CHARGED-UP RESULTS

The holidays are supposed to be a time of joy. Yet according to the American Psychological Association , nearly nine in 10 U.S. adults describe some level of stress this time of year. 43% say that the stress of the holidays interferes with their ability to enjoy them. Whether it's anticipation of family conflict or financial concerns, there is enough evidence to suggest that the holidays are often overwhelming. As a kid, I loved Christmas. On Christmas Eve, I would track Santa on the NORAD Santa Tracker website, and put out cookies and milk. Unable to sleep due to excitement, I would wake up to stockings full and presents nestled under the Christmas tree. It was magical. But now that I’m an adult and I’m the one helping fill stockings and wrap presents, it’s arguably a whole lot less magical. Arguably the biggest strength of the holiday season is spending time with loved ones. But is repetitive annual gift giving the best way to show loved ones that you care about them? Something like a family vacation, a trip to the city or just a day of cooking and loved ones is sufficient in my mind to spend time with them.  Gift giving is important too, as a reward after a long, exhausting year. It’s also a way to let others know that you care about them. However, year after year, it becomes financially draining to buy stuff just for the sake of buying stuff. The notion that Santa Claus only gives presents if you behave well distracts from the notion of giving gifts and, more so, favors the receiving gifts aspect of the tradition. It may also provide feelings that children aren’t unconditionally loved if they are fearful of getting coal for not behaving their best. According to an article on Happy Family , children rely on their parents to be truthful. It’s how we understand and learn about the world. Continuously telling them lies every year can foster deep mistrust later in life when parental guidance is meant to be a source of security for kids. An argument against this is that the magic of being young and innocent can be taken away if they don’t experience the tradition of believing in Santa. I would argue that this is not the case, as there’s still wonder in the world to be explored at that age without believing in a heavyset man in the Arctic with a fleet of reindeer.  At least in America, we spend too much money on Christmas. It’s blatantly obvious that the holiday, at least to the wider world, is not about Jesus Christ; it’s about selling everything imaginable.  People extend the Christmas season from December into November in the hopes of feeling the comfort that the holiday season is known to provide a little sooner, and corporations take advantage of that “stressful need” to order Christmas presents as soon as possible. As a kid, I really didn’t understand the amount of effort and planning Christmas takes. Some gifts can be practical, like buying your father a new grill. Yet if you buy the wrong grill due to a lack of expertise, it's a huge problem. Instead of getting people gifts you’ll think they’ll like, it is often more convenient to just ask the person what they want. If it’s not a surprise, then there’s no point in making a big deal of it. Not to mention spending all this money is a huge financial toll on countless families. This sense of overwhelming capitalism is more apparent anywhere else than in the store of Five Below. You’d think you’d find cheap, affordable gifts in there, but I soon came to the conclusion that everything in that store was a want, not a need. Kinetic sand that looks like nachos. Slippers that look like dinosaur feet. Grinch themed hand wipes. Every single pop culture IP is being sold as merchandise.  They will sell anything because they know someone will buy it. I was about to buy a family member a prank gift where a roll of toilet paper didn’t actually pull off the roll, and soon I was sick to my stomach. We are quite literally just buying stuff to buy stuff because that’s the tradition. Now, a case can be made for children believing in Santa, but after they grow out of it, why not spend the money on a vacation instead? It’ll actually create memories with meaning instead of junk cluttering your house that will warrant a couple of reactions and then you’ll forget about it. I am not saying there is no such thing as good gifts, as maybe your dad really did need that new grill. I am saying that excessive purchasing is abused by the system because they know it works.  I am tired of making lists of things that will be bought for me when I know I want nothing. In reality, the money could be used more productively, especially if you’re just buying me an ugly Christmas sweater that can only be worn one month out of the year.  I already have a lot of material stuff in my life, and college tuition is expensive. Let’s just spend time together as a family instead, which is really the main goal anyway. Instead of buying those yellow socks for my mom this year, maybe I’ll try writing her a poem. Instead of telling my friends how much they mean to me, maybe I’ll write them a story or make a picture collage, or make a video for them on a collective inside joke. Instead of giving my brother a gift card to Raising Cane's, I’ll give him a homemade coupon where we’ll go there together and I’ll pay for him. I love the holiday season; the atmosphere is wonderful. But when it comes to the repetitive tradition of gift-giving in a format that has nothing to do with the many holidays’ original roots, it gets boring after a while. I want to cherish my loved ones and be cherished, but I cannot deny I am growing out of Christmas.

