardless, do your best to find a community of friends you can rely on. Chances are that others are looking for the same thing.
  1. Ask for help. When it comes to asking for help in the case of an emergency, reach out to the program staff on- and off-campus, who may be able to direct you to additional resources, such as the Opportunity Fund or on-site counseling. Additionally, if there is an academic or cultural experience you think you would benefit from but do not have the means to attend, tell someone on staff. It might be the case that the program will be able to either sponsor the event for you, subsidize it, or reimburse you for part of it. It is worth noting that different programs have different amounts of resources at their disposal, so this will depend on the program itself. 
  1. Look forward to the Bing Trip. If you do not have the budget to travel as often as your peers do, know that you have at least one sponsored trip to look forward to: the Bing Trip. The Bings generously pay for travel to and from the location, hotel accommodation, in addition to some meals and planned events. This trip will likely be one of the highlights of your study abroad experience because you get a chance to explore a new place and make new friends in your cohort. 
  1. Budget wisely. Depending on the structure of the program, you may receive a stipend as part of your time there. In Florence, this stipend is intended to cover the costs of meals your host family does not provide (i.e. lunch), and at Oxford, students use it to buy ingredients to cook meals at the Stanford House on days they choose not to eat at the dining hall. Although this is how the money is intended to be used, know that you can budget as you see fit and use the money how you wish.

After

  1. Learn how to talk about your experience. After you come home, you might find it challenging to talk to family and friends about your experiences abroad. You might fight off the urge to start sentences like “When I was in Italy,” or “When my friends and I went to Venice,” feeling unsure about how it might come across in the face of your family’s current financial situation. You should know that although learning how to talk about your time abroad may take time, your experience is not something you should feel guilty about. You deserve to feel how you feel about it—happy or otherwise.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The value of cooking classes https://stanforddaily.com/2018/11/26/the-value-of-cooking-classes/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/11/26/the-value-of-cooking-classes/#respond Mon, 26 Nov 2018 09:00:59 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1147135 For three hours each Friday last spring, it was me and 15 other students at Arrillaga working our way around the Teaching Kitchen in our chef hats and closed-toed shoes, sautéing, searing, chopping. We were in BIOE 32Q: “Bon Appétit, Marie Curie! The Science Behind Haute Cuisine,” an introsem for sophomores. For about an hour […]

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For three hours each Friday last spring, it was me and 15 other students at Arrillaga working our way around the Teaching Kitchen in our chef hats and closed-toed shoes, sautéing, searing, chopping. We were in BIOE 32Q: “Bon Appétit, Marie Curie! The Science Behind Haute Cuisine,” an introsem for sophomores.

For about an hour each class, Professor Markus Covert would teach us the physics and chemistry and biology we would need to know to prepare the day’s meal before we made our way to the kitchen. We conducted experiments on potatoes, on steak. We learned about colloidal suspension, clear dispersions, gels and emulsions before we went into the kitchen to make sauces. We used molecular gastronomy to make balsamic vinegar into spheres, to gelify basil into long green noodles. We learned about acid-base titrations to make salad dressings, read up on Saccharomyces cerevisiae before we made pizza dough, used sous vide to cook aged steak. And lucky for us, we could eat it all afterwards.

This class was the best way for me to spend my Fridays. Not only was I learning how to apply the principles of chemistry I learned the year before to a setting outside of the lab (hello, Clausius-Clapeyron Equation), I was learning about culture. How people around the world cook. How they eat. As the course progressed, I thought of the various Ways of Thinking/Ways of Doing requirements this course could fill based on the territory it chartered: We were engaging diversity (ED) whenever we considered the French culinary tradition; we used the scientific method and analysis (SMA) as well as formal reasoning (FR) each time science informed our cooking; we used aesthetic inquiry (A-II) and creative expression (CE) when we practiced cooking as one would a form of art.

Not to mention, I was learning a life skill that college students are notorious for not having: how to prepare my own food. In this way, cooking courses are similar to wellness courses, in that they give students practical skills they need to take care of themselves and make informed, health-conscious decisions. The problem is, only a handful of students a year get to have this experience.

While there are a couple of classes offered for students who want to learn how to cook, these classes are often oversubscribed or notoriously hard to get into. For example, FRENLANG 60E: “French Cooking” fills up almost immediately after course enrollment opens on Axess. And in the case of BIOE 32Q, many students apply for the few seats available, which makes the enrolling process a competitive and often stressful one, as described in a Daily article published a few weeks ago.

Stanford leads in the humanities, in engineering, in computer science — in virtually every field of study the University offers. The few cooking courses offered on campus, in their favor with students and alignment with the University’s educational values, should be supplemented by others so that more students can have the chance to take them.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ’at’ stanford.edu.

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Thanksgiving on campus https://stanforddaily.com/2018/11/06/thanksgiving-on-campus/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/11/06/thanksgiving-on-campus/#respond Tue, 06 Nov 2018 09:00:48 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1146310 There is one consolation this time of the quarter, with exams and essays and presentations and group projects piling up — it is almost Thanksgiving break. We are two weeks away from this necessary week off — a week with no classes to go to, no club meetings and, if your professors are moral, no […]

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There is one consolation this time of the quarter, with exams and essays and presentations and group projects piling up — it is almost Thanksgiving break.

We are two weeks away from this necessary week off — a week with no classes to go to, no club meetings and, if your professors are moral, no assigned homework. People are purchasing tickets home, figuring out Uber and Lyft carpools ahead of time, calling family to put in special food requests for Thanksgiving. All around me, I hear the questions: “Where are you going for Thanksgiving break?” and “What day are you going home?”

For students who are staying on campus for break, the excitement around Thanksgiving can feel a bit misplaced. I stayed on campus for Thanksgiving freshman year. I still remember how empty it was — no friends laughing down the hall, not nearly as many bikers. Yes, others stayed behind, but compared to how many people left, campus felt barren. I felt like I was in social isolation — like I had a quota of the minimum amount of social interaction I needed per day and it was not being met, since most of my closest friends had chosen to go home.

Still, I had some of my best Stanford experiences that Thanksgiving. One night, after feeling particularly alone, I reached out to a friend I knew was on campus. She told me she felt isolated as well. When we met up later that night, we decided to get on the Marguerite and get off at random stops. We explored the city. We went to Walmart, because why not? We ate at a restaurant and got then boba afterwards. Thanksgiving was a learning experience for me that year. If I wanted to interact with people, I needed to reach out.

If you are staying on campus over break here are some things to consider doing.

Take CalTrain to San Francisco.

Taking CalTrain is much less expensive than taking an Uber or Lyft into the city. Grab some friends — even friends you do not know as well yet — and explore. You can go to Pier 39, the Exploratorium, Lombard Street, City Lights, SF MOMA, Ghirardelli Square, Whale Watching, eat in Chinatown or enjoy authentic sourdough bread, depending on your budget. If you want to do less touristy things, try something more specific to your particular interests — it’s just a Google search away. An important tip: make sure to bring a jacket, especially if you are going at night.

Go on a local adventure.

If you want to explore on campus, you can visit the places you have been meaning to see, but haven’t had time to (including the cactus garden, Cantor, the dish, etc.) Or you can simply ride your bike until you stumble upon a new potential study spot for when classes start again. I highly recommend using the Marguerite to explore Palo Alto 1) because it is easy to use and 2) because it is free.

Cook a mini-Thanksgiving meal in your dorm.

Cooking is a great way to connect with your dorm mates, with the exchange of recipes and the finished product at the end. Whatever you decide to make, whether it is a pumpkin pie or an entire Thanksgiving meal, it will bring you closer to the people you made it with.

FaceTime friends and family.

I find that one of the best ways to connect with family and friends back home is through FaceTime. Call a family member and say hello! Show them your dorm room. My friend and I schedule “tea dates” with each other, in which we both drink Earl Grey tea over FaceTime and catch each other up on our lives.

Read.

When you have ~100 pages of assigned reading a night, it’s hard to make time for books you actually want to read. This is when Thanksgiving break comes in. Give yourself a book budget, go to the bookstore and pick out a few books; or, perhaps even better, rent them from Green Library instead.

Go on a road trip.

Lastly, with enough planning, consider going on a road trip — for an afternoon, an entire day or for multiple days. You can listen to music with friends, dive deep into an audiobook or simply talk.

Whatever you choose to do, whether you are on campus or you head home over break, make sure that you take some time to reflect on how things are going for you here. Are you doing your best in your classes? Are you happy? Use this time before the last leg of midterms to recharge. Take care of yourself.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu

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Talking Stanford to family back home https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/22/me-asl-talking-stanford-to-family-back-home/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/22/me-asl-talking-stanford-to-family-back-home/#respond Mon, 22 Oct 2018 08:00:54 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1145292 Let’s say it is your first year at Stanford. You are adjusting to the rhythm of life here — the sunny bike rides from class to class, the varying dining hall hours, maybe even being away from home for the first time. Your parents were not able to help you move into your dorm; your […]

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Let’s say it is your first year at Stanford. You are adjusting to the rhythm of life here — the sunny bike rides from class to class, the varying dining hall hours, maybe even being away from home for the first time. Your parents were not able to help you move into your dorm; your family could only afford to pay for your plane ticket across the country. So you move yourself in. You unpack your things, meet new people, start classes. Over the next few days and weeks, you settle in.

When your parents call, you ask about how things are going at home. They tell you that things are more or less the same — that rent is too high, their paychecks too low. That money is tight and that your younger sibling just started working a part-time job so they can afford to buy enough food. They are stressed, they say, but they tell you they will get through it.

Then they ask you, “What is Stanford like?”

Meanwhile: Your housing is guaranteed for all four years, you have a meal plan, you can receive counseling if you so much as walk to CAPS.

You could say, “Mom, they serve salmon in the dining halls here” or tell them about that night Arrillaga served clams or how a few days ago, your dining hall had crates and crates full of pomegranates for students to take.

You could tell them that you found out you could study abroad in Florence, that you can take art classes there. You can tell them that you have a free gym membership, that you can rock-climb whenever you want or swim in an Olympic-size swimming pool among Olympians.

But do you tell them?

For students who come from low-income backgrounds and/or are the first in their families to go to college, the transition to Stanford often includes one in conversation as well — learning how to talk to people back home about our experiences here.

Because we know very well where our families are and what they have and do not have, sometimes it can feel as if sharing our excitement about opportunities or events on campus is out of place in the conversation — that it can even sound like bragging without us intending it to. Maybe it feels similar to knowing a friend is going through a tough time but telling them about our abounding success instead. Or conversely, if we get a bad grade on a midterm or have an off day, how does that compare with everything that is going on back home?

It can be hard to learn how to talk to family about the wealth we encounter here and how that is different from what you grew up with. Sometimes, relationships with family members change once you leave for college — maybe they become more formal, maybe there is not as much to talk about. The point is to show up to these conversations. Because it is probably the case that our families are excited for us to experience everything they did not get to, that our hesitance is probably just us trying to take care of them by being careful.

Sometimes, it can be hard to be honest. Being honest would mean telling your parents or siblings, who maybe work multiple jobs, “I didn’t feel like studying today,” because you had that luxury. And that’s okay. Family revels in each other’s happiness; they cry when we cry.

Even if it is hard to at first, talk to your family members about what you encounter here. Answer their questions. Ask them about home. If you are struggling, be honest. If you have a small victory, let them in on it. Take this from an upperclassmen: Bragging about your experiences is different from sharing them, and being prideful is different from being proud of yourself.

Call home.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Stanford must lower the cost of textbooks https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/08/me-asl-stanford-must-lower-the-cost-of-textbooks/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/10/08/me-asl-stanford-must-lower-the-cost-of-textbooks/#respond Mon, 08 Oct 2018 08:00:36 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1144421 Three-hundred eighty-seven dollars. This is the number at the bottom of a two-week-old receipt of mine from the Stanford Bookstore. It is what I spent on textbooks this quarter. This quarter, I rented all of the books that had the renting option available, looked through the Facebook group “Stanford Free and For Sale” for cheaper […]

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Three-hundred eighty-seven dollars.

This is the number at the bottom of a two-week-old receipt of mine from the Stanford Bookstore. It is what I spent on textbooks this quarter.

This quarter, I rented all of the books that had the renting option available, looked through the Facebook group “Stanford Free and For Sale” for cheaper options before going to the bookstore and made sure to go early enough so that there were still used books to choose from.

Compared to what I spent on course materials in previous quarters, $387 is not much. Sometimes it comes out to more than $500 — when lab coats, goggles, molecule modeling sets and the most current versions of the already-expensive textbooks professors request, add up. This times three means I spend at least $1,000 on textbooks each year — as does, I would imagine, the average student here.

This does not include “class fees,” which are supplemental charges made to a student’s bill when they take a class in physical education ($35), music ($250) and studio art ($50-100), to name a few. It is not uncommon for students to choose classes — or rather, to choose not to take classes — based on how much they will cost. Here comes at least a partial answer to the question: “Why do we see a lack of socio-economic diversity in the arts?” There are financial barriers — both in the cost of textbooks and in the supplemental charges some classes carry — to pursuing music and visual arts here.

Some readers might be quick to write this sum off as a necessary educational expense — something that students just have to deal with and pay for. But this $387 is more than that. Three-hundred eighty-seven dollars is the cost of two round-trip tickets home for me (at least, if they are purchased in advance). It is money I can put toward my emergency savings so that I am prepared in every way that I reasonably can be should an urgent situation arise. Quarter after quarter, it adds up.

This is especially true for students who have to send money back home to support their families — something not uncommon in the low-income community on campus. In addition to managing a full course load, these students balance their schedule with one or more jobs so that they are able to provide for their families. Each dollar matters. Sometimes, students split the cost of a single textbook with a group of friends, passing the book from person to person throughout the day. Other times, they go without their course materials entirely.

The Stanford Bookstore says that students receive a seven percent discount on textbooks. Seven percent. That does not even cover tax.

The Bookstore can make a more concerted effort to make all classes affordable; it can offer a more substantive student discount, for example. Or it can lower its prices across the board. That way, students of all backgrounds do not need to spend another thousand dollars a year affording their Stanford education.  

While the various libraries on campus do carry some textbooks, there are often only a handful of copies in circulation; even then, students are not allowed to highlight in them or scribble notes along the margins, as they would be able to do if they had their own copies. They are even discouraged from sticking post-it notes inside of the books.

Student groups have made an effort to address the high cost of textbooks, such as the Leland Scholars Program’s lending library in Sweet Hall and the FLIbrary (a library for first-generation and/or low-income students) hosted by DGen, where students borrow textbooks that have been donated by other students. Moreover, students are not always made aware of the various resources they have when it comes to affording their course materials. This quarter, I learned for the first time that students can apply for funding to help pay for the cost of textbooks by filling out a form on DGen’s website. But is this sustainable on the part of DGen for each low-income student, for each class, for each quarter? The burden of this problem should not lie with the Leland Scholars Program or with DGen — it should be solved at the source.

Additionally, the problem of expensive textbooks is not only limited to students who fall on the lower end of the socio-economic spectrum; students who come from middle-class backgrounds face similar problems, having to carefully consider the cost of textbooks and see how it factors into their budget. This affects most, if not all, students.

I am not suggesting that students should not be expected to pay for textbooks at all; I think it is necessary to support the various authors and researchers and publishers who make these resources available to us. However, I think that the cost of textbooks is inflated to a point where it is not reasonable or feasible for students to afford them, and students suffer as a result.

When we applied to Stanford, we did not apply to a specific major or department. We were encouraged to explore them all — to take classes in multiple disciplines, sampling the ones that intrigued us and then study in pursuit of a well-rounded education that makes us “cultured and useful citizens,” as the Stanfords said when they founded the University. The cost of textbooks should not be what holds us back.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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What should you do with your life? https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/23/what-should-you-do-with-your-life/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/23/what-should-you-do-with-your-life/#respond Wed, 23 May 2018 12:00:56 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1142497 For many of us right now, as we start preparing for summer, but especially for the class of 2018, with graduation and “real life” approaching fast, we might find ourselves reflecting on our time here. With the school year’s end in sight, some of the haze that comes with the constant busyness starts to recede; […]

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For many of us right now, as we start preparing for summer, but especially for the class of 2018, with graduation and “real life” approaching fast, we might find ourselves reflecting on our time here.

