This past week, I traveled alone to three new cities: Milan, Florence, and Rome, Italy in three days. Steering an unknown path without a conversation in mind and automatically understanding the public transit systems were two of the few things I could recall making this solo experience a special one. No plans in the beginning, Milan was a good one. The Duomo being the main thing to see was a slight understatement. So much art gives prosperity to its surroundings; this time to myself was quite necessary on the contrary to a walk alone. Florence held a smooth breeze that gave me the energy to continue towards the Ponte Vecchio bridge along the sunset. Rome, but replace Times Square with the colosseum. Down the boot; from the borders closer to France to a city where another sits within: Vatican City. It was an adjustment of 72 hours that taught me to take advantage of the days of rest, as the enjoyment continues in a new spot at any time.
I’ve gained a space of comfort internally that had yet to be discovered before arriving. Noticing things…everything, evoked an expression that displayed even the simplest forms of naturalism. What mattered most to me during those three days of traveling was time. How time is spent and what it can be used for without the presence and pressure of others. Ultimately, I was given the time to navigate through meals of its origin, architectural sites, and journals of those whom I cannot understand, yet immediate comprehension from an immobile figure.
There wasn’t a single person relying on my urgency to move along through the city. Nothing to wait for and nothing to take a short glimpse at. Instead, reading each description of pieces and sculptures where there are shared stories of how one’s livelihood was kept, tying a knot to mine as well.
Instead of speaking, I was observing. Those with families, locals, artists, pets, children playing on the courtyard, skaters, or other travelers much like myself. Initially, the tension was there; a nerve-racking feeling where it would be odd to travel alone. It’s something you should be doing with friends at this age. Nor that idea, however, using this age to be without anyone. And I’ve come to the conclusion that noticing others in groups together, chatting and laughing was something that I missed, displaying the experience that I was meant to have. Toward the end, I didn’t notice togetherness, much more being still. Still trees, bicycles, cars, and buildings that aren’t being controlled, ensuring a similar feeling for myself of being still and simply enjoying the observation.
He sang in an excruciatingly dramatic southern drawl that always made me laugh.
Everything that I got, is just what I got on.
He cocked his head playfully towards me as his fingers drummed on the wheel.
Resting my feet on the dashboard I pulled my sunglasses down; flashin’ him a look of playful annoyance.
When that sun is high in that Texas sky, I’ll be buckin’ at the county fair, we sang in unison with our bags packed in the trunk. I watched as we drove through tunnels, over bridges, and across state lines.
We knew there was someplace better for us. There had to be.
And as day slowly crept towards night, we watched the earth flatten from skyscrapers, like giants in the air, to the flat-earth, cattle-crawling land of tornado alley,
Amarillo by mornin’
and finally to the red rocks out west.
Amarillo I’ll be there
With a year gone and winter approachin’ he danced with me every night despite the weariness in his eyes and the callouses that plagued his hands, he turned on the old radio and held me close.
They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe.
But one night, instead of dancin’, he took me on a drive to “see the stars.”
Smellin’ the scent of stale whiskey and tobacco on his breath, he led me to the old Volkswagen in the garage and drove me forty-five minutes North.
Lost my wife and a girlfriend somewhere along the way. But I’ll be lookin’ for eight, when they pull that gate.
As he pulled the car to the side of the road, I watched as weariness turned to anger, and the callouses on his soft hands morphed into fists.
He came round to my side and ripped me from my seat.
And I hope that Judge ain’t blind.
I felt my body plunge towards the cold earth.
Rock in hand, I felt a white-hot searing pain expunge from my temple
Amarillo by mornin’
Feeling the warm blood from my head trickle down my face, everything went black.
Even the stars.
With a sudden gasp, my eyes lurch open as my deterioratin’ vision desperately tries to adjust. A sharp jolt of pain fully awakens my senses.
Sitting up, I lock eyes with the vulture; plunging its beak into the bloody wound on my thigh. I beg for it to stop.
Bendin’ my skull back to see the stars, I feel the slight patter of rain hitting my bloodied face and burying the sins of whatever happened that I can’t seem to remember deep into the ground.