While grief may not be a gift by nature, I would consider it a lesson for life. I did not understand how other people seemed to recover after a death. I saw grief as the most difficult mountain someone could ever face. An impossible climb up a mountain with no clear path to the summit, where the air grows thinner with each step and the weight of loss makes every movement feel like walking through quicksand. Until I lost my aunt, I wasn’t familiar with grief. What happened to people who have lost others? She died in 2021, and with her passing my world shifted in ways I never anticipated. At first I was just mad. Mad at myself for missing her funeral. Mad at God for taking her away. Mad at her because she broke the many promises we made together. She broke her promise to come to my graduation and to do my hair like she usually does. I missed those afternoons when she would braid and twist my hair while we talked about everything and anything. In just one second, everything crumbled right under my eyes. She was gone, and there was no way for me to get her back. It took me a while to realize that she was really gone and that I needed to figure out how to move on in life without her. Tatie wasn’t just family; she was my best friend, my second mother and my biggest cheerleader. She had this way of making the smallest and most ordinary moments feel special. When I was younger, she would pick me up from school and bring my favorite food with her. She was a good listener and comforted me. She made me feel special, the kind of attention that made me feel like the most important person in the world. Her love was the most innocent, pure, free from judgments and unconditional. She loved through all of the versions of myself. The loss of such a love is what made her loss so devastating and her memory so precious. I had to learn forgiveness, a process more complex than one would think. Forgiveness they say is not just for the other person but also for you. Forgiveness for myself and forgiveness for her love. The anger I felt was grief in disguise. Forgiving myself meant accepting that her being gone doesn’t mean that her love disappeared. Forgiving her means understanding that she did not choose to leave, that she didn’t want to break those promises, and wouldn’t have if she had a choice. Death is not betrayal but part of the human life cycle. She might not be able to see me graduate, take tons of pictures and fuss over my cap and gown like she would have, but I know she is proud of me no matter where she is. She is no longer with me, but I will never forget her. On graduation day, she was there, in the morning sun, in the unexpected calm I felt walking across the stage. I heard her voice telling me I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. She is no longer here physically, but I will always have her with me, carrying her in my heart. Her laugh echoes in my mind when I need encouragement. Her advice guides me through difficult decisions. Her unconditional love reminds me how to love others with the same innocent acceptance. I realize we all face mountains sometimes, but it is the way we climb them that matters. Some mountains require patience, others demand courage and bravery. Grief has taught me that not every mountain has to be conquered. I learned to appreciate life and my community more because nothing lasts forever. Only memories matter in the end. The people around us and the small moments we take for granted. I don't know how I am going to react to future obstacles. I don’t know when they will happen and whether or not I will fall into the same despair I did because grief is unpredictable. What I do know is that it will be painful. It will not be easy. It is not supposed to be easy, but I know now I can turn the pain inside me into strength to face the future. Tatie’s love did not die with her; it lives on in me, teaching me that love is the most powerful force we have for healing and strength. (Djemima Duvernat will be the Literary/Personal Essay Editor next semester)

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels If there’s one thing this Thanksgiving taught me, it’s that some family members have a time limit for how long they’ll show they love you. There’s a sweet spot. Family members will love you no matter what if you’re part of two specific age ranges: young children or the elderly. When you’re young, people adore you because you’re so cute, naive and full of energy. It’s okay to act out because you still have time to grow. When you’re a senior citizen, people choose to love you despite the bad behaviors you might present. And if anyone has anything negative to say about you, people will tell them to be respectful and will remind them that you’re from a different time. There’s no accountability requested of you because people just assume older family members can’t change since they’ve been that way all their lives.  If you’re 21, you’re screwed. Not all hope is lost if you’re male because you might have family members like those boy moms who want to date their sons. They’ll cheer on any little achievement of yours if you fall into that category.  I’m just not that lucky. When I walk through the door during the holidays, I feel as if I’m not supposed to be there. No one hugs me. If they do, it’s the awkward one-arm hug people do out of pity when they see you going in for one. No one wants to talk to me, except for the younger kids and…the dog, I guess? But the dog doesn’t really talk. It’s more of a spit in my hand and peeing on the carpet I just stood on. While not the best company, it’s better than being completely ignored. And if it weren’t for my younger cousins, I would’ve walked away thinking Thanksgiving was horrible. But I got to play games with them. No one seems proud of my achievements. I try to keep my comments limited so I’m not overbearing in a conversation, but the moment I want to say something about myself, it falls upon deaf ears. I pulled up a picture from last Thanksgiving to show how different I looked now that I lost 50 pounds. My cousin didn’t have a reaction. I doubt that she even looked at the phone. I got more of a reaction from her friend that I met that same day.  