With the school year’s end in sight, some of the haze that comes with the constant busyness starts to recede; we get to consider, in a deeper way than our schedules allowed us to before, why we’re doing the things we’re doing. We get closer to answering the question we perhaps spend our entire four years here answering, and maybe even longer than that: what should I do with my life?

The School of Life writes: “Nowadays, in the prosperous world, we don’t only expect to obtain money through labour, we also, to a greater or lesser extent, expect to find meaning and satisfaction.” And it’s true. Once we start working full-time, many of us will probably spend more time at work than we will with our families. We might feel that, whatever we’re doing, whatever time we are away from the people we love, it better add something more to our lives than a bi-weekly paycheck. Our time away working is expensive in that way.

It’s worth noting that each one of our answers to “What should I do with my life?” comes with a context — one that takes into account familial pressures, the want for a certain lifestyle, status, the need to support family members, etc. And so, it makes me wonder how many people pursuing medicine would answer the question with “surgeon” because they genuinely enjoy six-hour operations. What roles do external pressures play into that decision? Who and what, besides ourselves, gets to decide the career we will pursue?

To try to answer this question for myself, I made a list of things I like to do (no matter how small or simple the things were) and asked questions of that list to know myself better. The hope is that you, reader, can do the same.

Some of these things on the list included: walking around campus at night with some tea, reading an Aimee Bender book, drawing, taking and then editing photos of friends, cooking, working together with people I like and writing short stories.

Next, I took a look at the verbs I used — I wanted to see which actions bring me the most fulfillment. Walking, reading, drawing, taking pictures, editing, cooking, working together and writing.

It then became apparent to me that most of what fulfills me involves a similar theme: creating. More than that, most of actions I listed involve the completion of some sort of end product — be it a story, a meal, or a series of photographs.

Curious, I looked at my transcript and saw that I had fulfilled the WAYS Creative Expression requirement seven times over. And even more than that, I performed better overall when I was also taking some sort of creative writing class. Apparently, my transcript knew something about me that I didn’t.

When I consider how this might apply to a career, I now realize that, to really feel fulfilled, I need to engage in something creative. And, because I do most of the activities I listed alone, I know that there needs to be some aspect of independence in my work environment, while still having the option of working with people.

Synthesizing everything I learned so far, I might work best in a project-based field of work — one that requires creativity, balances independent work with collaboration, and maybe even has some sort of end product.

Next, I thought more deeply about my personal work style. I know will probably feel happier with my job if I feel like I have a community at work, which means that I am probably not someone who would get the most out of working remotely. I also know from previous experience that I can invest more energy into a project if I feel that it truly matters (i.e. a job well done on my part won’t just bring in more money for a company, but, more urgently, it will also help someone).

This both crosses some careers off of my list and makes me pay more attention to ones I was already considering.

You can do the same thing.

To re-cap:

  1. Write a list of the things you enjoy doing.
  2. Boil that list down to its verbs.
  3. See if there is a common theme and how your transcript reflects that theme.
  4. Ask yourself: what else do I know about my own work environment preferences that can add to or complicate the common theme that has surfaced?

Even if you don’t arrive at your dream job by completing this exercise, you might be surprised at what you learn. Figuring out what makes you happy, what makes you fulfilled, is always a step in the right direction.

The same article from the School of Life says, “Most of us don’t have a calling; we don’t hear a commanding god-like voice directing us to accountancy or packaging and distribution.” So unless you have that “god-like voice” telling you to put on some scrubs after college, look inward to see what you might like.

Put in the work. Know yourself.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Burning out: how to re-light the flame https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/08/burning-out-how-to-re-light-the-flame/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/05/08/burning-out-how-to-re-light-the-flame/#respond Tue, 08 May 2018 12:00:38 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1140641 With duck syndrome and imposter syndrome and all the other various syndromes we are bound to get at some point in time here, especially if we are stretched a little too thin, what are some remedies?

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Now nearing the end of my sophomore year, I am left feeling swallowed and slightly chewed by this sixth consecutive quarter. And I know it’s not just me. Friends, undeclared friends in particular, feel the same way — tired, stressed, maybe even a little fidgety.

This quarter, like all other quarters, there are deadlines to meet, presentations to give, work shifts to make on time, and all of that is to be expected, but what I can’t quite grasp is that it really seems as if it was week one, and then I blinked, and now it’s week five. And the same applies to homework. In the mornings, only a paper due the next day lives on my to-do list, but three hours later, after another class ends, two novels and another paper have made their way onto it.

I know how incredibly blessed I am to be here. I know that college is intended to be hard work, especially here, and even more so if you are pushing the maximum unit load. Right now, though, it’s not about that.

Perhaps it has to do with the consecutive-ness of having three intense quarters in a row, or just the rigor and pace of this quarter in particular. As we approach midterms and finals, this feeling is bound to multiply, and what worries me is that people do not talk about it enough; when this happens, we hide how we are really doing, and other people do the same.

With duck syndrome and imposter syndrome and all the other various syndromes we are bound to get at some point in time here, especially if we are stretched a little too thin, what are some remedies?

Remedy #1. Ask yourself: why am I doing the things I am doing?

Before you sign up for a heavy course load, made heavier with other obligations, think about your reasons for doing so. There is a difference between a healthy challenge and an unnecessarily difficult one. Is it imperative that you take each of these classes now, at the same time? Speak to your advisor to see what they think.

Remedy #2. Write down a list of things you’re thankful for.

On a Post-it note, jot down some things that you are grateful for, no matter how small. Happy that your dining hall had chicken tenders today? Write it down. Is the weather particularly beautiful out? Write that down, too. The small things add up.

Remedy #3. Get some sun.

Grab a water bottle, spread out a blanket on the grass and work outside, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Avoid having days when the the bike ride to class is the only time you spend time in the sun, especially because sun exposure correlates with levels of serotonin, a key mood-regulating hormone.

Remedy #4. Write down a list of things that make you happy. Then do them.

Walk around the lake. Watch a few episodes of “The Office.” FaceTime a friend back home. However small the things that make us happy may seem in relation to our obligations, make time for them. Sometimes, a good conversation with a friend over coffee means more than starting a problem set the day it is handed out.

Remedy #5. Call home.

However far away your family is, they can be as far away as you make them. Checking in with a family member or close friends back home when things aren’t going your way can put things in perspective; if you’re talking with a younger sibling, for example, they can bring you back to a time when life was simpler, unplagued by housing applications or grant results. If you are talking with someone older — a parent, maybe — and just want to vent, invite them to simply listen. If you want their advice, more likely than not, they will have some to offer.

Remedy #6. Exercise to your favorite music.

Once I’ve convinced myself to go for a run, shoes all tied, and I finally get into it, the day’s stress isn’t something I am aware of anymore. After exercising, it feels as if I have accomplished something — something that’s good for me and something I can be proud of. The feeling amplifies if you do it to your favorite song.

Remedy #7. Do nothing for five minutes.

Nothing. Don’t scroll mindlessly on Facebook, don’t. The same way you give your legs a break after a hard workout, your brain deserves some rest after working so hard for you. Sit in the silence. Take an actual break.

Remedy #8. Unplug.

Resist the urge to check your phone for messages the second you wake up. Instead, give yourself time to adjust to the morning and, when you’re ready, you can look at your devices. When you’re with friends, put your phone down. Connect with the living, breathing person in front of you. Give them your full attention, and they’ll give you theirs.

Remedy #9. Reflect.

Ask yourself: What makes what I am trying to do challenging? When and where do I get “stuck?” What resources — academic, interpersonal, or otherwise — can I use to nudge me in the right direction?

Remedy #10. Talk to a professional.

Sometimes we need a little more help than we can get by talking to friends and family. If things are feeling a little too overwhelming, it might be a good idea to explore your options by talking to a peer counselor at the Bridge or by making an appointment at CAPS by calling (650) 723-3785. No problem is too small for you to reach out.

When it feels as if everything seems to be happening at once, I think about a quote from one of my favorite childhood shows, Avatar: the Last Airbender: “When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change.” In these times, remember that you are someone in progress.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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Let the caterpillars live https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/24/let-the-caterpillars-live/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/24/let-the-caterpillars-live/#respond Tue, 24 Apr 2018 12:00:54 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1139867 Amanda Rizkalla discusses why, despite their annoyance, the almost omnipresent caterpillars should be accepted.

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You have probably seen them around — those small, spiky caterpillars inching their way around campus. Perhaps you have seen one caught in somebody’s hair, or making its way down a long cascade of silk underneath a tree, or even wriggling around a handrail in Hewlett 200.

Their abundance this year is nothing like that of last year, when the heavy rains in winter quarter provided them with a more-than-ample breeding season. I remember walking between the Oval and Lathrop, looking for a table to work on outside. When I found one, I was about to sit down, but then stopped mid-way to find it covered with cocoons that were the same color of the wood underneath.

And, of course, even last year does not compare with the “plague” of 2006, when, as Stanford Magazine reported: “campus construction may have affected predators’ habitats” that usually keep the caterpillar population in check. Karen Stidd, supervisor of horticultural support for grounds services, estimated that the population that year was in the thousands or ten thousands. “It got so bad she and her colleagues became a kind of caterpillar SWAT team, called in to perform ‘emergency treatments’ at campus events,” states the magazine.

The nearby city of Mountain View, which experienced a hot February that made for an early hatching this year, routinely sprays insecticide to ward them off. “In the most affected areas, staff will be using an insecticide known as Evergreen Pyrethrum Concentrate to bring down caterpillar populations while minimizing the effect on other insects,” writes the Mountain View Voice.

On campus, a remedy to the pervasiveness of the caterpillars in the past has not involved insecticide or other chemical means, but rather the careful spread of a parasitic wasp to keep unintentional damage to other insect populations at a minimum. This wasp “injects its eggs inside caterpillar eggs. When the baby wasps hatch, they eat their way out, consuming the caterpillar larvae,” according to the same article from the Stanford magazine.

Sure, the caterpillars are inconvenient. They can fall on you and nuzzle into your backpack for you to find later. They alarm unsuspecting tourists. They might make prospective freshmen do a double-take. But is the nuisance they cause worth their extermination?

The caterpillars themselves are harmless. At worst, their fuzz can irritate skin if touched, with the potential for a rash; another concern is that when they hatch in large numbers, the moths can eat through foliage at a higher rate than they would have if their population was more contained. Although researchers and groundskeepers should monitor the caterpillars, as well as look into a way to re-introduce the predators whose population might have been disrupted by construction, they should not go as far as getting rid of them en masse each year that their numbers resurge. Their extermination should have reason beyond aesthetic purposes and opening up a few study spots outside — beyond maintaining a brand — especially if the caterpillars are not directly damaging the ecosystem in some way, beyond eating through some extra leaves that are bound to re-grow.

Population monitoring makes sense; population eradication does not.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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Facebook: Are the privacy concerns worth deleting the app? https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/10/facebook-are-the-privacy-concerns-worth-deleting-the-app/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/04/10/facebook-are-the-privacy-concerns-worth-deleting-the-app/#respond Tue, 10 Apr 2018 12:00:06 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1138956 Amanda Rizkalla argues that Facebook's expansion and indispensability in our lives is part of what makes it so challenging to decide where to limit it.

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Sometime last year, I brought some almond cookies back to my dorm and then gave them to a friend to try. She liked them. An hour later, she came back to find me, telling me that an ad for the exact cookies had just appeared on her Facebook feed. She had not searched for the product online nor had she seen the ad before our conversation.

Was Facebook listening?

After seeing that the app sought access to “microphone permissions,” I searched online for an answer and found that no, the social networking site did not appear to be listening in on spoken conversations. As Fatemeh Khatibloo from Forbes explains, Facebook would need enormous data storage on our phones and heavy-weight “technical capabilities required to 1) listen to an ambient conversation on a mobile device; 2) identify specific terms or phrases; and 3) funnel those interests and propensities to audiences for ad targeting.” He writes that this is “technically very challenging.”

Recently, Facebook has come under fire for the Cambridge Analytica scandal, in which data from 87 million people was illegally harvested and possibly stored in Russia, according to whistleblower Christopher Wylie. This, of course, has brought up questions of privacy concerns. What type of information does Facebook collect? What do they do with that information, outside of using for ad-related purposes? What if the information falls into the wrong hands?

I decided to see for myself exactly what information Facebook has on me. I went into my account settings and clicked on “Download a copy of your Facebook data.” A few minutes later, I received an email with a link that led me to my file.

Photos, messages, contacts—although it was jarring to see them stored in one place, I more or less expected Facebook to retain this information. What surprised me was that Facebook kept log of my location each time I logged in, monitored which ads I clicked on, and had a list of all of the companies they had given my contact information to. It was as if I was being monitored, down to each time I clicked my mouse.

When Facebook changed its motto last year from “Move fast and break things” to “Making the world more open and connected,” it changed some of the norms surrounding online privacy. “With about two-thirds of the world’s population not yet online, we want to connect the unconnected. To achieve this, we know we have to break some barriers and create a new set of technologies in the process,” writes Yael Maguire, director of Facebook’s Hardware and Engineering Connectivity Lab. However admirable their motto and mission, the question is: connectivity at what cost?

Facebook can justify every breach of privacy by their seemingly noble intentions, labeling such action as “breaking some barriers,” framing it in some remarkable, innovative light and equating it to “going outside the box.” Really, though, it can mean rewriting the rules and keeping us out of the loop. And so the next step should be a simple one: delete Facebook. But it doesn’t feel that easy.

Why I am reluctant to delete my Facebook account lies in how integrated it has become in my daily life. I prefer Facebook Messenger to normal texting; without always realizing it, I scroll through posts absentmindedly when I need a break; I use it to learn about events happening on campus; it comes in handy if I need to know what someone looks like before I meet them in person. And of course, it keeps us connected with people far away — that high school friend across the country, the relatives a few time zones away from us.

If we use Facebook the way it is supposed to be used — responsibly, perhaps minimally, as a social networking tool and without revealing too much personal information — then I believe that it is perfectly fine to use the website. But when Facebook starts to resemble more of a lifestyle than a social networking site, when I provide it with too much data it can use, that’s where I draw the line.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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What we owe our teachers https://stanforddaily.com/2018/03/19/what-we-owe-our-teachers/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/03/19/what-we-owe-our-teachers/#respond Mon, 19 Mar 2018 12:00:46 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1138171 Amanda Rizkalla argues that the decline in college graduates wanting to pursue careers in education is because teachers are both underpaid and not respected enough.

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What drew me to EDUC 104: “Introduction to the Profession of Teaching” was the internship component of the class. To supplement in-class learning about student-teacher dynamics, students participate in a teaching internship at a local elementary, middle or high school where they can shadow a teacher in a field they are interested in. Nine weeks into this internship and something has clicked for me — something that didn’t really sink in my 12 years of school before starting college — teachers really, truly have a hard job.

Multiple class periods a day, up to 40 students per class, each with different backgrounds and learning styles and ways of participating — not to mention all of the grading, angry parents and after-school meetings — teachers have a lot to keep up with. And their paychecks don’t usually reflect that.

The Washington Post reported that “in 2015, the weekly wages of public school teachers in the United States were 17 percent lower than comparable college-educated professionals.”

Even relative to itself, the education sector is experiencing a decline according to the same data set: “Average weekly wages (inflation adjusted) of public-sector teachers decreased $30 per week from 1996 to 2015, from $1,122 to $1,092 (in 2015 dollars). In contrast, weekly wages of all college graduates rose from $1,292 to $1,416 over this period.”

If a job that demands an often taxing devotion to students and their learning does not pay enough for the time and energy, it makes sense that a study found that “only five percent of the students in a recent survey of college-bound students were interested in pursuing a career in education, a decrease of 16 percent between 2010 and 2014.” Not to mention, the recently proposed cuts would eliminate $3.6 billion by doing away with a program “that [funds] after-school activities for needy children and another that covers teacher training” might serve to further constrain interest in the field.

In EDUC 104, I learned what makes good teachers so effective — what makes the content they are teaching “stick” with their students. It’s called pedagogical content knowledge. Take a fifth-grade math teacher for example. The idea is that a good one will know not only how to teach math and not only how to teach fifth graders, but will know how to teach fifth-graders math. Think about your favorite professor here. Odds are, they 1) know their stuff and 2) know how to teach 20-year-olds.