A light in the distance emerges, wailin’ for help as the figure comes closer and scoops me up. He lays me down in the backseat, and as we drive off I see his thumbs drummin’ the wheel–
Amarillo by mornin’ up from San Antone, Everything that I got is just what I got on.
Nothing beats Halloween. As a kid, you'd wake up in the morning with a smile on your face, and the only disappointment was that nighttime couldn't come soon enough. School was filled with exciting Halloween themed activities, questions about your costume, a spooky lunch, and of course, tons of candy. After school, you'd walk past all of your neighbor's decorations and get into your costume. For dinner, it was "bloody" hot dogs and mac and cheese made to look like fingers.
Your dad would dress in a vampire costume and chase you around the house saying, “I want to drink your blood!" in the worst accent ever. Your dog would begin to bark after you, so your mom would yell at you and your dad for riling up the dog as "Spooky Scary Skeletons" played in the background. As the sun finally started to set, it was still warm enough to go out without layers and grab your basket and run around the front yard with your brother as you both waited for your dad. You meet up with your friend and hit your first house which features full-sized candy bars! Throughout the night, other groups of kids complement your costume, multiple houses let you have a whole handful of candy, and not one house gives out dental floss! You finally get back home and run to your front door, ring the doorbell, and yell "trick-or-treat!" as your mother acts surprised. She has hot chocolate ready for you and your brother. You both dump out your candy and make your official candy trades after counting and sorting it all out. Your dad takes some as "the dad tax" and your mom tells you not to eat it all at once. You promise her you won't as you shove another bar into your mouth. Then, you change into your pajamas and fall asleep on the couch, excited to brag about how much candy you got the next day at school.
Written by Mal Creveling
McCall Road
The street I grew up on was a childless one. There were very few families with children and even
fewer with children under ten. Every year I would don my elaborate costume complete with face paint
and accessories. On Halloween of 2013, I was a vampire princess. Covered in an elaborate gown, frills
and all, I walked up and down my street with my apathetic father in tow. Many of the houses had their
lights off with no fake skeletons or pumpkins on doorsteps. When we finally found a home with their porch lights lit, I rang the doorbell and waited patiently. The suffocating silence of the empty street surrounded me. An elderly couple opened the door, arms outstretched with a plastic pumpkin full of candy. I was invited to take as many as I wanted as their scruffy Bichon Frise nipped at the hem of my dress. The warmth from their home spilled onto the doorstep, filling my nose with apple cinnamon. The walk back home felt long. An endless expanse of grey pavement lay in front of us.
When we arrived home, I sprawled out on the couch, cradling my pillowcase of candy like a newborn infant. My mother proposed watching a Halloween movie—one made for kids like Coraline or
The Nightmare Before Christmas. I vehemently refused, shaking my head violently back and forth until
my brain pounded against my skull. I was an easily frightened child. Once after playing the Halloween-themed Just Dance level, I couldn’t sleep for days. My parents had tried to get me to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas countless times, convinced that watching it was a quintessential childhood experience. Every time they attempted, I would snatch the remote and shut it off as soon as the “boogeyman” came on screen. We opted for Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith instead, which was arguably more violent than The Nightmare Before Christmas.
We left the windows open, allowing the cool breeze to waltz through our home, dancing around the living room. The few older children that were still trick-or-treating giggled as they ran down the street. The warm glow of the street lights blanketed my face as I slept that night, a gentle embrace, a quiet night.
Written by Ariana Cator
The Last House
I was a late bloomer, so every Halloween from the age of 1-16, I went trick-or-treating with my younger sisters. When I was 16, I invited my friends to come with me, since my neighborhood was small enough were we could save ourselves from the embarrassment.
At the end of my neighborhood, about 40 houses down from mine, there was an older couple who always gave out king-sized treats. Even though it was freezing, raining, and we had to walk up a hill, our goal was to make it to their house. My younger sisters got tired along the way, so after taking them back home, we headed to our final destination.