It’s like I’m invisible to her, and that stung the most because I felt so connected to her when I was a kid. After all, she was my dance teacher. Maybe she hates me because I quit. I don’t know. And I can’t call her out on it because she has reached the age where you just love her. She’s in the sweet spot. I’m not the only person she does it to. My mom receives some of the cold treatment as well. The only difference is that my mom will continue to include herself in the conversation, while I just feel like I’m wasting my time. I wish I were more like that, but I can’t fathom the idea of continuing to talk to someone who barely gives a head nod as a response. The only time my cousin talked about me warmly and lovingly was when it was about the past, when I was a kid. It’s not like that’s a rare thing to happen, but it makes me wonder. Am I unlovable now because I’ve grown up? This has happened with other family members too. I have a cousin who is my age and his mom used to be so loving toward me. I remember that at any given moment, she would give me a big kiss on the cheek. I didn’t find out until later that she despised my mother, my grandmother and my grandfather.  She stopped showing up to family events that had them there. That meant I never saw her. I wonder if that’s how she felt all along. And maybe she was saving my child self the burden of knowing that she hated everybody in my family. She just had to stick it through until I was old enough to understand. They don’t seem to understand that once I’m old enough to know the truth, it’s the child version that lives inside of me that gets hurt. These family members set me up for disappointment by portraying a false image instead of acting disinterested in me from the beginning.  Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe it’s not that they stopped loving me, but they just don’t feel like they have to pretend everything is perfect all the time. Even if that were the truth, it still doesn’t stop me from feeling like an outsider in my own family. I always say that I dread the day when my grandmother and mother won't be around anymore. I know for a fact that barely anyone will check up on me or invite me to holiday dinners or family gatherings. They are the glue and the reason we receive an invite in the first place. Because my grandmother is in the sweet spot. Because my mother isn’t afraid to ask. I know. “The phone works both ways” is something my family might tell me if I ever told them how I felt. I’m just so jealous of the people who have big families and they all come around for the holidays. And from an outside point of view, it doesn’t look like it’s hard to try and have a conversation with someone. To get them to care. I just don’t think Thanksgiving would have been different if I hadn’t gone.

I never thought of myself as a good writer. I grew up in an artistic family, so people assumed I was naturally creative, naturally talented and naturally capable of anything in that world. My house was full of love, but it was also full of expectations. Expectations that always, somehow, pointed to me. My mother reached the highest academic and professional positions. The message was clear. I was supposed to honor the efforts of everyone before me by going even further. And because everyone in my home was a woman, and everyone was a teacher, the pressure felt heavier.  Be excellent. Be disciplined. Be better. But I never felt perfect. Not even close. When I reached my adolescence, I cracked under the invisible weight. I felt sick in my head and in my heart. I felt empty and disappointed because I could not meet their idea of perfection. So I told myself I no longer cared about being perfect. That was the only way I knew how to survive. Later, I realized something important. How do you surpass someone who has already reached so high?  You do not compete. You leave. I left Honduras and came to the United States for many reasons.  The first was freedom. Growing up international, the United States felt like the destination everyone talked about. You hear the stories. Opportunity is everywhere. Everything is possible. The second reason was uncertainty. I did not know my passion. I only knew Honduras did not have the resources I needed. For most of my childhood, I planned to become a neurosurgeon, a chemical engineer or an ophthalmologist. Instead, I chose communications. That choice confused people. Some saw it as wasteful. All the effort, all the sacrifices, all the money put into my education felt wasted on a communications degree. I carried that guilt silently, and sometimes I still do. When I was young, I had a guardian angel who believed in me. They gave me my first access to technology, an iPad which became my door to the world. But guardian angels do not always stay. Sometimes they leave to find their own purpose. When they left, I lost both them and the financial support that kept me in school. I am a person of faith. Deep faith. Sometimes faith is not about religion. Sometimes it is the simple, stubborn promise you make to yourself: I will do it no matter what. Being eighteen in a foreign country trying to survive, felt terrifying. This was supposed to be my golden ticket and I was watching it slip away. But it was not just about me.  