I have been lucky enough to shadow a teacher who has both the content and the pedagogy down, and thus has an incredible capacity to engage meaningfully with students. In the class, she helps her students by giving them clues on how to approach content (for example, giving them mnemonics they can use). They often engage in art projects to solidify the day’s lecture — both a welcome break from the drone of textbooks and a new way to process information. In her interactions with her students, she realizes that many of them come from middle schools with varying degrees of preparation for the rigor of high school coursework, and thus uses pre-assessments to gauge prior knowledge.

Teachers deserve more for what they do. They taught us what we know.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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Family weekend https://stanforddaily.com/2018/02/28/family-weekend/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/02/28/family-weekend/#respond Wed, 28 Feb 2018 12:00:12 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1137453 Amanda Rizkalla reflects on how our families help define us, even though we see them more rarely during our college years.

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When my mom’s grey car pulled up to Toyon this past Friday, my aunt with her in the front seat, it was as if “Family Weekend” had become family weekend—something more comfortable and familiar and not Stanford-ordained, something in front of me instead of just blocked off on my schedule. They had made the 365-mile, six-hour drive from Los Angeles, leaving at 6 in the morning to make it here when my classes ended at noon. Hugs and kisses exchanged, embarrassing nicknames (e.g. “Manda-Banana”) said out loud in person for the first time in months. It was like my Los Angeles home had uprooted itself and followed me here, and was now somehow a part of Stanford.

Last year, when my family couldn’t come visit, I was surprised to hear that most of my friends whose families did visit spent the bulk of their time off-campus. Eager to get away for a few hours and pop the Stanford bubble, they drove around Palo Alto and neighboring cities.

Because my aunt had never been to campus before, I decided to become a tour guide. We spent a fair amount of time on campus exploring. “And this is where I go to study, but only when it’s rainy … The coffee here is really good … This is where the Stanford Prison Experiment was held,” and so on.

The next day, after going from Cantor to Green Library to Lathrop (stopping at the various fountains along the way, of course), we found ourselves quickly eating brunch at Stern before sprinting to a lecture at Cubberly Auditorium. The rushing from event to event (without a bike) assured me that my mom and aunt got a glimpse of my true Stanford experience, one that involves running across campus, crossing my fingers that I won’t be late.

Even though there were papers to be written and meetings to be had afterwards, there was something rejuvenating about having “family” and “weekend” merge for a few days, when weekends are usually reserved for friends or long-form essays.

It reminded me of how when many of my peers and I first came here, moved into our dorms freshman year and started NSO and classes, we might have been eager to leave home, excited by the space, to get away and begin a new part of our lives.  And now, when we get our families in these small doses, we are confronted with that growth, as if we were this tall when we left to Stanford and now, we are several inches taller. Maybe many of us needed space away from our families in order for us to both grow into ourselves and grow up. I came to see that this weekend.

The School of Life writes, “Often without realizing it, we are being heavily controlled by our families. Controlled not by harsh words but by something far more poignant and yet far harder to extricate ourselves from: by our ongoing desire to be a good child, to please those who brought us into this world, by love.”

This, to me at least, makes sense. We are different around our families; maybe we act younger than we usually do, reverting to some child-like state to absorb their love, or maybe we demand adult-to-adult respect from them now, seeing as we might want them to finally view us as independent individuals. Seeing the way my friends acted around their families—what they did and did not say, which hidden mannerisms were unearthed—showed me that maybe what makes “going to college” so transformative is the actual “going.”

In a different article, the School of Life writes, “Traditionally, family trees didn’t just exist to tell people about themselves. They were public objects intended to convey to strangers what they needed to know about us.” While my family went on tours and attended lectures, I spent my few hours of free time working outside, people-watching intermittently while working on a paper and saw that this also rang true.

From watching people interact with their families, I saw what that sort of “family tree” might describe—things that perhaps usually go unseen by the families themselves. It made me think that, maybe by watching the way a friend’s mom goes about unloading the car, for example, we can learn something about how your friend might go about tackling a problem set—if they do it all at once, or prefer to do it in multiple rounds. In many ways, seeing a person’s family means seeing their context; it can point to which actions or proclivities or traits have been transferred and summed up to “make up” that friend.

Writing this as my family drives back to Los Angeles, I wonder how those traits will have morphed by the time the next Family Weekend rolls around, what will have changed in that time—365 miles later or 365 days later.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu

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Busy https://stanforddaily.com/2018/02/14/busy/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/02/14/busy/#respond Wed, 14 Feb 2018 13:00:34 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1136734 We all know we are busy. 20 units, a job, internship applications— a lot of the time, our schedules write themselves. To help us keep track of our busyness, Stanford’s Resilience Project created a printable weekly planner that breaks our days down into hour-long increments, with columns spanning from 8 a.m. to 2 a.m. In other […]

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We all know we are busy. 20 units, a job, internship applications— a lot of the time, our schedules write themselves.

To help us keep track of our busyness, Stanford’s Resilience Project created a printable weekly planner that breaks our days down into hour-long increments, with columns spanning from 8 a.m. to 2 a.m. In other words, the schedule of a typical Stanford student both begins and ends in the morning.

When the alarm goes off in the morning, a list of demands follow.

Wake up early to finish the p-set, head to your 9:30 a.m. lecture, then to section, grab lunch at Stern, go to office hours, then your 3:30 class, which ends at 5:20. You normally would get dinner after, but you have to run a meeting for your student organization today. After it ends, you grab a snack and start the essay that’s due at midnight — and in the “off time” after the essay is done, you still have to maintain meaningful connections with equally busy friends, call home, clean your room, send the day’s batch of various emails and do laundry. You can postpone the first four items today, but you really have to do laundry.

When it’s finally time for sleep, it feels well-deserved, and precious in part because it is an escape. When your head hits the pillow, your only job is to close your eyes. But eventually you have to wake up, and the schedule needs to be abided by, and your to-do items need checking off.

The cycle starts again and repeats and repeats.

I have always loved the beginning of the article “How Being Busy Means Not Being Creative,” and it has stuck with me when I feel like all I am doing is biking from place to place: “Here’s a word: productive. Here’s another word: busy.” The two are not one and the same. Oftentimes, when I am busy, I spend the time I should be using for homework scrolling on my phone — like I’m sure a lot of us do. In such a need for a break, BuzzFeed becomes my best friend.

As Travis Bradbury writes in his article in Forbes Magazine, “Beyond interruptions, busyness reduces productivity because there’s a bottleneck in the brain that prevents us from concentrating on two things at once. When you try to do two things at once, your brain lacks the capacity to perform both tasks successfully.” When busyness lends itself to grasping for distraction, it makes sense that we spend more time on assignments that should not take that much time to complete, which ultimately cuts into our down time later.

When busyness is inevitable, I find myself thinking about the best ways to go about getting through the day, and that usually means finding some way to vary my schedule. Maybe I’ll take the nature route to class today, or dress a little faster so that I have time to make green tea before heading out. Maybe I can do my English reading outside on Meyer Green, sprawled out on a blanket before the sun sets. Maybe I can focus on the sound of life happening around me as I walk from class to section.

Let’s become tired of being so tired all the time. Let’s not treat over-exhaustion as a status symbol, and let’s not let it be code for “I am doing more than you.”

“Beware the barrenness of a busy life,” Socrates once said. Even Socrates agrees.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Learning with stories https://stanforddaily.com/2018/01/30/learning-with-stories/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/01/30/learning-with-stories/#respond Tue, 30 Jan 2018 11:00:52 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1135759 When I am a teacher, I am a storyteller. The bright colors of whiteboard markers bought in bulk, the empty space on the board – when they come together, I get to make worlds. If I am teaching chemistry, I can make hydrogen into a person and explain how, yes, she’s on the smaller side […]

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When I am a teacher, I am a storyteller. The bright colors of whiteboard markers bought in bulk, the empty space on the board – when they come together, I get to make worlds. If I am teaching chemistry, I can make hydrogen into a person and explain how, yes, she’s on the smaller side of the spectrum (with an atomic mass of one) and she’s also emotionally intelligent – keen to fill in the cracks of carbon’s hydrocarbon friend group when there aren’t other atoms around to do so. I can make electrons, which almost exclusively travel in pairs, into the prime example of monogamy.  

While working full-time as a TA and counselor for the Stanford Medical Youth Science Program (SMYSP) over the summer, I reached an understanding that there are stories in everything: I found a narrative beneath the surface, patterns (especially in science) that you can weave together into a plot. You can substitute “characters” students can get to know for “vocabulary words” students need to memorize. And if you can get them to not only see that story, but to crave it – to want to know how it ends – that’s where the magic happens. They begin to want more.

In EDUC 104: Introduction to the Profession of Teaching, my professor pointed out something that perhaps I always knew subconsciously but never put into words, involving two views of teaching. In the first view, whenever something goes right in the classroom, it is because the students are excellent; when something goes wrong, it is because the teacher is deficient in some way. The opposite is true in the other view: When poor test scores come back, for example, it points to lazy students; across-the-board good scores mean that the teacher is simply an inspiration.

These two views, coupled with how we view success in the classroom, had me thinking about the roles that students and educators play in the classroom, particularly in underserved communities. If we see education as co-creation – that is, the teacher gives something, which the student takes and then gives something back – it ensures that the learning is active and fresh. The term “co-creation” also applies when we engage with stories; the writer gives us the words, and then the reader fills in the pictures with their mind.

A teacher brings punctuation to life in one of my favorite lines from the book, “The Poet’s Companion,” by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux. The quote reads, “When I teach, I explain about semicolons, the jab of the period, the curl of the comma: the two freights of verbs and subjects on either side like a train coupling.” In an example of co-creation, the teacher would help the student understand what a semicolon is, for example, and then say, “Try it out. Use a semicolon.” After the student plays around with it, the teacher gets a sense of what they know, then advises them if their understanding can be improved. This way the focus is on the process and on the exchange, not entirely on the final (and sometimes discouraging) product: the grade.

Helping students find the narrative in coursework makes students focus on the process – to make learning what matters. And if they can get a good story out of it in the process – if they’re studying physics and make vectors into a character named Victor, for example – it can help to make the material all the more accessible.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Our president https://stanforddaily.com/2018/01/16/our-president/ https://stanforddaily.com/2018/01/16/our-president/#respond Tue, 16 Jan 2018 11:00:22 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1135058 Let’s start with the basics. If you are middle-aged or a millennial, if you’re middle-class or if your family is on food stamps, if you are any color, if you are gay or straight or anything in between, if you’re sure of the left or if you prefer the right, if you are a citizen […]

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Let’s start with the basics.

If you are middle-aged or a millennial, if you’re middle-class or if your family is on food stamps, if you are any color, if you are gay or straight or anything in between, if you’re sure of the left or if you prefer the right, if you are a citizen or not, you are here — and by being here in this country this is what you agree with: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

But that’s just specific to the United States. Let’s see what the world agrees with — what the United Nations put forth as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. This is from Article 2: “Everyone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration, without distinction of any kind, such as race, color, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status.”

Now let’s take a look at the big guy with the big personality holding the highest office in this country. We’ll just go in order because it’s easier. Let’s see what he has done.

Has he discriminated based on race? Yes. Sex? Check. Language and heritage? Check. Religion? God, yes. Another yes to “political or other opinion,” and most recently, a resounding yes to “national or social origin, property, birth or other status.”

But what inevitably happens after each and every one of his departures from that universally agreed upon common ground? Nothing. Nothing happened when an entire book came out chronicling his “stormy, outrageous” presidency, nothing happened when his proposed healthcare plan promised to leave millions more Americans uninsured and besides a handful of strongly worded letters, nothing happened when he called Haiti, El Salvador and parts of Africa “shithole countries.”

Sure, after this thing and the next thing, classmates and distant relatives will post outcries on Facebook and share articles and write articles (much like this one), but after all the petition-signing and angry-reacting and proverbial steam rising from our computers as we type away, he’s still in the White House. Or, more accurately, he’s still somewhere playing golf using our tax money.

Nothing seems to be working. People are not convinced of his wrongness. Either people overwhelmingly agree with statements made against his actions or they just don’t, interrupting the flow of sentences arguing for fundamental equality with “I agree, but,” which means they don’t really agree at all.

Things that would’ve been unspeakable had they happened under Obama or Bush are now suddenly okay. Imagine if there were sexual assault claims made against President Obama — how quickly would he have been shown the door? What wouldn’t have happened if Bush spent over $20 million on golf trips in 80 days, as the current president has done?

The common ground is no longer common, the basic human rights outlined decades before are no longer ensured to apply to every person. That’s what makes this dangerous.

So here’s to trying again — to demanding change this time instead of just insisting on it, to using our loudest voice and having the right people hear. Show up. Stand up. Speak out. To do otherwise is to make sexual assault, racism, sexism — Trump — the norm.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Staying in the present: A gift to yourself? https://stanforddaily.com/2017/12/05/staying-in-the-present-a-gift-to-yourself/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/12/05/staying-in-the-present-a-gift-to-yourself/#respond Tue, 05 Dec 2017 11:00:24 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1134437 We are time travelers. Eyes closed, we can remember back into the past and suddenly we are there – 6 years old, wrapped in blankets next to mom on the couch, half the height we used to be. Or maybe we are reliving the presentation we gave yesterday, thinking about the moments we stumbled over our […]

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We are time travelers.

Eyes closed, we can remember back into the past and suddenly we are there – 6 years old, wrapped in blankets next to mom on the couch, half the height we used to be. Or maybe we are reliving the presentation we gave yesterday, thinking about the moments we stumbled over our words – did the audience find it endearing or embarrassing?

We can also project ourselves into the future, predicting and willing things to happen; maybe we’re thinking about this midterm, about writing that essay, about the sweet moment that will come in a week and a few days when we can finally step back and embrace a well-deserved break.

If you have attended any sort of meditation workshop on campus, you are bound to have heard the word “mindfulness” come up a few times. And if so, you probably know that when we are being mindful, we are being “present in the moment.” According to meditation website Mindful, “it suggests that the mind is fully attending to what’s happening, to what you’re doing, to the space you’re moving through.”

And it sounds simple. If I am walking to class, for example, I should focus on the trees I see, feel the sun hitting my back, notice the gravel shifting underneath my footsteps. I shouldn’t be thinking about the class I’m walking to or the next thing on my to-do list. I shouldn’t, but I usually do.

Perhaps having most of our headspace live in the future is a side effect of the quarter system; with 10 weeks of condensed instruction, you have to be ahead of the game to even play it. At Stanford, the speed at which we go about our lives isn’t out of proportion because agility is the norm; however, compare the pace at which we are required to live our lives with what we think is healthy for us, and you start to see a disparity. We need to somehow be in two places at once — the present and the future — and that’s not mental time travel, that’s impossible. Yet people do it anyway.

What’s at stake here? The American Psychology Association published a study that asserts the difference between being “mindless” and “mindful”: “When we are mindless, we are like programmed automatons, treating information in a single-minded and rigid way, as though it were true regardless of the circumstances. When we are mindful, we are open to surprise, oriented in the present moment, sensitive to context and above all, liberated from the tyranny of old mindsets.” The article suggests that when we do not practice mindfulness, our actions turn mindless over time.

To some extent, that makes sense. If we are distracted somehow, or if we aren’t fully invested when we approach a problem, we try solving it based on what we already know, and the “fresh eyes” we try to bring to it aren’t really fresh at all. It’s an anguish that most of us can understand, since it’s hard to relax, unwind and mentally refresh ourselves without feeling slightly guilty for it.

Knowing that mindfulness confers benefits in “health, productivity, overcoming addictions, avoiding burnout and increasing our control and potential as we grow older,” we might consider giving it a serious chance. Perhaps, the first time trying it out, it isn’t about focusing exclusively on the trees and sunlight and concrete while walking to class but about taking concrete steps to try to find peace in small moments throughout the day. It’s about being aware of what you’re feeling, and that can take on a variety of forms.

Set aside just a few minutes each day to think about nothing, to simply just be. And if it helps, great. If it doesn’t, then at least you can say you tried it out. Be present now — remember to take care of yourself as final exams approach us. Everything else can wait.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Sexual assault and solidarity https://stanforddaily.com/2017/11/14/sexual-assault-and-solidarity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/11/14/sexual-assault-and-solidarity/#respond Tue, 14 Nov 2017 11:00:35 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1133425 Harvey Weinstein, Roy Moore, Kevin Spacey, Louis C.K., Steven Seagal. If you’ve read the news lately, you have probably seen these names populate the headlines. Each of these men — actors, a director, a politician — stand accused of sexual abuse. As time passes, more names get added to the list. More survivors step up, […]

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Harvey Weinstein, Roy Moore, Kevin Spacey, Louis C.K., Steven Seagal.