When we arrived, we rang the doorbell and were greeted by my neighbors. The woman asked us if we wanted to step inside for a second to warm up, and the man went to grab the candy bars. When we finally processed what was going on, we realized how spooky their house was. Their foyer was massive with a grand staircase leading to the second floor. There were china cabinets, antique trinkets, and crystal chandeliers. Hanging on the walls were paintings of their children as babies- not photographs, but large 5ft by 5ft paintings. The house looked untouched, like no one had lived there in decades. We proceeded to chat with them for over 20 minutes, and even though they were being nice, we were still spooked.
That was the last time I went trick-or-treating.
Written by Giulia Mauro
Patrick Bateman
I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday, and I go all out.
This year, I went as Patrick Bateman (#performativefemale) —complete with a mini skirt and fishnets. This year, Halloween was different because I was going to my first ever Halloween party thrown by my ex-boyfriend and his best friend.
The party was huge. So many people from my high school were there, including all of my best friends. It was a blast until my evil ex got involved. For some background, this man broke up with me, and in public he pretended to hate my guts. We were also leads in the musical that year and had to be close to each other often.
He got with a lot of women after we broke up and was very mean to me, but at this Halloween party, he flirted with me the entire time. I, however, had a bigger secret he was not aware of; I wanted his best friend.
His best friend pulled me aside many times and told me I could not tell my ex that we were even chatting because my ex had told him and everybody else at this party that they weren’t allowed near me. I was in shock. I had no idea this man thought about me at all. Multiple times while I was talking to my ex, his best friend would be making eyes at me across the room, trying to get me to be alone with him. It got to a point where I could not drive home, and my friends asked my ex if I could stay the night. He of course said he would take very good care of me and sent them on their way. He sat me on the couch with a big blanket and laid down right next to me. We were watching a movie, but the whole time I was secretly texting his best friend. He ended up moving closer, and I ended up on the couch in between them. I fell asleep next to my evil ex and his best friend.
Months later, my ex found out I was dating his best friend. He threatened me and spilled drinks on our cars. I am now doing long distance with his best friend. We have been together for almost a year and are still going strong.
Written by Gabrielle Bleice
Furry Head
My favorite Halloween memory would by far have to be when I stole a furry head from a frat house. Freshman year of college, I was at a Halloween party with a large group of my friends. The party was split between two backyards with a fence dividing them. We made it to the original party but heard a rumor that there was a bathroom in the other house. I hopped the fence with my friend Luke in an attempt to use the bathroom. We got inside and walked down the hallway, but two guys were blocking the door. They let me use the bathroom just fine, but not my friend Luke—simply because he is a guy. They told him to “whip it out” outside, and I was fed up. On our way out, there was a furry head sitting on the kitchen counter and I grabbed it, ran, and then hopped the fence. I then flaunted my prize to the other party and walked away unscathed. Even up to this day, my friends and I sporadically put the infamous furry head on.
Written by anonymous
Trick or Treat
Trick-or-treating falls on the Thursday before Halloween every year. And every year without fail, it’s 30 degrees. And if you’re really lucky, it's raining. It’s Ohio, so what more can you expect? However, this means that every costume from ages 0-12 (because at 13 I was too cool to trick-or-treat) was also stocked with thermal leggings, winter coat, mittens, and a hat. Trust me, this was not my choice. Every vampire, bee, and snapchat filter was over taken by the marshmallow that I was underneath. And as I think of what I am going to be this year, I laugh at what my younger self would think. She’d be proud that I’m sticking to the authentic vampire, corset and all. One thing I know, however, is I was never cold those nights. Embarrassed, but not cold. I’m hoping only one of those things will be true this year.
Written by Cassidy Hench
My Halloween Memory
I have a distinct memory of the first Halloween I didn’t spend carving pumpkins, watching Halloween movies, trick-or-treating, and trading candy. It was my freshman year of high school at a new school. My friend had a small Halloween party, and I was so happy to be invited. I dressed up as a go-go girl with my four other girl friends. I had a fun time that night, but the only memorable part of it was how I felt. Although I was so grateful to be included, I was heartbroken that I left my mom alone that night. And although she was happy to see me socializing with new friends, she felt the pain of letting go. This is why fall is such a hard, but beautiful time for my mom and me. The Halloween season and cooler weather brings change, as the trees begin to let go of their leaves and my mom lets go of me more. But, as the leaves always come back in the spring, I will always return too. Fall always reminds me of this moment, the feeling of love and letting go.