It was about my mother, who never had the life she deserved because she spent it caring for a sick child. It was about my grandmother, who raised both of us. It was about my aunt, who drained her retirement so I could have a chance here. I would not waste their sacrifices. I knocked on every door I could find and eventually one opened. That door led me to another guardian angel. And that changed everything. I learned more as a student at the University of New Haven than I ever expected. I arrived at seventeen convinced that I had made it. I had not made anything. I was just beginning. And even now, I am still beginning. Graduating from the University of New Haven is not just a milestone. It is the end of a chapter that demanded transformation, discipline and honesty. I am grateful for the curriculum, but what shaped me most were the lessons that were not in any syllabus. Here, I learned what I am and who I am. I learned how I think, how I work, how I adapt and how I fail. I learned what integrity looks like in practice. I learned how to build a life far from home, in a place where nothing resembled the world I came from. In a campus full of diversity, I had to figure out where I belonged as someone who did not fit neatly anywhere. I was an outsider. I still am. But I learned that belonging is not something you wait for. It is something you build by showing up, by doing the work and by refusing to disappear. The faculty at the university taught me that my voice had value long before I believed it myself. They pushed for my presence in rooms where I thought I had nothing to offer. When I had no one to advocate for me, they did. I will not forget that. As I move forward, I want to keep studying, filming and telling stories. I want to create work that recognizes the complexity of people like me: people who live between countries, between identities and between expectations. My dream is to build a studio in the United States and another in Honduras and move between the places that shaped me. I may not know exactly what comes next, but I know who is walking into it. And for the first time, that feels like enough.

Photo by Emily Ranquist: By: Lynelle Fernandez When I was in high school, I took five Advanced Placement (AP) courses that transferred as credit when I enrolled in college. Having 15 credits before my first semester meant I was able to graduate in three and a half years instead of the usual four. Although I’ll finish classes this December, I will attend Commencement with the rest of my senior peers next May. This should be great news. Why am I not excited? There are plenty of upsides to an early graduation: I don’t have to pay tuition for another semester, I won’t have finals to take and I’ll be free from the stresses of schoolwork. On the other hand, I’ll no longer have the academic lifestyle I’ve had for as long as I can remember.   I think of the classes I won’t be able to take, like spring-exclusive courses or the ones that never fit in my schedule. If I could have one more semester, I’d spend the time taking electives in the fields I never got to explore. This semester, I registered for Introduction to Acting on a whim and I’ve been enjoying it more than I expected. I wonder what my experience would have been like if I had pursued theater more in-depth. Would I have found a passion for studying drama from an academic lens? Would I have joined the theater program as a crew or cast member? Were there opportunities and friendships I missed out on that could have changed my college experience? I think of the social aspects of college life I’ll miss out on. Although I wasn’t an avid attendee of campus events, the people I’ve met at this university through organizations and classes have changed me for the better. This not only includes my classmates and fellow club members but also the professors who showed me great kindness and attentiveness. After spending four years of high school without making friends, I fully expected to spend another four years alone. In retrospect, I don’t think I could have gotten this far without support from others. I think of  the personal lessons I’ve learned along the way. Three years ago, I was aware of my flaws but didn’t always know how to work on them. Recognition is a good first step, but progress comes from trial and error. From social fumbles to academic blunders, failures opened an opportunity to step back and analyze what went wrong. Although it is impossible to undo past mistakes, the best way to utilize them is to apply them to the future. What was once embarrassing and harrowing to look back on gets recycled into newfound wisdom, like compost for a garden. In the end, what is there to gain from all this thinking? By yearning for the past, you drag its dead weight forward. What has already happened cannot be changed. Danger arises when such thoughts delve into the hypothetical or unknown.  There’s a joy to be found in that part of life: you can never truly predict what the world has in store for you. Life is full of surprises and unexpected circumstances that impede any attempt to predict the future. Four years ago, I convinced myself I would end college friendless and jobless. As someone who is currently neither of those, I am incredibly grateful for the experiences that got me to this point. While I would have loved another semester to deepen my connections and learn more things, I know I will look back fondly on my college memories. My story is not over; it’s just the end of a chapter. The only way to find out what comes next is to have the courage to turn the page.