If you’ve read the news lately, you have probably seen these names populate the headlines. Each of these men — actors, a director, a politician — stand accused of sexual abuse. As time passes, more names get added to the list. More survivors step up, empowered by the wave of others doing so. Fears are faced, people find their voices again and speak out — and when they do, they join a symphony. Together, their voices are louder than whatever silenced them before.

There is a certain comfort in solidarity. It can be the crucial validation someone needs, knowing that someone else (or in this case, quite a few people) understand so perfectly what has plagued them — what they have lived through and perhaps relived over and over again. It’s people holding hands and saying, “We are here.” Their narratives don’t have to compete or ask for acceptance. They just add up.

To see this many people come forward is painful and horrible, but not shocking. And this, I think, is what makes the “adding another name to the list” phenomenon, perhaps an unintended side effect of solidarity, so dangerous — just as each day brings forth the name of a new perpetrator, countless victims follow. Victims we don’t really pay attention to.

As this past week has shown us, this is what tends to happen when reports of abuse surface:

  1. News breaks that a prominent figure has been accused of sexual abuse.
  2. News focuses on the prominent figure, emphasizing their prominence. The article will mention their career, maybe list a few accomplishments (e.g. movies they have starred in or directed, how their local campaign is going, etc).
  3. Reporter entertains the potential for the accusations to be a hoax (e.g. in Roy Moore’s case, where some claim the allegations are a politically motivated, last-ditch effort to swing the election against him).
  4. The accused will release a statement, to be quoted numerous times by various news outlets.
  5. Articles surface about how will this affect the accused’s career, their reputation. “What will happen to them? Will their movie still air?” is answered over and over again.

And then it happens again, but with a different name.

Exactly whom the acts of sexual abuse have happened to blurs into the background. What about their careers, their lives? They become numbers. The survivors are known as “they” or “them” —  a collective mass growing larger each day. Each addition to the group, each additional person saying “me, too” warrants a fleeting sadness at most. “Another one,” we think to ourselves and shake our heads. Our sympathy has a habit of stopping there.

It reminds me of mass shootings. They don’t faze us anymore. When someone asks, “Did you hear about the shooting?” our usual response is “Which one?” They happen so often that their effect is lost on most of us, unless we have some personal tie to the event, like family or friends who were affected, or if it happened in our hometown. We grow numb.

Even more haunting is that, for one reason or another, people feel like they cannot speak up. In this case, it took one willing survivor, and then several others came forward, and then people affected by different abusers started speaking up. The men named at the top are powerful men — they have status and influence and so, so much money. The weight of their names, coupled with the intense media coverage any accusations made against them would pick up, could lead victims into a corner.  Understandably, it follows that some survivors choose to deal with it on their own instead of becoming public figures in the media, forced to relive traumatic moments in public, drawn-out court cases.

A final important thing to remember: The survivor’s individual experience is not less important just because others have experienced it too. If we treat this multitude of shared experiences as a single narrative — if we grow numb to it — we normalize it. And so it spreads.

People shouldn’t have to demand to be heard — we just need to listen.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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The second time around https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/31/the-second-time-around/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/31/the-second-time-around/#respond Tue, 31 Oct 2017 08:00:00 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1132207 Six weeks into my second year here, and Stanford feels new. We have new dorms, new dining halls assigned to us, new routes to class as construction wraps up. We walk around and notice things we didn’t freshman year — the shortcut behind Green Library, the small burst of forest between Toyon and Arillaga. Some […]

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Six weeks into my second year here, and Stanford feels new. We have new dorms, new dining halls assigned to us, new routes to class as construction wraps up. We walk around and notice things we didn’t freshman year — the shortcut behind Green Library, the small burst of forest between Toyon and Arillaga.

Some things, however, feel very much the same. Procrastination is still an epidemic that affects millions of young people every year, and we need to stop it, but maybe tomorrow. Midterms are still too soon and too stressful, the day still too short to fit every work shift, section and phone call home in. There are more opportunities than I can count, and they all live in my inbox. Stanford is still Stanford.

Slowly, reluctantly, the aim of the school year is coming into focus. I, as well as the rest of the class of 2020, have to declare a major.

Left and right, people around me are realizing that they shouldn’t major in HumBio if they don’t like Hum or Bio and that they still have to fulfill WAYS and that it’s really, really hard to answer “What are you interested in?” with the single word of a major.

Thinking back to early conversations during NSO, I remember hearing how many of us chose Stanford for everything that “The Winds of Freedom Blow” meant — finally, after suffering through that physics class in high school, we could take that French cooking class that our schools never offered. We could try an animal behavior class, or social dance. We could learn how to write. And during convocation, President Mark Tessier-Lavigne encouraged us to take freshman year to do just that — explore.

But now, to myself, as well as to many of my peers who answer the question “What are you studying?” with “I’m not sure yet,” things feel less free, less about learning for the sake of learning and more about taking classes to fulfill major requirements. People are thinking about graduate school and jobs and salaries and make four-year plans without any breathing room. Our education does not feel as freeform as it was freshman year.

If someone likes writing but also like drawing cyclohexanes and teaching high schoolers how to write research papers but doesn’t really like anthropology, what should they major in? Or take the musician who loves amplifying DNA via polymerase chain reaction. What about them?

Exploring has given the scientist time to fall in love with coding — and choosing one or trying to stay afloat juggling both at the same time isn’t sustainable or healthy for most people. Logistically, I understand why we have requirements and a declaration deadline, and liking too many subject areas to count is the best of problems to have.

For me personally, all I know is that I like words. I like small ones that sound like what they mean (e.g. “tiny”); ones that, with consonant-made space between vowels, imply a wave, motion (e.g. “undulating”); ones that sound like white noise (e.g. “hushed”). I like words like “leathered” and words that cut.

In every class I’ve ever taken here, English or not, I’ve kept a journal open, ready to jot down well worded phrases from the lecturer or sometimes from a student asking a question. I’ve picked up and recycled “a self-erasing kind of devotion,” “moment-by-moment evocation,” “poverty of formalization” and many more. The journal’s almost full. It’s my most important thing.

When everyone else seems to have an idea of what they want to study, of what they want to do, it’s so easy to feel behind. But things usually fall into place, and sometimes it takes experiences that just wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t struggled for a bit. For now, at least for me, it’s a waiting game.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at “amariz” at stanford.edu.

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Affirmative action: A seat at the table https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/15/affirmative-action-a-seat-at-the-table/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/15/affirmative-action-a-seat-at-the-table/#respond Mon, 16 Oct 2017 00:00:45 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1129848 Editor’s note: This piece was originally published in our NSO magazine issue on Sept. 22. When it came in the mail, I looked at it a while before opening it. The packet, white-enveloped and Cardinal red, contained a letter that, on weighted paper, read, “It gives me very great pleasure to invite you into the […]

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Editor’s note: This piece was originally published in our NSO magazine issue on Sept. 22.

When it came in the mail, I looked at it a while before opening it. The packet, white-enveloped and Cardinal red, contained a letter that, on weighted paper, read, “It gives me very great pleasure to invite you into the Stanford family as a member of the Stanford Class of 2020!” Embossed and sleek, the words felt so special. I felt special. I was part of the 4.69 percent, one of the 1,700 students selected from over 40,000. It felt like a blessing; it felt like luck.

When the news got around, some met my acceptance with a sigh and an “Of course you got in.” Friends said that my acceptance made sense — not because of what I did or who I was, but because of the boxes I checked off in the “Family Background” section of the Common App.

I was a half-Mexican, half-Egyptian, low-income student — the first person in her family to go to college. Socioeconomically, I was desirable to the institution. Ethnically, I was almost necessary (how often do Mexican-Egyptians apply?). But all you would need to do would be to change the color of my skin — to make me white — and I wouldn’t be holding the same letter. Add a few extra thousand to my family’s annual income and I would not be afforded the same regard in the admissions office. Or so some insisted.

That certainly wasn’t the first time people have sought to discredit the accomplishments of people from similar backgrounds. Guillermo Camarillo ’20, a close friend and fellow Quest Scholar and Leland Scholar, received considerable attention from the media last year after he wrote a letter to his dentist via Facebook post detailing his dentist’s attempt to credit his admission to Stanford solely to affirmative action. After asking where Guillermo would be attending college and receiving “Stanford” as the answer, the dentist grew cold as he started asking for Guillermo’s ACT score. The dentist insisted that he had gotten accepted because he came from a poorer area; meanwhile, his daughter (presumably from a higher socioeconomic background) applied with a higher ACT score and received a rejection letter.

“You belittled me. You labeled me,” Guillermo wrote in his letter. “Little do you know that I grew up in a house where Spanish was only spoken. I had to learn English on my own. I grew up in a household where at times we couldn’t afford to pay our rent or didn’t have enough food for the whole week… You are neglecting that all odds were against me.”

With over 61,000 “likes” on Facebook, the post garnered national attention, bringing first-generation and low-income students into the headlines, however briefly. It brought up a years-old conversation: Does affirmative action have a place in college admissions? And if so, to what degree?

Let’s start with the basics. What is affirmative action anyway? Most of us have a general idea — it has something to do with the way race plays into admissions to institutions of higher learning and employment in general. It could mean favoring certain groups of people, while necessarily excluding others. Cornell Law School describes it as “a set of procedures designed to eliminate unlawful discrimination between applicants, remedy the results of such prior discrimination and prevent such discrimination in the future. Applicants may be seeking admission to an educational program or looking for professional employment.”

Prescribed as a means to right past wrongs and aid those disadvantaged in their educational and employment pursuits, affirmative action stands strong in the strides it has made for underrepresented communities. It’s not about discriminating against white applicants — it’s about leveling the playing field. For the first time in history, Harvard admitted a majority-minority class; that is, more people of color and underrepresented backgrounds comprised the class than their white counterparts. But now comes the question, why is this a good thing? Why does it matter that more minorities occupy those coveted roles in undergraduate and graduate institutions?

We need people from every walk of life in every aspect of life. We are so much the product of our environment, shaped indelibly by our experiences, that to deny leadership of that range of diversity is to set it back. Diversity among collaborators creates a web of relation that is equal parts beautiful and strong: a resilient connection between identity-sharers and an opportunity for differences to strike an inclusive chord. To do otherwise would be a disservice to ingenuity, a deprivation, a sprint toward counterproductivity. The collaboration that affirmative action makes room for also makes room for new ideas — a type of learning and innovation unrivaled by ideas coming from a set that is overwhelmingly the same. It gives narrative permission to inform novelty, and it is where life experiences make for breakthroughs.

Moreover, we get to know the narrative of a mass and its identity very well through the individual and their own interactions with that identity. That is not to say that each person bears the burden of representation, that the only Latina in the room has to represent the entire Latina experience. That’s not the point of having her in the room. In his research paper “Intersectionality 101,” Ahir Golpaldas argues that diversity sees “beyond race, class and gender to include age, attractiveness, body type, caste, citizenship, education, ethnicity, height and weight assessments, immigration status, income, marital status, mental health status, nationality, occupation, physical ability, religion, sex, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status and other naturalized — though not necessarily natural — ways of categorizing human populations.”

All of the above are the ways in which she exists and interacts with the world around her, and they’re brought to us by the way in which her race shapes how she forms her own identity — it’s the first thing we see when we look at her, maybe it’s in how she speaks, it’s in her name. It’s how her identities interact and morph and mesh that make her valuable. From a productivity standpoint alone, it makes her useful.

It might appear that considering the narrative of people of color alongside that of others is where the subject gets touchy for some, and it’s where the phrase “reverse racism” gets thrown around. Is favoring diversity in the classroom and workplace a form of discrimination against white applicants? In light of recent policy proposals, Donald Trump certainly seems to think so.

By the nature of how college admissions works, a lucky few are accepted. The rest are denied. The same works with employment; not everyone gets the job. Are all of those people — the vast majority of applicants — who receive a rejection being discriminated against just because they were not accepted? Not at all. It’s discrimination when, in the 1960s, African Americans were denied quality jobs to such a great extent that they lived on average seven years shorter than white Americans and were twice as likely to be unemployed. It’s discrimination when only 15 percent of Hispanics aged 25-29 have a bachelor’s degree or higher, compared to 41 percent of whites.

The problem starts when the people who rise to the top are consistently similar: middle-to-upper class, white and male. When there isn’t enough room for people of different backgrounds and identities to thrive in the leadership roles filled by their white counterparts, something has to be done to make sure that no one is taking more space than they should.

Diversity always comes up when the conversation turns to college admissions. It was in the admissions letter I read a year ago: “At Stanford you join a diverse, joyful and collaborative campus community with a shared determination to change the world.” And that’s why it’s so important — it’s a shared effort. If everyone is welcome at the table, everyone needs to be at the table. Otherwise you’ll never know what they could bring to it.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at arizkalla ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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A trip to Poland https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/03/a-trip-to-poland/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/03/a-trip-to-poland/#respond Tue, 03 Oct 2017 16:00:46 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1130547 I don’t understand it. I try to wrap my head around it, try writing words on paper and connecting them to each other in webs to see why, how people are different. I know that we are made to see differences — it’s what keeps us alive. Differences are why our ancestors were able to […]

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I don’t understand it. I try to wrap my head around it, try writing words on paper and connecting them to each other in webs to see why, how people are different. I know that we are made to see differences — it’s what keeps us alive. Differences are why our ancestors were able to tell the good, red berries apart from the poisonous, pinker ones and live on and on to make us. It’s why using highlighters while studying makes us perceive the yellowed lines as distinguished, set apart, important. But when it comes to people, what compels some differences to make us want to scoot closer to those similar to us? What role does the external occupy to make us forget that, just a few millimeters deeper than the space of skin color, we are remarkably the same?

I thought about this a lot while traveling in Poland with Stanford Hillel, on this inaugural trip for Jewish and non-Jewish students (like myself) alike. This idea kept running through my mind, sprinting, because after seeing Auschwitz in person, there had to be something Nazi soldiers told themselves as they killed six million people. How did perceived differences inform the eugenics that charged their speeches, the “logical” justifications they preached? Maybe they just focused on the numbers — maybe to them, they killed just six million, not six million people. But still the question remains: How do people go about distancing other people from their humanity?

More hauntingly: In the occasional swastika found graffitied on campus, why does this keep coming up?

Time and time again on the trip, we talked about the mobility of narratives and how they can compete, overpower each other and fade back away. Warsaw, Poland’s capital, saw 90 percent of its city destroyed during World War II — rubble piled where buildings once towered, brokenness in its people and architecture. In its loud silence, the once dynamic capital spoke the story of a shattered landscape. Today, however, it’s a sprawling, neon-lit hub alive with its embodiment of the new. Destruction has forced Warsaw forward. As much as it is a place whose founding dates back to 1200, its modernity — shopping malls and Ubers and all — remind me more of my hometown Los Angeles than of an ancient city.

This renewal of architecture (and of culture, really) parallels something I read a few years ago. In 2007, NPR reported that our bodies replace 98 percent of our atoms every year. “These atomic makeovers prompt a more philosophical question,” David Kestenbaum wrote. “Are people really themselves if their atoms are always new, or are they new people each year?” It’s amazing how something as abstract as “what we are” is defined by something so physical, then perhaps re-defined once the body hits “refresh.” If we shed our components annually, our particles and sub-particles, then what are we after the fact? What are we then, when the carbons in our cyclohexanes renew — what’s left but our memories?

It reminds me of Warsaw, because it makes me wonder what remains of its past when so much of it is burned and buried. Our tour guide made a point of answering this question in one of our many walks around the city. Much of Warsaw is built on mounds, marked by the lack of ground floors in some buildings. The landscape was made uneven by what lies underneath. The new city is built atop the old one in a literal sense — atop the war-torn schools and post offices and people. Some people claim to feel it in their bones, the dead underneath who were not put to rest properly — ironically for Poland, a country whose name means “rest here.”