Written by Avi Mucci
Hippies
In sixth grade, my friend group and I dressed up as hippies—AKA wore tie-dye and circle glasses. We trick-or-treated in my friend, Del’s, neighborhood. I remember the streets being filled with parents and kids running around. This memory has always resonated with me when I think of the fall. Being with a group of girls (that are still my best friends) reminds me of the friendships I have built. To this day when I drive through Del’s neighborhood, I get flashbacks to this moment in my life.
Solitude is a delicacy that not everyone can digest–rich and robust and somewhat difficult to swallow. To some, it’s a treat. Sure, if you indulge in it too often, it may become a bore. But if you allow your taste buds to mature, taking in the flavors bite by bite, it may grow on you.
Solitude has been my comfort food. I’ve sampled it during walks in Schenley Park, at-home movie nights, and Sunday morning resets.
But lately, I’ve been fantasizing about living in a four-bedroom apartment with three other girls. We wouldn’t need to plan nights out; we could live off of spontaneity, eating Trader Joe’s microwave dinners and randomly deciding on a Friday night that we have the energy to dance. We’d flood into a bathroom far too small to fit us all, and take turns sharing a straightener while picking out everyone’s tiny top, baggy jean combo. The best part: I wouldn’t return to an empty home. There’d be a debrief waiting for me at breakfast. A meal I normally skip.
If I followed the recipe for making friends in college, I’d be planning group grad pictures for the upcoming spring. Maybe my group would be my roommates, or the friends that I met on my freshman year floor. We’d take photos of us standing in front of the fountain near the Frick Fine Arts building with Cathy in the background, and post to our Instagrams with the Dr. Dog song, “Where’d All the Time Go?” Eventually, we’d walk home with our heels in hand and gowns draped over our shoulders, reminiscing about all the memories we made across the four years we spent together. But I skipped the recipe.
Solitude has an aftertaste, and people are quick to point it out:
“Don’t you get FOMO?”
“You're too friendly to be an introvert.”
“If I were you, my thoughts would get too loud.”
They do: What if I hadn’t let my previous experience with roommates scar me, and I had actually taken the leap of faith and lived with girls for my last two years of college? What if I weren’t such a pushover and let people abuse my social battery? Do I even blame them?
For so long, I’d proudly exclaim how I’m an introvert. My time spent alone wasn’t only necessary, but sweet: staying up late, listening to my records, and dancing around my living room like I’m in a 90s coming-of-age movie. My at-home concert attire was an oversized t-shirt thrown over some underwear, and fuzzy socks to top it off. And when I started feeling breathless from jumping on my bed for far too many minutes, a tub of ice cream would be waiting for me in the freezer. I could turn off my records, crawl into bed, and let the sound of trains passing by lull me to sleep.
The second I put my social battery on the back burner, my time alone turned into doomscrolling until 3 AM and sleeping in until 5 PM. It tasted sour, but I was willing to sacrifice my emotions to be there for others. In reality, I was draining all the energy I had left, so much so that my alone time wasn’t enough to recharge me.
Solitude should be savored.
As I’ve entered my senior year, I’ve let people go and have felt my stomach ache because I don’t know how to tell them why. How does one explain they need more time alone?
I remember that I don’t have the stereotypical friend group that people write sitcoms about, and I begin wondering where I fit in. But I do have friends from freshman year who I can happily say have stuck by my side throughout all my ups and downs. I have close ones who welcome me into their homes so often that their roommates have become my friends as well. They inspire me to make last-minute plans, listen to undiscovered artists, unapologetically speak about politics, text that one person I’ve been meaning to catch up with, and fully embrace time spent alone.
It seems counterintuitive, but all this time spent with people who fill my cup has made me crave solitude again. That time to reflect, to consume, to create, to dance, to sing off-key. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit to the occasional loneliness, but I can confidently say that solitude has started tasting sweet again.
