“Wise Wasian Women Give You Life Advice” is a biweekly column by Irene Kim and Josephine Buruma, where they review—and advise on—the many troubles of first-year life. Read to reminisce, commiserate, and seek enlightenment. Reach out to them with your issues, qualms, and general maladies at irene.kim.irk24@yale.edu and josephine.buruma@yale.edu!
Strategies from the Situation(ship) Room . . .
I’ve been seeing this girl on-and-off since Fall Fest. We met over the pumpkins, and it’s been nothing but romantically-charged sporadic dining hall meals ever since. Our undefined relationship status hasn’t been much of a problem (with the exception of a first-year formal debacle). But with summer approaching and my study abroad at LSE ever-nearing, I wonder: is it time to let this situationship fizzle out for good? Or could this be a first-year fling worth fighting for?
We hear you–six weeks in a dank London dorm room studying econometrics gets boring real quick. But before you do anything rash in hopes of being swept off your feet in a whirlwind UK romance, keep in mind that that fairytale, too, will inevitably end. We prescribe introspection as you decide what it is you desire, not only for this summer but also for your return to campus next fall. Don’t let the prospect of an After Sunrise romance overrule the fact that you will probably not meet a young Ethan Hawke. The UK is no longer part of the EU, after all, and the diplomatic (and, thus, romantic) currency of the British passport has been on the decline ever since Johnson took office. Of course, it’s quite possible that your New Haven fling is of similar questionable value—but that’s up for you to decide. Ultimately, we can’t answer this question for you; instead, the solution must come from within.
Spring Chicken No More . . .
Not to be overtly Freudian, but I loved being a baby. Now that my first year is reaching its end, I worry about losing my halo of youth. I just glimpsed my first crow’s feet in the LDub bathroom mirror. What will become of me when I’m no longer a wide-eyed freshman and become a mere confused sophomore? Can I even show my face at the frats anymore? How do I deal with this anxiety about aging?
It’s a waste of your energy to try to resist the passage of time. Growing older is inevitable, but thankfully, so is growing wiser. Even if the rosy cheeks of the Class of 2030 can now only remind you of the sunkenness of your own, we suggest you treat this anxiety as an opportunity for reflection. Think of how far you have come in one short year! Rejoice in the fact that you’re no longer sitting helplessly in the Branford courtyard waiting for someone to swipe you into the entryway of your Bulldog Days host. Maturity is an oft-forgotten virtue!
Housing Fallout . . .
My suitemates and I are splitting up for housing next year. It wasn’t exactly a mutual decision, but I just knew I had to get out of there. Mostly, I wanted to try something new going into sophomore year, but I also think we were getting way too comfortable with each other. My roommate had started to steal my snacks, my clothes, my toothbrush…it was getting a little too Single White Female up in there. At this point we’ve all worked out our housing plans, but there seems to be some lingering resentment about my initiative to switch things up. Is there any point in trying to resolve this? Or should I just stick it out until move-out?
There are fewer than ten days of classes left. And sorry to say it, but we advocate for breaking them bonds!! We don’t care what self-help forums must say. Some cathartic anger is good here, because let’s be honest—the housing form was a fluke. You’re no longer bound to pretend you like each other. You can admit that the probabilistic pairings affected your first-year experience more than you would have liked. It’s time to burn those bridges, baby. Spread your wings and fly.
It’s OK, You’ve Flopped This Year . . .
Help! I’m approaching the end of my freshman year, and I’m facing the fact that I have very little to show for it! Neither scintillating love nor intellectual passion was found. Where is my Beer Pong? I know I technically played this game, but it does not feel like it happened as a concept . . . I cannot help but feel underwhelmed with my college experience. What am I to do with this ¾ left?
More has happened to you than you realize. Experiences cannot be measured by cups ponged. As you reflect during the summer, we predict that you will realize the gravity of the nights you spent with an assortment of people you perhaps would not have chosen, and perhaps the weight of the Hot Murga you found walking back from an unfortunate night on Dwight Street. You’ve done more than you can imagine! And, ultimately, we suggest that you not only give yourself a bit more grace but, in the tradition of Jemima Kirke, stop thinking about yourself so much. Cause like…people are dying!
Irene Kim