When everything around us has changed — changed with the times, or with war, or with a new president — the last text at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum rings even more true: “It happened, therefore it can happen again: This is the core of what we have to say.” This is easiest to forget when it’s most important to remember.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Where are the cries? https://stanforddaily.com/2017/06/12/where-are-the-cries/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/06/12/where-are-the-cries/#respond Mon, 12 Jun 2017 12:05:57 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1128975 We have a tendency to distance people from their humanity if we do not know them personally.

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The Manchester bombing two weeks ago. Saturday’s London Bridge terrorist attacks. We have certainly heard about these two gruesome events in great detail since they have happened. They are tragic — in their murder of the innocent, their cold stripping of life, the ruthless way their instigators set out to harm.  

All over social media, people are sharing articles bearing pictures of the victims, accompanied by links to various GoFundMe pages in their support. People are praying for them, praying for their funerals, expressing their anguish in torn, heartfelt comments online. In short, people care.

But, two weeks ago, a car bomb went off in Kabul, Afghanistan, killing at least 90 people and injuring over 460 others. “The attack is the deadliest in the Afghan capital since an ISIS suicide bomber killed nearly 100 people at a protest last summer, and one of the largest to hit Kabul since the 2001 intervention. Most of the casualties are expected to be civilians,” reports the Guardian. Pictures of the aftermath show how severe the damage was to the city; we can see huge plumes of smoke, shattered infrastructure, handless people, bloodied faces.

Where is the same outpouring of support for these people? Where is the same recognition that this is a tragedy?

We have a tendency to distance people from their humanity if we do not know them personally. Think about it.

One of the reasons we might feel so strongly about the Manchester bombing is because most of us have probably been to a concert; we feel betrayed when what is supposed to be a safe space — a place young people go to enjoy themselves with friends — can contain as much human carnage as it did after the attack. We are all familiar with the singer, Ariana Grande, one of our country’s most famous celebrities and can feel the pain she feels knowing this happened at one of her shows. Because we are so close to the experience the concert-goers had during the concert, we are better equipped to empathize with the affected people.

As for the attacks in Kabul, most of us have no ties connecting us with the circumstances of the victims. We intuitively think of Afghanistan as far away, as a blur of war zones and oppression. Fox News and the like (i.e. our president) have consistently portrayed Middle Easterners as “the enemy” — and after months and months and months of this, the image can’t help but start to stick. We are “supposed” to associate Afghanistan with war as if casualties and civilian death are the norm or some warranted retribution for bad morality on the part of a few. Or maybe, because we have become so desensitized to violence thanks to war movies and gory video games, we see this violence as an example of life happening normally. After a while, numbers can become just that — numbers. Statistics. When it comes to human rights violations in the Middle East, we seem to be an indifferent public.

We can’t brush off violence as a circumstance of where people live; this choreographed, ritualized violence will persist if we label it as the norm and then turn a blind eye to it like we are doing now. We need to show people that they have been recognized and seen and understood — a sad react on Facebook can’t do that.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at ‘amariz’ at stanford.edu.

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To the class of 2021, from an almost-sophomore https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/30/to-the-class-of-2021-from-an-almost-sophomore/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/30/to-the-class-of-2021-from-an-almost-sophomore/#respond Tue, 30 May 2017 07:10:42 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1128644 Freshman year is special. You learn a lot. But there are also some things you can learn from those that have come before you, some of which I have listed below.

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Two weeks.

In two weeks, it will be finals week and then freshman year will be gone. People have told me that this first year goes by so fast, and I believed them, but there’s nothing quite like seeing it flash by for yourself.

People tend to be reflective at this time of year. It’s in the conversations I overhear in passing, and their heaviness with the past-tense. They start with “Remember when …” and end in a nostalgic glow. And it makes sense. High school seniors are graduating, college seniors are making concerted steps into “adulthood,” however reluctantly. Freshman years are ending. People are looking back and perhaps wondering if they have made the best use of their time so far, whatever that means for them. They might even find themselves fidgeting, waiting anxiously for what comes next. Bittersweet endings, new beginnings.

This brings me back to last summer — the summer before college. I poured over The Daily, taking in every tiny moment of access I could get into Stanford life. I would imagine that there are some new incoming freshmen here too, reading this and other articles, watching and rewatching Stanford student vlogs like I did. I decided that I couldn’t wait until NSO, so I started living vicariously through what I read and saw.

If this sounds like you, keep reading.

Freshman year is special. You learn a lot. But there are also some things you can learn from those that have come before you, some of which I have listed below.

 

1) Use this summer wisely.

The summer before college is more important than you know. You have worked hard to make it here, and that probably means you spent a lot of your time in high school being busy — please take this summer as a well-deserved break. Make the most of your Netflix-filled days, beach trips and the time with your high school friends. Spend time with your family. Stanford runs on a fast-paced quarter system that can be unbelievably demanding at times (trust me, I know. Finals are almost upon us). So relish the break. You’ll want to meet your freshman year, and all of your new experiences here, with a wealth of energy.  

 

2) NSO can be overwhelming.

You thought Admit Weekend was a lot? Imagine an entire week of it. As fun and exciting as it is to meet your peers and go to talks, it can be draining to be “on” all the time. Some alone time can go a long way.  

 

3) Take classes outside of your comfort zone.

Never coded before? Try CS106A. Want to take a class taught by a Pulitzer Prize winner? Take the amazing Thinking Matters class, Stories Everywhere. This is where Stanford’s motto “The Wind of Freedom Blows” could not be more accurate — you have earned the freedom to explore any discipline you want, as much as you want. So even if you’re sure you want to major in Physics, but have always liked to write, try out a creative writing class. It won’t hurt.

 

4) You will struggle. And you won’t be alone.

You are probably among the best in your high school; you did well in your classes, balanced an almost impossible array of extracurricular activities and still managed to find time to sleep. And then you come here and Stanford hits you like a brick wall. Stanford is hard. Really hard. People used to tell me that and I found myself secretly thinking “Well, maybe it’s hard for them. I know I can handle it,” citing my success in high school as a reason why I could handle the classes here with ease. I thought I was unbreakable. And then I took chemistry. High school coursework — even honors and AP classes — often do not compare to the rigor of some of the classes you will take here. In high school, you fall into a loop of positive feedback — you work hard, you get an A. Oftentimes here, you work hard, study all night, go to office hours and study groups and tutoring and maybe scrape by with a C. And when you are surrounded by some of the best and brightest minds in the world — when they’re sitting next to you in class with their aced exams — it can get pretty disheartening. The trick is to know that everyone struggles — just not everybody shows it. Working to redefine “success” as the number of times you get back up after you fail instead of the number of times you bring home A’s can help.

 

5) Reflect. And do your own thing.

You learn a lot about yourself when you’re away from home — how much interaction you need, how you handle freedom. FOMO and the pressure to always appear busy or happy can influence you more than you might think. You might find yourself adding a few extra units to your schedule because you think you “need” to — because everyone else on your floor is taking at least 17 units, when you had only planned on taking 14. Make sure to check in with yourself every few weeks and ask yourself “Why am I doing what I’m doing? Is it because everyone else is doing it, or because I want to?”

 

6) You will meet your closest friends. Just not right away.

The Women’s Center. El Centro. DGen Office. FLIP. There are so, so many places you can go to on campus to meet new people. You can carve out a niche anywhere you would like — it’s as easy as introducing yourself to people you haven’t met before. Think about it. The Admissions Office loves to say that every student it selects is at Stanford for a reason — the barely-there acceptance rate makes that clear. Maybe you think you got in because you are a world-class jump roper, or because you are a voice for your community, or because you write well. Aren’t you curious to find out why your other classmates were chosen, too? You can only do that if you get to know them, if you push through the small talk and dig deeper. Be open. People want to know you, too.

 

So sit tight until September, 2021. Stanford is waiting for you.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu

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Humor with activist intent https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/22/humor-with-activist-intent/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/22/humor-with-activist-intent/#respond Mon, 22 May 2017 07:49:38 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127835 When it comes to attracting people to a cause, the method matters. Several researchers agree that a tempered approach – a nonviolent, humorous one – engages people just as much, if not more, than more austere means of protest.

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When we think of activists, we rush to a caricature of the unified, of people together in their sign-holding and marching and speech-making. Angry, frustrated, spent — they share a perplexity, a fire, that marks their cause and their dedication to it. We think of the economy of style and compactness of form that run through their speeches and poster boards; “We demand change,” we can hear them chant, fists in the air. “Action now!”

But, when it comes to attracting people to a cause, the method matters. Several researchers agree that a tempered approach — a nonviolent, humorous one — engages people just as much, if not more, than more austere means of protest.

“Even today,” argues Janet Bing, an English professor at Old Dominion University, “feminist messages too often go unheard, and feminist issues are too often dismissed by mainstream audiences, partly because feminists continue to be stereotyped as angry and humorless.” And activists’ anger and humorlessness makes sense. The causes they advocate for often appear to demand a fierceness and a stern handling of the issue at stake to convince people of their gravity.

Marjolein t’Hart, a senior researcher at the Huygens Institute for the History of the Netherlands, relates to us why people facing a situation that requires immediate addressing might lean toward a serious portrayal of the issue; she says, “Indeed much social protest is fueled by anger and fear, which leave little room for frivolous thoughts.” If we consider a family facing the deportation of a loved one, for example, they might not stop to think about how to frame the issue when they speak out about it, and understandably so; the immediate consequences of deportation might make the message feel more important than the way they convey it. Activists appear austere because, out of respect for their cause, they feel like they have to. That is, unless they use humor wisely.

People want to be entertained — “to be” functioning as the operative words in the sentence. It makes them listen. People like things spoon-fed, honeyed and digestible, and humor is the ultimate sweetener. With a careful consideration for style, activists can put the content on the still-hot back burner to focus on the delivery.

Think about professional comedians — aren’t some of them activists in disguise? Jon Stewart, John Oliver, Stephen Colbert each have platforms where they make their beliefs very clear to their audiences. Their roles as professional comedians can even grant them a valuable (and perhaps unexpected) immunity from the veracity of their claims. Comparing royal jesters to modern day comedians, t’Hart says, “In royal courts, a jester could express critical thoughts about policies without fearing punishment by the ruler. His peculiar, ritualized position carried immunity.” The “peculiar” position of a professional comedian makes them an effective advocate — one who advocates without necessarily appearing to. Just as the jester is a “professional comedian” with a job to entertain, the job of a modern day comedian is just as institutionalized and ritualized — they get paid to make people laugh. Because any joke they make is them simply “doing their job,” they can get away with most of what they say.

As such, t’Hart contends that modern day comedians “can present harsh and undesirable political truths through laughter: Their position as official joke-makers makes them different from other political critics.” They dodge any real opposition because “‘fools’ should not be taken seriously, and replying in a serious manner to a joke is generally ‘not done.’” Activists who make a smart use of humor temper their scorching indictments with a lightness, with a promise to their audience that they are “only joking,” and that they only intend to entertain. These comedians forego a didactic relationship with their audience and instead deliver a cinematic performance that lacks an immediate connection to the cause itself. As such, they can get away with labeling their convictions that err on the side of activism as a necessary part of their aesthetic project.

But does it work?

It is worth mentioning that the metric used to gauge the effectiveness of humor as an approach is still up for debate; do we measure its effectiveness by actual change accomplished or by the amount of awareness brought to the issue (such as the number of “likes” or “retweets” it receives online)?

t’Hart pointed something out that I had not considered before: that humor may even inhibit action. The feeling of solidarity and comfort in knowing that the oppression is shared may halt the movement; to an extent, people may feel appeased enough to refrain from pursuing the cause as ardently as they had before. t’Hart even goes as far as saying that humor “in and of itself never changes circumstances,” labeling it as a “weapon of the weak.” Additionally, she says that humor can divide just as much as it binds, especially if people perceive the joke as unjust or rude.

However, convictions made jokingly are more difficult to counter. The nonviolent and engaging veins that run through humor activism make similar approaches effective. Jokes have a certain unifying power — one that does not necessarily have to inhibit action but can help persuade people on the fence about the issue. It also does the necessary work of portraying the activists themselves as a group people would like to associate with — funny and “everyday” sorts of people who nonetheless dedicate themselves to the issue at stake.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

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Waiting for impeachment https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/15/waiting-for-impeachment/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/15/waiting-for-impeachment/#respond Mon, 15 May 2017 07:47:35 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127465 Amanda Rizkalla discusses Trump's actions since the start of his presidency, which have many critics believing that his impeachment is inevitable.

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Lately the headlines have been unavoidable.

“Trump must be impeached. Here’s why,” published on May 13 in The Washington Post. This sort of talk has been going on for a while, at least as far back as  “A Psychologist Analyzes Donald Trump’s Personality,”  which was part of the June 2016 issue of the Atlantic. And of course, the cherry on top of the week: his firing of FBI director James B. Comey.

According to the White House, “President Trump will have signed 30 executive orders during his first 100 days,” compared to President Obama’s 19 and George W. Bush’s 11. This makes him the “most accomplished” president since Franklin Roosevelt. That’s how the White House puts it, at least.

He has masterminded a vote to repeal and replace ObamaCare in the House of Representatives, signed a presidential memorandum withdrawing America from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, directed federal agencies to make way for the “immediate construction” of a wall and signed an executive order to remove federal grant money from sanctuary cities, among others. And that was in just over 100 days.

Trump, the very name of the dividing force in our country, has alienated “aliens” (as he likes to call undocumented immigrants), plucking them from their families through deportation. Through his travel ban, he has cut America off from engaging in worldwide scholarship. All to “Make America Great Again.”

Even more dangerous than his firing of Comey, he “used the vice president and White House staff to propagate a set of blatant untruths — before giving an interview to NBC’s Lester Holt that exposed his true motivation,” notes Laurence H. Tribe, a Professor of Constitutional Law at Harvard Law School. This should worry even his most ardent of supporters — imagine when his self-interested dishonesty bleeds through even more serious international issues. We’re talking about war.

“Ample reasons existed to worry about this president, and to ponder the extraordinary remedy of impeachment, even before he fired FBI Director James B. Comey,” argues Tribe, who is a strong advocate for his impeachment. The fact that Trump wanted Comey to “pledge loyalty” to him in order for him keep his position (when Comey was supposed to conduct an unbiased investigation) and that Trump sees nothing wrong about that request points to a larger truth: Trump has no idea what he’s doing.

And what can we do about it?

I think that this is a waiting game. The “screaming carrot demon,” as Samantha Bee likes to call him, will dig himself into a hole — one that he can’t get out of. Our approach should be a balance of sustained, targeted effort to keep measures in place that are important to us (access to affordable health care, adequate funding for the Pell Grant, etc.), balanced with patience.

And with time, maybe we’ll get lucky. America can look him in the eye and say his two favorite words back at him: “You’re fired.”

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu

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Praising the process https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/08/praising-the-process/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/08/praising-the-process/#respond Mon, 08 May 2017 07:47:01 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127120 Growth mindset — those two words have been everywhere lately. People meet a failing grade on a midterm with a shrug and a solemn “Growth mindset, right?” The Academic Resource Skills Center prescribes the words as a remedy to a dip in GPA.

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Growth mindset — those two words have been everywhere lately. People meet a failing grade on a midterm with a shrug and a solemn “Growth mindset, right?” The Academic Resource Skills Center prescribes the words as a remedy to a dip in GPA.  

For those of us who haven’t heard about it before, the Harvard Business Review describes people who have growth mindset as “individuals who believe their talents can be developed (through hard work, good strategies and input from others)… They tend to achieve more than those with a more fixed mindset (those who believe their talents are innate gifts).” The more we believe that we have the ability to fine-tune and develop skills (especially the ones that do not come as easy to us), the more successful we are in doing what we set out to accomplish.

At the start of the quarter, I heard more about how educators (particularly in pre-schools and day cares) put growth mindset into practice. For example, if a child is painting a picture, educators are discouraged from saying “That looks really cool!” or “What a pretty painting!” Instead, they are encouraged to say something along the lines of “I can see that you have been working very hard,” or “You have been spending a lot of time painting the sky.” The point is to praise the process instead of the outcome.

Sometimes my roommate and I wonder how we might have been different if our parents had adhered to the mode of parenting that encouraged growth mindset in our childhoods. When I was younger and I would paint a picture and show it to my mom, she would say something like, “Very nice!” The same went for my grades. A’s were greeted with “Good job!” and a pat on the back — the same way she would shout “Go Amanda!” when I hit a home run in Little League baseball.