When selfishness is understood as the act of prioritizing one’s own needs, well-being, and tough choices, personal growth plays a crucial role in improving mental stability. True selfishness is not about neglecting others or becoming self-centered;. iIt is about understanding that taking care of oneself is an essential part of becoming a better human being. Although some people give selfishness a negative connotation, by examining increased self respect, improved relationships and sky-rocketing maturity it is clear that being selfish is a key role in personal growth.
One of the most significant benefits of embracing selfishness is the increased self-respect that comes with it. Many people struggle with self-esteem issues because they spend so much time rooted in other people’s problems, ultimately neglecting their own needs. When individuals learn to focus on themselves, they begin to develop a deeper sense of self. One way this can occur is setting personal boundaries. Taking care of oneself ensures that a person does not lose their sense of identity. For example, I may decide to take a “self care day,” say no to a work shift or stay in on a Saturday night. I make sure to take time for my own hobbies, activities, and relaxation without feeling the need to please others. This boosts my confidence and solidifies the idea that my own happiness is just as important as everyone else’s. Making oneself a priority helps to eliminate the guilt that often accompanies putting personal needs first. When a person realizes that taking care of themselves isn’t selfish in a negative way, but rather necessary for mental and physical health, they can build a stronger foundation of self-esteem.
Though some may disagree, being selfish can actually improve relationships. People who take time to nurture their own mental and emotional health not only are more pleasant to be around but are better individuals to be supported by. Within relationships, healthy selfishness can be a positive thing. The saying goes, “You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.” It is evident that when a person knows what they need and want in life, they are more likely to have better communication skills, reducing any misunderstanding amongst a relationship. Whether the relationship is platonic or romantic, respect should be a given. A person who seeks to benefit themselves first will know how to demand the respect they know they are worthy of. Positive selfishness means not settling for relationships that are mentally and physically harmful. If someone is being called “selfish” for wanting to get out of a toxic relationship, then so be it. Ultimately, that person would be doing a disservice to themselves if they stayed in that relationship. From personal experience, I have had to distance myself from a friendship because of the competitiveness we were exhibiting. This time apart helped my friend understand that this wasn’t me rejecting her out of my life but rather it was a moment to recharge as a personal necessity. Some may see this as a selfish act, but I believe it facilitated our friendship to become stronger than ever. Now, we both acknowledge when we need a moment of distance or a reset in order for us to be a better friend to one another.
Additionally, self-prioritization fosters maturity by encouraging individuals to make tough choices that lead to necessary benefits. Growing up, difficult decisions will come and go and sometimes someone may need to make the best call for themselves at that moment in time. Maturity is demonstrated through the ability to detect when a situation serves no real value to one’s well-being while also having the courage to make necessary changes. For instance, I once have had to leave a job during its busiest season because it was affecting me mentally. My manager wanted me to stay but I had to maturely decline for my personal growth. This form of selfishness allows people to become more independent and it builds resilience needed to navigate life’s obstacles.
On the other hand, excessive amounts of selfishness can have negative effects. Crossing the “self-centered line” could lead to strained relationships, social isolation, and an inability to show empathy towards others. Putting down others is different than solely lifting oneself up. Self-improvement should never never come at the expense of others. Personal growth is a balance between self-care and still being a good person. While displaying boundaries and making tough choices, it is equally important to practice empathy throughout life.
In conclusion, healthy selfishness is a vital part of leading a fulfilling lifestyle and fascinating positive relationships. It helps foster self-esteem issues, help individuals grow, and ensures that they are able to be attentive to others. By focusing on one’s own needs and desires, people can create lives that are in line with their values, build stronger bonds, and contribute positively to their environment. As a society, it is time to change the way we see selfishness. Instead, we shall recognize it as a powerful form of self discovery in enhancing personal growth.