We wondered what might have happened if, instead of rewarding the A’s, our parents acknowledged the C’s on tests that we had spent hours studying for with “I saw that you worked very hard. I’m proud that you did your best.” Or, if I went an entire soccer game without scoring a goal, if my mom would have said, “You ran a lot, even when you got tired.” Would we have more patience when things did not go our way, despite all of the effort we put in? Would we be able to more easily view failure as a learning opportunity instead of as a setback?

At the same time, the gratification we received for doing well may have played a role in fueling our desire to get all A’s, to overachieve, to keep pushing ourselves. After all, there is a certain satisfaction in accomplishing something we set out to do, and that satisfaction can have a reinvigorating effect. But if we depend on positive reinforcement as a source of energy, what happens to our motivation when we are just expected to perform well without any acknowledgement? After 18 years of having a fixed mindset, I guess the only thing we can do is start adopting the growth mindset now.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Gabriel Iglesias and the politics of humor https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/24/gabriel-iglesias-and-the-politics-of-humor/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/24/gabriel-iglesias-and-the-politics-of-humor/#respond Mon, 24 Apr 2017 08:07:15 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1126350 There is a fine line between offensiveness and entertainment in humor. We all know that.

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In the 2012 bit “E-glesias with an I,” stand-up comedian Gabriel Iglesias re-enacts an encounter he had with a hotel clerk who misspelled his name. The premise is simple. The clerk, who is an African-American woman, insists that Gabriel’s last name is spelled with an E instead of an I, since it is pronounced “E-glesias.” Gabriel corrects her, telling her that it is, in fact, spelled with an I.

In the performance, Gabriel becomes the woman he had the encounter with. He assumes the vernacular, demeanor and “attitude” assigned to the stereotypical black woman. In an imitation of her speech, he says “Ah hear da bell,” instead of “I hear the bell,” following the sentence with his wide-eyed, intimidated response to her presence. He pretends to smoke. He has her curse in every line. He makes her appear irritated. Iglesias appears to perpetuate the negative stereotype, keeping the woman nameless so that she as an individual simultaneously aligns with and represents African-American women as a whole. Despite his stereotyping, the audience — a diverse lot — roars. How come?

There is a fine line between offensiveness and entertainment in humor. We all know that. That’s why some of us (especially those of us with mental illness in the family) cringe when we hear people call things “retarded.” We know that a white person cannot make a black joke. We know that there are parameters humor needs to follow for us to feel comfortable laughing along.

Religion. Race. Gender. Social class. Many topics — especially those regarding identity — are off-limits for a punch line. But here we have a Mexican-American man imitating an African-American woman — and it’s not a particularly flattering imitation at that. To start to understand why Iglesias’ comedy still makes his audience laugh, let’s look at what Time Magazine wrote about another comedian, Samantha Bee: “She has a flair for the baroque insult, calling Donald Trump, at various times, a ‘tangerine-tinted trash-can fire,’ ‘sociopathic 70-year-old toddler,’ ‘screaming carrot demon’ and ‘America’s burst appendix.’”

The difference is in the intent. Bee wants to injure, to depict Trump in a way that gets across how “demonic” and “toddler”-like he is. She is unapologetic and assured of the veracity of her convictions — and she is right to be. Iglesias, however, does something different.

In the beginning of the clip, he does something I didn’t really stop to think about at first. In a call for his fans to feel comfortable approaching him in public, he says, “If you ever see me in public, either at a restaurant, or at a hotel, or anywhere, and you want to stop me and say hello or take a picture or anything, please. I welcome it, and it’s an honor if you were to do that. I do not mind at all.” His warm tone and emphatic pauses add to his message by having the style of his speech emphasize the sincerity of his message. Even before he finishes speaking, the audience starts to clap and cheer; his humility strikes a chord with them. “Trust me, I’m the same pendejo you’ll see outside,” he says — “pendejo” meaning “idiot” in Spanish. He is an ordinary person, just like them.

Iglesias uses his humble and approachable personality to show that his imitation of the black woman, although racially charged, harbors no racist intent. He portrays himself as an “everyday” sort of guy, someone the audience can relate to, a fact he relies on later to uphold the comedic value of his otherwise offensive imitation of a black woman. The bit would be distasteful without it.

Iglesias “lets us all in on the joke,” according to Mark Jenkins of the Washington Post. It’s part of his approach — Iglesias does not alienate. He makes fun of himself just as much as he makes fun of Mexicans (his own race) or as much as he makes fun of everyone else. And he makes fun of everyone with everyone — it’s not an “us and them” type of deal. That’s why it works.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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To know yourself https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/17/to-know-yourself/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/17/to-know-yourself/#respond Mon, 17 Apr 2017 07:23:35 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1125975 We spend so much more time and energy than we realize trying to get to know ourselves.

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Sometimes we surprise ourselves. Maybe we volunteer to be called up to the stage despite having crippling stage fright, or maybe we lash out at a close friend for no reason at all. Occasionally we do things that we did not know we were capable of, and we are left wondering where we — our former selves — appeared to go. In these moments, when we contradict aspects of ourselves so fundamental to our personalities, we wonder if we’ve changed.

We spend so much more time and energy than we realize trying to get to know ourselves.

We take personality test after personality test — be it the official Myers-Briggs Type Indicator or Buzzfeed’s “Build Your Ideal Breakfast and We’ll Tell You if You’re More Type A, B, or C” and the like. Some of us regard our astrological signs with an almost religious devotion to how they characterize us and sometimes even go as far as justifying our actions with “Well, I am an Aries after all.” We look at our friends and think that, maybe, the people we interact with are a reflection of ourselves. We even analyze what we’re interested in studying to see if it says something about us, as if being a “techie” or a “fuzzy” could reveal a deeper truth about our nature. After some time, we start to wonder if the labels we cling to the most should be described as observations or as projections of what we wish we were.

Left-brained. Right-brained. Introvert. Extrovert. We like labels. We like the words “I am.” After all, there is a certain comfort in saying that I am a woman, mixed-race, a freshman, a daughter, a FLI student; it is shorthand for saying “I belong.”

We identify ourselves with one-word attempts at describing entire lived experiences. Can the word “freshman” fully sum up the rush of NSO, the long awaited first day of classes, our first Full Moon on the Quad? The problem starts when identities, something meant to empower and unify, become labels — attributes that can be confining, restricting.  

When we become one with our labels, we often stay within the safety they provide. With that mindset, when put in the same room, Latinx students will gravitate towards Latinx students, Twain residents will congregate with other Twain residents. We give ourselves a group and then tend to stay with what’s comfortable. More than we might realize, we limit ourselves.

In some cases, our most defining identities are inescapable. Some of the identities we wear are visible — dark skin, light skin, defining facial features. We might wish people saw more to us than what they are able to physically see in us.

There’s a phrase that goes, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” Lately, I have been inclined to believe that is true. A small example: when I participated in SPOT the week before NSO. I went into SPOT without any real hiking experience, only to embark on a six-hour hike up a mountain the first day we arrived to the base camp. An ebbing from the norm (however brief it is) can teach you about your tenacity, about your adaptability. You can go at your own pace. More importantly, you can forge your own identity, push it, pull it, stretch it any way you want. It’s up to you.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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When I was a ProFro https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/10/when-i-was-a-profro/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/10/when-i-was-a-profro/#respond Mon, 10 Apr 2017 07:34:28 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1125532 Now that decisions are out for the class of 2021 and Admit Weekend is approaching, I can’t help but look back at the application process.

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Dec. 1, 2015. There are too many voices; too many people around me. There is a “Go Amanda!” group chat. My friends are scheming to meet me in the second floor bathroom during class so that they can be with me while I check my decision. How they will all manage to get out of class at the same time, I do not know. There are 20 people around me, and they can see that the update is yellow, glowing, waiting for me to click on it. I step back. It’s too much.

That day was Match Day — the day I received the email that changed my life. I had applied to college through QuestBridge, a program that allows high-achieving, low-income students to rank up to twelve of colleges (including Stanford, Princeton, and Yale) and apply to them for free. If the student is a “match” with the college (meaning that the student got into the college and ranked it highly enough on their list), they receive a full, four-year scholarship to attend, but students can only get matched to one. On that day, surrounded by the noise and excitement of my friends, I found out that I would be attending Stanford.

Now that decisions are out for the Class of 2021 and Admit Weekend is approaching, I can’t help but look back at the application process. I remember the months I spent exchanging essays with my close friend, how we pored over each other’s every word. I remember studying for the SAT and SAT subject tests, practice test after practice test. And I remember opening the decision and feeling like all of it, both the stress and frustration, were finally worth it.

And then Admit Weekend came. I walked onto Stanford’s sunny campus (a great contrast with the East Coast schools whose admit weekends I had just come back from) and felt … right. I still remember meeting my RoHos, Angela and Dani, getting to know my fellow ProFros through dorm activities mediated by the HoHos and hitting the ProFroGo once I committed. I also remember thinking about how ridiculous those acronyms would sound to people who didn’t know what they meant. Left and right, people asked me where I was from, where I was when I got accepted and if Stanford was my first choice. Everyone was smiling. Everyone, it seemed, felt at home here, too.

Every once in a while, walking to class, I’ll take the long way. When I pass through the main quad, the feeling comes all at once as I realize again where I am. More than that, I realize how fast this year has gone, and I can’t help but feel jealous of the Class of 2021. All of Stanford is going to be new for them. To any ProFros reading this, I congratulate you. You have worked hard to get here and we are all eagerly awaiting your arrival. As exciting as that is, I invite you to take a step back. Think of the work you have done to get here. Think about the people cheering you on. When you get to campus, take a mental picture. Take it slow, because it goes by so, so fast.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Food insecurity at Stanford https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/03/food-insecurity-at-stanford/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/03/food-insecurity-at-stanford/#respond Mon, 03 Apr 2017 07:17:31 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1125182 We need residences and at least one dining hall to remain open during all school breaks. To do otherwise is telling first-generation and/or low-income students that although Stanford’s brochures may claim to value diversity of all kinds, it’s just for show.

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Fall

It is Thanksgiving break. You watch your dormmates leave for home, trailing their suitcases behind them, and wish them safe travels. You, along with some of your friends, are remaining on campus for break. It should be fun — late night movies in the lounge, bike rides in a mostly-empty campus, pumpkin pie baking in the kitchenette. There is only one dining hall open on campus, but at least you know you’ll have food over the break. Things are okay.

***

Winter

It is almost the end of fall quarter, and you receive an email from R&DE Student Housing: “Undergraduate residences close on Saturday, December 17 at 12:00 p.m. and will reopen on Saturday, January 7 at 8:00 a.m.”

Three weeks. Residences and dining halls are closed for three weeks and “any student found inside the residences between 12:00 p.m. on Saturday, December 17 and 8:00 a.m. on January 7 will be escorted out and charged an unauthorized occupancy fee of $175 per day.”

You have to leave. But you can’t.

You have your reasons — maybe you can’t afford the ticket, or maybe you don’t have a place to go back to.

It’s interesting, how people say they’re going “back home” for break. You stop and wonder if they would understand if you told them that home is right here, if they would look at you differently. That you consider “home” a place where you have your own bed and you are guaranteed food.

You pack up your belongings and abide by the deadline — what choice do you have? You can’t afford the occupancy fee.

Maybe you can stay with friends in the area. Couch, after couch, after couch — you can stay with generous friend after generous friend.

Maybe you can scrape up savings to go home and borrow money to make up the difference.

You take a breath. Maybe it will all work out fine. Or maybe it won’t.

Either way, you will find out soon enough.

***

Spring

Things should be better this time around. You have a place to stay — residences are open. You and your friends have the campus to yourself, and it’s gloriously sunny outside.

But there is something you don’t understand.

The dining halls are closed. All of them. There isn’t even one open, like there was during Thanksgiving break. Maybe it’s because there might not be as many students on campus? But even if that’s the case, why are the athletic facilities still up and running?

You signed up to receive financial support from the DGen Office to tide you over during the break, and you hope that it will last.

***

Over spring break, those who chose (or who had no other choice) to remain on campus went without dining halls for a week. While this might not sound so bad (after all, most of us would jump at the opportunity to take a break from the monotony of dining hall food), eating out three meals a day, every day, for a week adds up — whether you are low-income or not.

Now consider the population of students most likely to remain on campus: those who cannot afford to go back home. Because finances bar those students from returning home, many low-income students struggle to afford the high cost of eating out for every meal and thus face food insecurity over break. They have to skip meals over the week, budgeting carefully to make sure that their limited supply of money carries them through.

The DGen office, in partnership with R&DE and various organizations on campus, stepped up and offered $150 in Cardinal Dollars to eligible students remaining on campus. The Cardinal Dollars, redeemable at Starbucks, Subway, Panda Express, Alumni Cafe, Forbes Family Cafe and TAP, were taken in large part from the Opportunity Fund, a fund reserved for first-generation and/or low-income students to use when an emergency arises.

Shouldn’t there be a way to ensure food security on campus without depleting a much-needed resource like the Opportunity Fund?

We need residences and at least one dining hall to remain open during all school breaks. To do otherwise is telling first-generation and/or low-income students that although Stanford’s brochures may claim to value diversity of all kinds, it’s just for show. The fact that the dining halls are closed while the athletic facilities remain open brings this sad truth to light. Does Stanford prioritize its athletes more? Is it that blinded by its brand that it cannot see that we need support, too?
Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Chew softly https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/13/chew-softly/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/13/chew-softly/#respond Mon, 13 Mar 2017 07:32:27 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124868 We need to be especially attentive to issues that aren’t so apparent on the surface — the largely ignored, the stigmatized.

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Imagine that the person next to you has their lunch out – say, a soup and a sandwich. You can’t help but notice the person is chewing loudly, each up-and-down motion a squishy, wet, saliva-filled smack. It is loud in the quiet of the room.

For most people, awareness of the continued noise goes away after a few seconds. They stop hearing it – much like how you stop hearing the low rumble of an air conditioner within a few seconds of someone turning it on.

However, for a small group of people, this repeated sound launches them into a panic attack. Their muscles tighten; their heart starts racing. They might shoot furtive glances across the room, seeking out people who are also sharing in their discomfort. The slurping of the soup, the clanking of the spoon against the bowl, the crunch of the bread as they bite down – they hear everything, and they hear it loudly. No matter how hard they try, they cannot tune it out.

“Just don’t pay attention to it,” someone might say. “It’s just a noise.”

For people with misophonia, any repetitive noise, be it gum chewing, loud typing, or sniffling, isn’t “just a noise.” Misophones suffer from selective sound sensitivity, caused by “trigger noises” found in everyday life. According to the science journal Cell, these triggers cause people with misophonia to experience varying degrees of sensitivity to repetitive stimuli, ranging from slight discomfort, to suicidal thoughts, to a fleeting but strong urge to injure or even kill the person making the noise.

But of course, even after knowing this, most people without the disorder still regard it as “not a big deal.” After all, it doesn’t affect them. They might agree that such noise can bother or annoy them to a limited extent, but don’t understand the immobilizing effect it can have.

***

We need to be especially attentive to issues that aren’t so apparent on the surface – the largely ignored, the stigmatized. A widely known quote illustrates that there’s a part of mental health we don’t talk about: “If I had a broken leg, nobody would make me walk on it.” If something is wrong with you physically (e.g. you broke your leg), people are more willing to empathize, lend an ear, accommodate. But mental illness doesn’t evoke the same sentiments. The effects are not as obvious. Just like how you cannot bike to class with a broken leg, some things are nearly impossible with a mental illness. But if you are suffering from depression, for example, people still expect you to function. You still have to go to work. You still have to say “good,” when people ask, “How are you?”

If someone puts themselves in a position vulnerable enough to tell you something that might not be “acceptable” or readily understood, hear them out. Don’t be too quick to dismiss ideas or the impact they might have on people.

Try to understand things (and people) before you brush them off. Listen, and you just might hear the chewing too.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Being the first to go https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/being-the-first-to-go/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/being-the-first-to-go/#respond Mon, 06 Mar 2017 18:00:14 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1129146 Imagine you and a friend are both learning how to drive. Your friend decides to drive you around the neighborhood in their dad’s car; within a few minutes, you can tell that they more or less know what they are doing. And it makes sense. Although they haven’t driven alone before, they took lessons from […]

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Imagine you and a friend are both learning how to drive. Your friend decides to drive you around the neighborhood in their dad’s car; within a few minutes, you can tell that they more or less know what they are doing. And it makes sense. Although they haven’t driven alone before, they took lessons from a private driving instructor, participated in a paid driver’s ed class and have parents who occasionally point out driving tips while out on the road. When your friend is done, they park around the corner. It’s your turn.