I’ve come to the realization that recently…not even recently, but in general, I feel like I’ve just been consuming way too much media. Now this isn’t a bad thing, but this also isn’t the most superficial best thing that’s going on in my life. However, at the same time, consuming media has altered my personality in ways that me just living my life really wouldn’t, in the case that others around have used such forms to express themselves as well. So that being said, you know when we think of media in terms of these past few years, we can think of certain news such as presidential elections, protests, etc. But when I think of media, I also think of very creative people that you would never just see on a random day walking to work. Sometimes I would be on my phone for eight to eleven hours a day. Other times it could only be four hours a day, which goes to show how much I really consume in that one singular day. So on certain days, I feel much more expressive and intuitive with my thoughts, yet for the rest, my forms of expression can feel like a comparison rather than motivation.
For example, Pinterest is one of my favorite apps. I get so much inspiration and plenty of motivation from Pinterest especially with what I want to do with my future. I could be scrolling through Pinterest for hours and hours and people around me may think like “oh you’re just looking through other people’s life, you’re not really using it for yours.” That could be true, perhaps in their minds; but for me, a simple pin to my “future career” board on Pinterest changes my perception of where I stand today to really, really manifest. The same as looking back five to ten years, what’s to come in the next couple of hours, you know? So to be fair, of course using your phone, your laptop, any other forms of digital device that can produce media can be unhealthy for individuals like myself, but that doesn’t mean that it’s useless.
Where I’m going with this is to say that for future generations, media can really be consumed in that you want it to. If you want to use it to cure your boredom, you an easy doom scroll can fulfill that. And that’s perfectly fine because that’s what you want (and need) for the time being. But as for myself, using media and observing how others have used it has given me ways to frequently style myself, improve my vocabulary, educate, and regenerate the losses I’ve felt days prior.
There it is again, that annoying sound of the alarm clock going off every. single. morning. You rush to turn it off, maybe pick up your phone and doom scroll for a few minutes, and roll back to sleep for an hour that feels like five minutes. This is realistic. If I took a poll of a room right now, I would bet a significant amount of people do this.
Yet, when you scroll on tiktok, you may see an ad for the Hatch Alarm Clock. You know, the aesthetic one that rises with the sun and plays pretty bird chirping sounds. All of a sudden that very alarm clock you used this morning isn’t on trend so you go to buy the $170 Hatch. Okay, we’re just trying to be more relaxed in the morning, right?
We don’t just compare waking up habits, we do the same thing with food. Now maybe we get up, pop a piece of cinnamon raisin bread in the toaster, slab some butter on it, pop a few berries on the side, make a coffee, and voila breakfast is served! Well, while you’re scrolling on Instagram, your favorite fitness influencer or celebrity pops up with washboard abs and a piece of *beautifully* crafted avocado toast, perfect eggs, a million seasonings, a kale something, something juice, and at least five supplements.
Now that cinnamon raisin toast, fruit, and coffee isn’t looking too hot. ‘
Sure the avocado toast meal is packed with nutrients, but so was the simple toast, fruit, and coffee.
This process will repeat over and over, and over again. By the time you go home for the day, you'll either be so exhausted from comparing, or your wallet is crying because there are a million things on your new wish list.
We’re constantly told to be “that girl,” the one with the perfect morning routine, flawless meals, and endless energy. But here’s the truth: being “that girl” has nothing to do with what you buy or eat. It’s about finding confidence in your own rhythm-the one that gets you through the day. And that’s always enough.
Around ten o’clock on a Saturday night in early May of this year, I came home from my second flight of my 13-hour travel day; finally saying goodbye to my semester abroad. I was greeted by my parents and younger siblings at the Pittsburgh International Airport baggage claim where they hugged, kissed, and helped me grab my three overpacked suitcases—each having luggage tags from both the JFK International Airport in New York City and the Copenhagen International Airport. I was back home for the first time in four months. It was the longest I have ever been away from my hometown, let alone out of the country. I wore a very similar outfit to the one I had worn when I left, but with me, I brought home new clothes, new experiences and friendships, and dozens of postcards from each of the nine countries to which I had traveled.
It has now been a little over four months since then.