You settle into the front seat. In front of you lies the gas pedal, the brakes and the steering wheel. Simple enough. You put on your seatbelt and start the car.

Your parents do not know how to drive — they ride the bus. You would be the first person in your family to learn. Hands on the wheel, you know you have not taken driver’s ed or had an instructor of any sort; you could not afford it. But you did what was within your means — you read the booklet from the DMV cover to cover.

Compared to your friend, there are more bumps on the road for you to navigate — more cars honking at you, more sudden stops, more obstacles along the way. Driving just isn’t as easy for you.

Afterwards, your friend tells you how admirable it is that you are trying to drive without proper instruction, but that does not change the fact that you do not know how to drive. You realize that although you both intend to travel down the same road, there is no guarantee that the two of you will end up in the same place. Let’s face it — although you did the best with what you were given, they are better prepared.

When you talk to your parents about it at home, they empathize the best that they can. But no matter how much they try, they can’t fully relate — and how could they? They have never driven before. “You can do it,” they say. “And if it turns out that you can’t, you can still ride the bus with us.”

***

Students who are the first person in their families to go to college often have similar experiences throughout their undergraduate careers. We have to get over learning curves that are much steeper than those of our peers. Maybe we aren’t as financially literate. Or maybe it’s a few weeks into freshman year until we realize what “office hours” are.

We hear people call us resilient. Powerful. Strong. But when we are failing intro-level classes because our high schools did not prepare us adequately, we do not feel resilient. When we have to ask financial aid for funds to cover the cost of food over spring break, we do not feel powerful. When we have to make up excuse after excuse to conceal why we can’t go out to eat with friends, we do not feel strong.

Oftentimes, we have trouble talking about our experiences here with our families back home. In some cases, it’s because we feel guilty that we left them behind to come here, and other times we feel that no matter how hard they try, they do not understand what we are going through.

It is especially isolating when the sense of privilege and entitlement pervades our dorms, as it often does. For example, it bothers us when our peers leave used napkins in the dining hall for the janitors to pick up because “it’s their job.” Some of our parents are janitors and housekeepers back home, working to make ends meet. Treat them with respect.

More so, we feel it in the classroom. When we do not know how to talk to professors, properly study for chemistry exams or secure a research position for the summer, we cannot call our parents and ask them how they went about it in college. We have to figure it out on our own. And because we are used to doing things by ourselves, it’s hard for us to ask for help. But here we are doing it anyways, because something needs to change.

***

Two weekends ago, 14 students represented Stanford at the 1vyG conference at Yale University. The conference, designed to give a voice to first-generation and/or low-income college students, brought together over 400 students from 18 universities across the country, including the Ivy League. In conversations with students at the conference, I learned where Stanford stands in its support of first-generation and/or low-income students.

Only a handful of the schools represented at the conference had something like our Opportunity Fund, a fund for students who need money that financial aid cannot offer — such as funds to fly back home in an emergency, or money to buy professional clothes to wear to interviews. Some of the schools that did offer such a fund required that students treat it as a loan and pay it back.

Additionally, only a few schools offered a version of our Welcome Grant, a $2,000 grant given to low-income freshmen over the course of their first year to help them cover the necessary expenses of transitioning to college. Stanford adopted the grant after Harvard College announced it would be offering their its version of it, the Start-Up Grant, last year.

Even having free laundry helps.

But there’s more that needs to be done. To give first-generation and low-income students a greater sense of belonging on campus, Stanford needs to do the following:

1. Keep residences and dining halls open during all breaks. For some of us, Stanford is our safe haven; outside of it, we might not have a place to call home. Because we are not allowed to remain on campus during winter break, for example, some of us deal with food insecurity and not having a place to sleep. This leaves us anxiously counting down the days until we are allowed to move back in.

2. Build a community center for first-generation and/or low-income students that is comparable in size and quality to the cultural community centers on campus. Fifteen percent of undergraduates identify as being the first person in their family to go to college, compared to the 16 percent who identify as Latinx and 6 percent who identify as African-American, two groups who have their own community centers on campus. We deserve a space, too.

3. Expand the Welcome Grant to cover all four years, even if it is at the reduced amount of $500 per quarter, instead of the $2,000 total for the year. The Welcome Grant allows us to cover expenses some of us otherwise cannot afford, such as textbooks, bike repairs and flights back home.

4. Gradually expand the Leland Scholars Program. The Leland Scholars Program brings 60 Stanford freshmen to campus the month before NSO and gives them a toolkit to help them transition to college. Students enroll in a chemistry course and a writing course and take midterms and finals and write papers, which helps them better prepare for the challenges of fall quarter.

Additionally, Leland Scholars enroll in a one-unit class after the summer during fall and winter quarters. This helps them maintain their connections to their fellow Scholars, giving them an unparalleled sense of community in their first few months here. However, as mentioned, 15 percent of students identify as first-generation and/or low-income; this means that about 260 freshmen are first-generation, while the Leland Scholars Program can only accommodate 60 students. Expanding the program in a way that does not dilute its impact on the students who participate will give more first-generation students a community and sense of agency that will carry them through their four years here.

5. Offer academic support for first-generation students pursuing humanities and arts, as well as STEM fields. In general, people already tend to pursue “techie” fields more than they pursue “fuzzy” ones at Stanford. However, this is even more so the case with first-generation students, because majoring in philosophy, for example, does not necessarily guarantee the financial stability we need. First-generation students often do not have a safety net to fall back on, and thus feel pressured to pursue tracks that promise some sort of tangible payoff in the future. By holding conferences geared toward such students to help them navigate their studies, we can increase socioeconomic diversity in the humanities and arts.

At convocation, Dean Richard Shaw told us we are all here for a reason. All of us. Help us level the playing field. Help us prove him right.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

Editor’s Note: This was originally published in two parts on March 1 and March 6.

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Being the first to go: Part II https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/being-the-first-to-go-part-ii/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/being-the-first-to-go-part-ii/#respond Mon, 06 Mar 2017 08:25:37 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124441 Despite many helpful programs, Stanford could still be more welcoming to first generation/low income students.

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Editor’s note: This piece is the second half of a two-part series on the experience of first generation/low income students at Stanford. The first half was published in last Wednesday’s Daily. 

Two weekends ago, 14 students represented Stanford at the 1vyG conference at Yale University. The conference, designed to give a voice to first-generation and/or low-income college students, brought together over 400 students from 18 universities across the country, including the Ivy League. In conversations with students at the conference, I learned where Stanford stands in its support of first-generation and/or low-income students.

Only a handful of the schools represented at the conference had something like our Opportunity Fund, a fund for students who need money that financial aid cannot offer — such as funds to fly back home in an emergency, or money to buy professional clothes to wear to interviews. Some of the schools that did offer such a fund required that students treat it as a loan and pay it back.

Additionally, only a few schools offered a version of our Welcome Grant, a $2,000 grant given to low-income freshmen over the course of their first year to help them cover the necessary expenses of transitioning to college. Stanford adopted the grant after Harvard College announced it would be offering their its version of it, the Start-Up Grant, last year.

Even having free laundry helps.

But there’s more that needs to be done. To give first-generation and low-income students a greater sense of belonging on campus, Stanford needs to do the following:

1. Keep residences and dining halls open during all breaks. For some of us, Stanford is our safe haven; outside of it, we might not have a place to call home. Because we are not allowed to remain on campus during winter break, for example, some of us deal with food insecurity and not having a place to sleep. This leaves us anxiously counting down the days until we are allowed to move back in.

2. Build a community center for first-generation and/or low-income students that is comparable in size and quality to the cultural community centers on campus. Fifteen percent of undergraduates identify as being the first person in their family to go to college, compared to the 16 percent who identify as Latinx and 6 percent who identify as African-American, two groups who have their own community centers on campus. We deserve a space, too.

3. Expand the Welcome Grant to cover all four years, even if it is at the reduced amount of $500 per quarter, instead of the $2,000 total for the year. The Welcome Grant allows us to cover expenses some of us otherwise cannot afford, such as textbooks, bike repairs and flights back home.

4. Gradually expand the Leland Scholars Program. The Leland Scholars Program brings 60 Stanford freshmen to campus the month before NSO and gives them a toolkit to help them transition to college. Students enroll in a chemistry course and a writing course and take midterms and finals and write papers, which helps them better prepare for the challenges of fall quarter.

Additionally, Leland Scholars enroll in a one-unit class after the summer during fall and winter quarters. This helps them maintain their connections to their fellow Scholars, giving them an unparalleled sense of community in their first few months here. However, as mentioned, 15 percent of students identify as first-generation and/or low-income; this means that about 260 freshmen are first-generation, while the Leland Scholars Program can only accommodate 60 students. Expanding the program in a way that does not dilute its impact on the students who participate will give more first-generation students a community and sense of agency that will carry them through their four years here.

5. Offer academic support for first-generation students pursuing humanities and arts, as well as STEM fields. In general, people already tend to pursue “techie” fields more than they pursue “fuzzy” ones at Stanford. However, this is even more so the case with first-generation students, because majoring in philosophy, for example, does not necessarily guarantee the financial stability we need. First-generation students often do not have a safety net to fall back on, and thus feel pressured to pursue tracks that promise some sort of tangible payoff in the future. By holding conferences geared toward such students to help them navigate their studies, we can increase socioeconomic diversity in the humanities and arts. 

At convocation, Dean Richard Shaw told us we are all here for a reason. All of us. Help us level the playing field. Help us prove him right.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

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Being the first to go: Part I https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/01/being-the-first-to-go-part-i/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/01/being-the-first-to-go-part-i/#respond Wed, 01 Mar 2017 09:47:20 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124029 Let’s face it — although you did the best with what you were given, your peers were better prepared.

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Editor’s note: This column is the first half of a two part series on the experience of low-income students at Stanford. The second half will appear in this coming Monday’s newspaper.

Imagine you and a friend are both learning how to drive. Your friend decides to drive you around the neighborhood in their dad’s car; within a few minutes, you can tell that they more or less know what they are doing. And it makes sense. Although they haven’t driven alone before, they took lessons from a private driving instructor, participated in a paid driver’s ed class and have parents who occasionally point out driving tips while out on the road. When your friend is done, they park around the corner. It’s your turn.

You settle into the front seat. In front of you lies the gas pedal, the brakes and the steering wheel. Simple enough. You put on your seatbelt and start the car.

Your parents do not know how to drive — they ride the bus. You would be the first person in your family to learn. Hands on the wheel, you know you have not taken driver’s ed or had an instructor of any sort; you could not afford it. But you did what was within your means — you read the booklet from the DMV cover to cover.

Compared to your friend, there are more bumps on the road for you to navigate — more cars honking at you, more sudden stops, more obstacles along the way. Driving just isn’t as easy for you.

Afterwards, your friend tells you how admirable it is that you are trying to drive without proper instruction, but that does not change the fact that you do not know how to drive. You realize that although you both intend to travel down the same road, there is no guarantee that the two of you will end up in the same place. Let’s face it — although you did the best with what you were given, they are better prepared.  

When you talk to your parents about it at home, they empathize the best that they can. But no matter how much they try, they can’t fully relate — and how could they? They have never driven before. “You can do it,” they say. “And if it turns out that you can’t, you can still ride the bus with us.”

***

Students who are the first person in their families to go to college often have similar experiences throughout their undergraduate careers. We have to get over learning curves that are much steeper than those of our peers. Maybe we aren’t as financially literate. Or maybe it’s a few weeks into freshman year until we realize what “office hours” are.

We hear people call us resilient. Powerful. Strong. But when we are failing intro-level classes because our high schools did not prepare us adequately, we do not feel resilient. When we have to ask financial aid for funds to cover the cost of food over spring break, we do not feel powerful. When we have to make up excuse after excuse to conceal why we can’t go out to eat with friends, we do not feel strong.

Oftentimes, we have trouble talking about our experiences here with our families back home. In some cases, it’s because we feel guilty that we left them behind to come here, and other times we feel that no matter how hard they try, they do not understand what we are going through.

It is especially isolating when the sense of privilege and entitlement pervades our dorms, as it often does. For example, it bothers us when our peers leave used napkins in the dining hall for the janitors to pick up because “it’s their job.” Some of our parents are janitors and housekeepers back home, working to make ends meet. Treat them with respect.

More so, we feel it in the classroom. When we do not know how to talk to professors, properly study for chemistry exams or secure a research position for the summer, we cannot call our parents and ask them how they went about it in college. We have to figure it out on our own. And because we are used to doing things by ourselves, it’s hard for us to ask for help. But here we are doing it anyways, because something needs to change.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Why we’re here https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/21/why-were-here/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/21/why-were-here/#respond Tue, 21 Feb 2017 08:42:00 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1123336 You know your grades should not define you. The same thing that goes for weight and age applies — they’re just numbers. But it’s hard not to feel discouraged when, consistently, your hours of work yield you nothing but failing or almost-failing grades on your assignments.

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Imagine this. It’s toward the end of the quarter. For the most part, midterm season has come to a close. When you look down, an exam you have just received is in your hand — a thick packet with your grade in red, circled on the front. You didn’t do nearly as well as you hoped. In fact, you barely passed.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. You fold it up and stick it in your backpack. Although it’s out of sight, your grade is far from being out of mind. And here, looking up at Hoover Tower and all it stands for, you feel remarkably small.

It doesn’t make sense. You did all of the problem sets, went to as many office hours your schedule could accommodate, completed the extra practice problems. You worked with your study group and did work on your own. You made this class your priority. In other words, you did everything you could.

This isn’t necessarily about duck syndrome. You are well aware that some of your peers are struggling, perhaps struggling more than you are. And it’s comforting to some extent, knowing that you aren’t alone. But after a while, you start to think that maybe you don’t have “it” — the spark, the capacity to perform well. You need to work hard to understand concepts that should be intuitive, and yet, even when you think you’ve grasped them, your grades prove otherwise. You aren’t good enough.

You know your grades should not define you. The same thing that goes for weight and age applies — they’re just numbers. But it’s hard not to feel discouraged when consistently, your hours of work yield you nothing but failing or almost failing grades on your assignments. In these moments, you might question why you’re here or what it is you’re doing.

People say that we often forget we’re at Stanford for school, for a degree — that our involvement in student organizations and communities should be a peripheral part of our time here. I disagree.

More often than not, it’s the people around us and the experiences we share with them that make us who we are. I know I learn more about myself when I’m having a vulnerable conversation with a new friend than when I’m sitting in a chemistry lab, pipetting acetic acid into a beaker. I learn the most about myself in the few moments when I am not doing homework. Yes, failing builds character, and there is something to be said about challenging yourself with classes outside of your comfort zone. But what about other challenges? Why doesn’t learning how to be an empathetic, compassionate listener or learning how to navigate uncomfortable conversations about sensitive issues have the same merit as getting an A in chemistry?

We did the hard part — we got in. And, ever since move-in day, everything on this campus, every building, every university-sponsored event, has been for us. Yes, classes are important. We do want to graduate, after all. But are they why you chose Stanford?

Think back to when we were seniors in high school. When we answered “What matters to you and why?” was “acing my classes” an answer? No, most of us wrote about family, about causes we wished to further, about the groups we wished had stronger voices in our world. Our younger selves saw the big picture.

Remember what matters to you and why it does. Remember why you’re here.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The forgotten crowd on Valentine’s Day https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/13/the-forgotten-crowd-on-valentines-day/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/13/the-forgotten-crowd-on-valentines-day/#respond Mon, 13 Feb 2017 09:50:34 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122865 Readers, I present: the mostly-forgotten-about-on-Valentine’s-day, otherwise known as friends.

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It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. Coupa Café has decorations up, CoHo has red tulips by the cash register. Chocolate strawberries, baby Cupids, hearts and arrows — it’s everywhere.

For now, let’s step away from the glorified, boy meets girl, central plot of a rom-com sort of relationship and talk about the less celebrated love — not the significant other, but rather the person or people who are there for you when, suddenly, the significant other isn’t. Readers, I present: the mostly-forgotten-about-on-Valentine’s-day, otherwise known as friends.