I try to carry small reminders of my time studying abroad with me everyday, whether that be the clothes I bought, the postcards and pictures covering the wall in my room, or the ring my mom bought for me when she, my dad, and my younger brother visited me in Copenhagen. I’m also still connected with many of the people I met and formed relationships with while I was abroad. So, I wonder why I’m all of a sudden experiencing a very dramatic pain in my chest when I think about that four month period of my life. Why have I become so emotional and somewhat detached from my life back at school? Why is now any different from the first week after coming back home or even from last week? Why am I struggling to readjust to the life that I’ve lived for so long?
I feel like people tend to talk more about their experiences adjusting to a new place rather than readjusting to an old one—especially when it comes to studying abroad. There was a lot of support from the study abroad program for me while I was there, but I feel as though I’ve had minimal support from the program after coming back to a place that I’ve been away from for so long. I don’t think I realized how much the transition back to my life in Pittsburgh would affect me, especially when it was time for me to come back to school.
Personally, it was easiest for me to feel distracted by my old responsibilities when I first came home—my responsibilities as a daughter, an older sibling, a friend, and a person. I also had a new job, new co-workers, a fresh room, and a different but closer relationship with my parents and siblings. Being away from home for so long made me realize how much I really care for my family. Because of this, I prioritized reconnecting with my younger brother, sister, and with my mom and dad. I wanted to come home and do all of the things I hadn’t done while I was abroad—like eating dinner with my family or hanging out with my siblings and friends everyday. Or even do the small things like driving a car again.
Now that I’m back at school and fully in the swing of things, I can admit that I feel a little off. No amount of conversations with friends and family, self-care, or Prozac has improved the way that I feel. I haven’t been able to transition back to school the way that I thought I would. I think I’m starting to realize that my issues stem from my confusion about building a life for myself in a new place with new people and then suddenly leaving that all behind, knowing that I can never revisit those moments in those places with those people. My crisis is that I’m suffering from a major reality check. Because I’ve neglected to describe to people from home or family how fulfilling my experience in Copenhagen really was, I haven’t been able to pin-point the source of my discomfort. I’ve tried hard not to be the annoying friend who just came back from studying abroad and can’t stop comparing it to everything.
I completely understand the stupidity of what I’m about to say, but I truly don’t think I realized how much I missed those four perfect months (minus the situationship and the contact dermatitis I developed on my eyes) until I watched Belly Conklin, from the show The Summer I Turned Pretty, move to Paris and experience a freedom from her complicated life back home. I’m not implying that my life at home is complicated, but then again, whose isn’t? I think I’m trying to say that I relate to Belly on some level. I, in a way, escaped many of my responsibilities by moving halfway across the world to Copenhagen, Denmark to study art and film, make new friends, and live on my own, like she did.
Maybe I’m simply realizing how much I enjoy the pace that life moves in Europe—slower. I didn’t have a job, I wasn’t worried about paying rent and utilities every month, I took on a lot less responsibility in this club, and school was easy. Denmark also happens to rank among the happiest nations in the world consistently, so I guess it’s no surprise that I’d come home and feel a little out of it once I got back into my “normal” routine—in a country that doesn’t necessarily prioritize the well-being of its citizens. I need to understand that this transition might take a little longer than I thought, and that I need to be patient.
In no world would I ever take back my time in Europe, either. Being someone who was born in Pittsburgh, decided to go to college in Pittsburgh, and had never been out of the country, I did something incredibly brave. I had so much fun, and I learned so much while studying abroad. Perhaps this realization will encourage me to be more adventurous in my life. I’ll do more things that I’m scared to do, and maybe one day (hopefully soon), I’ll visit Copenhagen again. Maybe I’ll make a career out of traveling the world or find a place abroad to live long-term. Or maybe, I’ll realize that I don’t need to move far away and create a new life to be happy. But, I guess until I’ve fully re-adapted, I won’t know what the future holds for me, and that’s okay because it’s so cool to live in a world where I have the opportunity to do and be whatever I want, wherever I want.
Mental illness. A phrase that is so charged, but surrounds our society. It’s something that becomes particularly hard to demonstrate in forms of media, as we cannot understand a person's full psyche. The way in which we view mental illness is entirely reliant on the person with said illness and their placement within society. In many forms of media, mental illness is placing the character at the forefront of the story, meant to serve as a means of entertainment. We can show praise for movies like Fight Club or Shutter Island for this, but it isn’t a true representation if it only surrounds white men.