There is something cathartic, yet so natural, about finding the people you are meant to befriend. A mutual understanding forms that, with them around, the most authentic version of yourself can’t help but surface.

They fulfill, listen, laugh at your jokes louder than you do. They endorse all — the private, the strange, the ugly sides of ourselves. There’s a gentleness about them and the way they seek to understand us. Friendships with them are a give-and-take — you revel in each other’s highs, are an endless reserve of comfort and consolation in each other’s lows. Whatever the favor is, they return it.

It’s underrated, having someone who isn’t a romantic partner to know what you need, what you dislike. Perhaps more than we would like to admit, we want to be intuitively understood by someone. We don’t want to always have to explain. What’s captured in a knowing glance across the room, what’s contained in an inside joke — that’s friendship. And more often than not, it’s the small things that count. For example, having a friend remember you don’t like sugar in your coffee when they bring you some shows that even your trivial, seemingly unimportant preferences matter to them. It shows that they listen.

As Stephen Elliot writes, people “can see in an instant something in you that you might spend years learning about yourself.” And the closer you grow with someone, the more of yourself you feel like they’re subjected to. It’s like zooming in on a picture, they see all the pores, all the flaws, magnified. The difference between people and friends, however, is that friends will show you what they know. They teach you, and are remarkably careful about doing it in a way that doesn’t seek to change you.

So tomorrow, put the romance movies on hold long enough to thank these people. Maybe you haven’t seen them in a while — your schedules clash, or your rich, in-person conversations have been reduced to the occasional text. Call them if time permits. Have lunch together. Remember the people who make you, you.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Divorcing devices https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/06/divorcing-devices/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/06/divorcing-devices/#respond Mon, 06 Feb 2017 09:46:09 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122459 It’s not a surprise that many of us have come to be addicted to our phones. We need things — Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat — and we need them fast.

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It lights up. Dings. Greets you with the time, with notifications. It’s fast. Each model gets faster, thinner.

We check it even when it doesn’t ring.

And if we happen to forget it in our rooms, we feel uncomfortable — maybe even a little lost. What are we going to do while walking from class to class? What if someone texts us?

It’s not a surprise that many of us have come to be addicted to our phones. We need things — Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat — and we need them fast. We need them now. In a way, they are designed with that in mind. With each model boasting faster processing speeds, instant gratification becomes that much more instant. When something takes slightly longer than usual to load, we feel it. YouTube videos should not buffer. Websites shouldn’t load, they should appear.

Our interactions with our phones are getting increasingly human. We hold them, caress them with one hand. Our touch, our fingerprints, unlock them. We can talk to Siri if we want, and she’ll respond. Sometimes with wit. In the pictures they take, they keep our memories alive. Our phones know us well. More intimately, perhaps, than some of our acquaintances.

We are well aware of the “dangers” of spending too much time with our devices. We know we shouldn’t spend as many hours as we do on them. But we do anyway.

But why?

If a friend has their phone out, even if it’s just face up on the table while we’re talking, they aren’t really with me. Their eyes flicker down to the screen from time to time. They’re waiting. Is it that hard, I wonder, to be apart from our devices?

“Because it’s made to be addicting,” is not a real answer to “Why are we constantly on our phones?” It doesn’t get to the root of the problem. We have to own up to some of it, too.

When do you find yourself checking it?

I know I am personally more prone to checking it when I need a distraction from the task I am working on at the time. When I’m stuck, whether it’s while working an essay or a problem set, I’ll check Facebook or skim through old messages. In these moments, being on my phone is like sleeping, like dreaming — it’s an escape. It’s a new, virtual reality that I can step into for a few moments while leaving the problems of the real world behind. However, more often than not, I have trouble focusing on the assignment after giving into the temptation to check my phone. Maybe it’s because checking my phone isn’t really a break — it still involves reading. It’s still work. It’s not rejuvenating. To some extent, it’s exhausting.

What if we go without our phones for a few hours? Is there anything to be lost?

Try it. Just for a while. Forsake FaceTime, and you just might get actual face time with friends.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The perils of passivity https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/30/the-perils-of-passivity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/30/the-perils-of-passivity/#respond Mon, 30 Jan 2017 08:45:43 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122073 Take a look at that last part. Our president, who continues to classify Mexicans as rapists, criminals and drug dealers, who opposes marriage equality, who consistently berates women and presents them as disposable, sexual objects, wants to ensure that no one who enters our country would dare to “oppress Americans of any race, gender, or sexual orientation.” How considerate.

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This past Friday, President Donald Trump signed an executive order banning immigrants from Syria, Iraq, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Yemen from entering the United States in hopes that it will prevent the passage of “foreign nationals who intend to commit terrorist attacks” into our country.

He writes, “In addition, the United States should not admit those who engage in acts of bigotry or hatred (including ‘honor’ killings, other forms of violence against women, or the persecution of those who practice religions different from their own) or those who would oppress Americans of any race, gender, or sexual orientation.”

Take a look at that last part. Our president, who continues to classify Mexicans as rapists, criminals and drug dealers, who opposes marriage equality, who consistently berates women and presents them as disposable, sexual objects, wants to ensure that no one who enters our country would dare to “oppress Americans of any race, gender, or sexual orientation.” How considerate.

On Saturday, Mercury News broke a story of a Stanford graduate student, who was detained for five hours at the airport after traveling from Sudan despite having a green card and being a U.S. resident.

It’s starting. And it’s starting with one of our own.

For a lot of us, this executive order will warrant a sigh, a strong sense of disappointment at most. We still go about our days — still do our problem sets, write our essays, bike to class. After all, international students comprise only 10% of the undergraduate student population. And, sure, some of us have family in the countries affected by the ban. But it’s only for ninety days. We’ll survive.

Right?

Passivity is ignorance in active form. It’s a privileged response, it’s neglect, it’s the easy way out. Saying nothing, doing nothing, is resigning to the idea that “There isn’t much I can do anyway,” that it’s okay to turn your back to an issue if it doesn’t affect you directly.

Why does feeling safe in this country have to be a luxury?

In a statement following the election, Provost John Etchemendy said, “What happens to any one of you happens to all of us. We will protect you. Don’t be afraid. You have the University behind you.”

Stanford needs to follow through. It has to do more than just advise students not to travel outside of the country and more than just email the student body about the “deeply regrettable alarm and uncertainty” caused by the executive order. But more importantly, its students need to do the same. Don’t sit still — stand up for your views. Believe in people enough to have uncomfortable conversations, to strengthen and substantiate your convictions, to treat people the way you want to be treated. Don’t mumble sympathetic nothings when the topic comes up; don’t say you feel bad for the affected people — engage. Do something about it.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Telos https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/23/telos/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/23/telos/#respond Mon, 23 Jan 2017 08:25:03 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1121760 Up until that point, I hadn’t considered the idea that people can have a telos too. It made me think — how do we go about defining our own? Would giving ourselves a telos cross the line between identifying ourselves and confining ourselves to a label?

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Telos. It’s just one word, but it has a world of meaning.

Joseph Garner, who teaches “Sex, Death, and Sometimes Food: Introduction to Animal Behavior,” says it often. Even Garner, himself, acknowledged that “telos” appears to change meaning every time the class met.

For our weekly presentations in that class, we had to research an animal and use cues from its phylogeny, natural history, and general behavior to assign it a telos. The ones we came up with ranged from “the disco ball of the sea” to “sacred pinecone” to “killer communicators” — each attempts at describing both the animal and its essence in an illustrative few words.

Still, after the ten weeks of the class, I can’t give telos a one-word definition. Is it a niche? A role of some sort?

The second time I heard the word was with a friend, who suggested his own telos was “keeper of animals.” That was simple enough. A former zookeeper with pictures of animals hung all across his room — it made sense.

Up until that point, I hadn’t considered the idea that people can have a telos too. It made me think — how do we go about defining our own? Would giving ourselves a telos cross the line between identifying ourselves and confining ourselves to a label?

This, I think, reflects the flexibility of the word. Telos, I’m learning, is something active. It isn’t a noun as much as it is an action — a carving of sorts, a self-fashioning. It isn’t necessarily a role you have, but how you go about making it your role. A part of me also wonders if it’s something you need to outgrow in order to grow.

There’s a darker side to it, too. To understand our telos, we have to take a step away from the idealized versions of ourselves we have a tendency to project. We have to look inward. If only for a moment, we have to divorce ourselves from what we wish we were, or how wish we acted. Our hidden selves are often our truest ones — simultaneously dark and whole and beautiful because of it. However private, however concealed, what makes you, you?

“Every behavior we do has a little bit of nature and a little bit of nurture,” Joseph Garner once said. What aspects of yourself are a result of your environment? Which ones are so “you” that they can’t be attributed to anything?

How do you define telos for yourself?
Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Listen https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/17/listen/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/17/listen/#respond Tue, 17 Jan 2017 09:21:39 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1121473 In the middle of finals week, does hearing “Don’t be stressed” help at all? Does a “Don’t take it so hard” in the face of failure or rejection ever help reverse feelings of inadequacy?

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It’s almost your turn. The student at the front of the room is finishing up their presentation, breezing through the last few points on their PowerPoint. Just a few more minutes — seconds? — until you’re expected to do the same.

You have been dreading this all week. Public speaking, despite years of practice, still isn’t your strong suit. It doesn’t help that your classmates make it look so effortless. The student says a simple “Thank you,” signaling the end of their presentation. You start to walk up to the podium.

You shoot a friend a pleading look from across the room — they know how anxious you are.

“Don’t be nervous,” your friend says.

Don’t be nervous.

Your friend imparted the advice with good intent, of course, and perhaps it was the best they could do in the few seconds they had. However, it’s also surprisingly illustrative of something I’ve learned a lot about this past quarter: the benefits of saying nothing unless it’s something.

In the middle of finals week, does hearing “Don’t be stressed” help at all? Does a “Don’t take it so hard” in the face of failure or rejection ever help reverse feelings of inadequacy?

Instead, the “Don’t” at the beginning of the sentence, meant to add perspective, invalidates more than anything else. It’s a command and it isn’t helpful.

For example, imagine you have just confided in a friend about a problem — a heated argument with a relative, for example. You open up, make yourself vulnerable and they say, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

That doesn’t help, does it? You already know that, in due time, you will be fine. You know you “shouldn’t” worry. But that’s not the point, is it?

I get it — you want to comfort, to reassure. It’s a human thing to want to help. After all, there’s something satisfying about feeling useful. But reader, just listen.

Don’t tell them what to do, don’t tell them how to feel. Listening — really listening — means being quiet. And if you do speak, choose your words wisely — say nothing unless it’s something. Speak if you have something that adds without projecting, or to inquire or clarify, to reach a deeper understanding of the truth your friend is trying to reveal to you. It also means withholding the small reassurances and keeping the positive, optimistic interjections to yourself.

Most of all, listening means feeling with the person instead of feeling for them. If you can, share with them in the experience, whatever it is — partake in the sadness or the happiness instead of feeling bad for them or feeling happy for them.

To listen is to understand, and we’re at Stanford to learn. So listen.

 

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The elusive happiness https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/09/the-elusive-happiness/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/09/the-elusive-happiness/#respond Mon, 09 Jan 2017 09:45:43 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1121182 It made me wonder: if we become well versed in the specific things that make us happy, is happiness a choice?

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As I was packing some belongings to take back with me to my dorm, I stumbled upon a small wooden box tucked away on a shelf in the storage room. When I opened it, finger-sized folded slips of paper tumbled onto out onto my lap. I unfolded one that had landed on the floor.

It read: “Watching ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ for the fourth time.” I remembered that day, five or so years ago, when my brother and I sat through four consecutive screenings of the movie in our living room. We were captivated, enthralled. But more important to us, we each knew the lines by heart and could prove it.

Another one, more recent, said: “Reading ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ by Khaled Hosseini and knowing that it would be with me forever.”

It was a “happy box.” A box full of events that had, at one point, made me happy enough to them write down on a piece of paper and stick them inside. The concept seems odd, and perhaps it is. Even so, reading the slips of paper was nostalgia at its best. Reading them was a colorful, vivid immersion into the stories of the past. In one word, it was happiness.

I read all of them. Some included people or things I did not remember. One read: “When Luke couldn’t outrun the cat” — who Luke was and why he was racing a cat, I could not recall. Some were extraordinarily simple: “Folding warm laundry.” It made me wonder: If we become well versed in the specific things that make us happy, is happiness a choice?

By now, most of us have an idea of what make us happy. But I’m not talking about the general or the common — let’s put “helping others” and “getting good grades” on the back burner for now. As valid as they are, what about our happiness when our grades aren’t so good, or when we’re the ones who need help instead? When you’re facing trouble, what makes you happy? However idiosyncratic and small, these things can give you a deep sense of fulfillment, belonging or peace, or simply warrant a fleeting smile.

Is it walking around campus at night with a hot chocolate? Finger painting? Racing a friend down Palm Drive? Making something out of clay? Having a 2 a.m. conversation with your roommate? Reconnecting with an old friend?

To some extent, I agree that happiness is, in fact, a choice. I agree in the sense that we can’t be passive creatures, ambling from situation to situation waiting for good to materialize.

I also think it’s more complex than that. Because happiness so often does depend on circumstance, we might not always have the power to smile and have it be genuine. And when that’s the case, what’s the alternative? Plastering a smile on your face as artificial as plaster itself? What about those suffering from depression? No, I think that happiness — the deep-down, feel-it-in-your-gut happiness — is equal parts a rarity and an awareness of the fact. Happiness is an immersive, ever-changing, living thing. It isn’t a sticker — you can’t just wear it.

My high school math teacher once said, “The wrath of life is not a polynomial” —  that the sadder parts of life are rarely long and continuous functions. But when you’re stuck, it can certainly feel like that. So embrace the odd hobbies — fold that laundry, watch that movie for the fifth time. The small things can add up.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Teach https://stanforddaily.com/2016/12/13/teach/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/12/13/teach/#respond Tue, 13 Dec 2016 10:20:58 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1120796 They’re smiling, they’re engaging, their focus is on the chalkboard. And you can see it on their faces — they’re learning.

I couldn’t help but smile, too.

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When I get there, the classroom is empty. There are fifteen minutes until class starts. Fifteen minutes until I step into the role of “teacher” for the first time. With one sweeping gesture, I erase the notes still scribbled on the chalkboard (yes, chalkboard) from the previous lecture. With the largest piece of chalk I could find, I write: “Writing with Power: the Empathy Approach.”

After a few minutes, the students filter in. They are seventh, eighth, and ninth graders from around the Bay Area, students from all backgrounds. And for forty-five minutes today, they are my students.

Once they are settled, I begin.

“My name is Amanda Rizkalla. I am a freshman here at Stanford, and I’m originally from Los Angeles, California.”

And then, “I am a writer.”

I point to the board. “Let’s talk about this word right here: empathy. What does it mean?”

I watch as the students shift in their seats, as the myriad of postures in the room turns into a singular one; everyone sits up straighter, scanning the room.

I expected this. SPLASH expected it, too, and provided each of the teachers with a small bag of candy specifically for this purpose. I take out the bag and pour the contents out in front of me. Suddenly, they are effusive with responses. I make a mental note: ‘Students’ plus ‘Skittles’ equals ‘so much participation.’

“Now, what about the word ‘sympathy’? How are they different?”

We get through the class — and even after the candy is long gone, the students keep participating. I am taken aback by the quality of their contributions to the discussion. Was I this insightful when I was their age? I don’t think so. They’re smiling, they’re engaging, their focus is on the chalkboard. And you can see it on their faces — they’re learning.

I couldn’t help but smile, too.

We finish a few minutes early, and I leave time for questions. I look at the sea of young faces looking at me. I wonder if I did my job. I wonder if I brought them closer to understanding that these yellow pencils in their grasps are yellow swords in disguise — sharp, poised, and angled to fight as much as they are to write.

I told the class that words are inherently powerful. And reader, from all the words I know, I have one for you: teach.

Teach because if there is something that you know, know that it is better shared. Teach in any capacity — help your friend struggling with that p-set, use your actions to help someone learn about compassion, show someone the proper way to dance salsa. What are professors without something to profess?

Teach because you’re in college, where your job for four years is to learn. And you would be surprised about what you can learn about yourself by sharing a tiny bit of that knowledge with others.

It’s about time we start giving back.

Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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