This is where we come to a place of romanticization and fetishization. We are expected to start to ‘other’ these characters, and by displaying them as white, thin, beautiful women, it becomes more “digestible” for viewers. This, of course, begins the introduction of the sexy, crazy woman. A character we see presented in is Sam in “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”. She is battling through her own emotional demons throughout the course of the story. She has memories of her own abuse, which allows her to connect to the main character, but she is still this eccentric, beautiful character who still has feelings for the main character despite their significant age gap. The crazed version of herself is downplayed to demonstrate these elements of emotional connection. At the end of the day, she isn’t a mentally ill character, just the love interest.
We then see how these white characters are praised and sympathized with, in a way their non white counterparts are not. Amy from Gone Girl is viewed as iconic for her behavior, and she is, of course, white, crazy, and thin. And because the book-turned-movie comments on the very apparent misogyny from her husband, these more controversial topics are never aligned with the movie. It’s perceived as a man-hating movie rather than understanding the greater subject of Amy’s identity in society. I will clarify that this critique doesn’t take away from the movie itself; I am just commenting on the very apparent discrimination present in the constant media we consume.
Another example of this is Angelina Jolie’s character Lisa in Girl, Interrupted. The movie is based on a book written about the true visit to a mental hospital by Susannah. But the movie takes many liberties when telling the story, mainly how Lisa has a much bigger role in the film. She is crazy and sexually promiscuous, juxtaposed to Susannah’s character, who is completely careless and allows those around her to be collateral. But by having her played by Angelina Jolie, it contributes to this idolization and sexualization of the character, with many people aligning with it.
Women of color are rarely properly represented for their mental shortcomings in the media we consume. When they demonstrate elements of mental illness, it is represented as either completely “batshit” or acting as a result of their tumultuous childhood. They aren’t given the same grace of being idolized and sympathized with by viewers. One particular example is the movie “Precious”; the movie follows a black 16-year-old plus-sized girl growing up in the bad areas of Harlem. She repeatedly suffers both mental and physical abuse from her parents. The story is in all her being a survivor after being impregnated by her father, but she isn’t given the same grace as her white counterparts. She isn’t crazy in the fun and sexual way but viewed as another black character with awful parents.
The Virgin Suicides displays a slightly different image because the movie itself comments on this fetishization. The movie is seen through these young boys' perspective who become absolutely infatuated with the sisters. They buy into this craziness, hoping they can conquer these women. Particularly, the character of Lux is this crazy sexy girl who becomes the object of desire to all these men. But still, when she kills herself at the end, it comes as a complete surprise; her mental illness wasn’t seen as something in reality but part of this “manic pixie dream girl” ideal. She is allowed to display these obvious inner problems because she herself is held to a greater standard. She isn’t scrutinized because she is given the space to act out, and complete perfection isn’t expected.
When were not meant to romanticize the character at all, they will be changed to an “uglier woman” or a woman of color: like in the movies Misery or Ma, Both are viewed as completely insane and out of control, and this is greatly supported by their physical perceptions in society. Their looks as seen as an attribute to their inner feelings, as if their looks somehow make them less worthy in society and therefore more acceptable to be insane.
Characters of color can only be represented in two ways. Completely “crazy” or a very “well-behaved” archetype.. For example in the show “Skins”: most of the white women are presented with some elements of mental illness, acting out but being quickly forgiven. Most notably Effy and Cassie, they represent this crazed sexualized version of “crazy” that contributes to the fetishization of the characters. While the black character Jazz, has a very “tame” life and is very rarely written into storylines. She does not have the potential to be mentally ill as she would face far greater scrutiny.
When searching for movies with women, hundreds of results show up with white, skinny, and beautiful leads, while searching for movies with mentally ill women of color, the results are much fewer and far between. Women are so aggressively underrepresented in media and very often seen as “token” characters to move the white characters story along. women of color.