This might be the most important photo I have ever taken.  I started taking photos when I was 12 with the first device I ever got, my iPad.I wanted to immortalize my memories, so I would never forget.  I am still at the beginning of my photography journey, but something about this moment feels like the first time the world handed me a story that was bigger than me. Street photography is part of my life. I am taking photojournalism as an elective this semester, and I promised myself this fall would be about doing something fun. My professor always tells us to practice outside of class, so I do.  CT Transit is not the first choice of transport for most students, but I have grown to appreciate it. The people who pack into those buses every morning are full of stories to capture. My dream is to work in the entertainment industry after graduating. Any field that fits me; In writing, in film, in photography. I like telling stories, no matter the medium. I think that’s what brought me to Connecticut and to this university. I want to show people what I see. I want to show people how I feel. My dream is to tell stories of the people who surround us. It was 11 a.m. Thursday, Nov. 13. I stood waiting for the 212 bus, as I always do. I was taking my usual photos of downtown; The courthouse, the crosswalk, the crowd. I did not expect anything out of the ordinary. Then I heard a loud gasp behind me. Someone said, “They are taking him from the courthouse.” I turned around just as the bus arrived, blocking my view. I took a photo, stepped inside, found a seat by the window and looked out. The group was already moving. I thought the moment was gone. I checked my camera roll right away because I felt I'd missed everything. But there it was. One frame. Sharp. Clear. Real. The only photo I managed to take before everything shifted again. The photo shows several men wearing vests with the words “Police” and “Police HSI,” referring to Homeland Security Investigations, a division of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Some officers have their faces covered. The man being detained is wearing khaki pants and a collared shirt. He is facing away from the camera. His hands were behind his back and several men were surrounding him. One staring directly at me.  The Department of Homeland Security and ICE did not respond to questions from local reporters about who the man is or why he was arrested, and this is not the first time a detention  happened at a courthouse entrance. Activists say it discourages immigrants from appearing in court even when they are victims or witnesses. As I write this, I keep thinking about how fragile everything feels.  I am an immigrant too.  I came to the United States in 2022 to study and build the life I dream of. I am here on a student visa. I work hard. I follow the rules. I take photos. I go to class. I pray. I try. I am the daughter of a single mother who sacrificed everything so I could get an education. I am Latina. I am grateful. But I am scared sometimes too. The United States always felt like a powerful place to me while growing up in Honduras. It was a place where you can succeed. People would say the streets here were made of gold. As a child, I believed it.  I still believe in this country’s opportunity. But watching agents in skinny jeans, hoodies and Converse shoes, some covering their faces, made me pause. It was hard to process. Something about the scene felt off to me. It made me realize how confusing and heavy moments like this can be when you see them in real time.  And I kept thinking, if you are doing something you believe is right, why are you covering your face? When the New Haven Independent published my photo with a short description of what I saw, I read the comments. Some people thanked ICE. Some said detaining immigrants keeps the country safe. Some believe every undocumented person is dangerous. Reading those comments made me feel invisible and guilty for taking the picture. They made me feel like stories like mine do not matter to some people, as ifI was doing a disservice to my community.  But I know who I am and I know where I stand. Immigrants are necessary. They work. They care for their families. They support their communities. They are not criminals simply because they crossed a border or overstayed a visa. They are human beings with hopes, fears and dreams as real as mine. I am grateful for this country. I am grateful for the opportunities I have received. I thank God for every step. I pray for those who do not get the same chances. I pray for the man in the photo. I pray for the people who read stories like this and still choose kindness. People say “Make America Great Again,” but I think greatness is not a slogan. Greatness is a responsibility. Greatness is how we treat one another when no one is watching. Greatness is the moment we choose compassion over fear. Greatness is something we have to create every day. So my hope is simple. Make America gentle again. Make America generous again. Make America see people again. I write this because I want to tell the truth about what I saw. I want to tell the story the only way I know how. With a camera. With words. With faith. And with the hope that someday the greatness we keep talking about will match the greatness we are called to live.

Sometimes it takes a shift, or a change. Sometimes, it takes a new environment. For me, it took a trip. That’s right, it took me a trip to Baltimore to finally get my question answered. Maybe I couldn’t find the answer because I wasn’t asking around, but that’s just because I thought that the answer would have come from within. Ever since my drive and work ethic had changed toward my academics, I’ve been asking myself why did the change happen? What is so different about this time that is different from the last?  It has caused me to beat myself up about it because this isn’t the Sweeden I know or the Sweeden that others knew. Back in high school, I had a couple obstacles that I powered through with ease. I did well in school and even got a job and did well at that too. I was resilient and couldn’t see myself as anything other than that.  But then I got to college, and the obstacles I faced in high school were still the same in college but a tad more challenging. It didn’t matter because at the time, I believed if I could tackle it in high school then I was more than capable in college. Yet, that mindset slowly caused me to take on more and more until I could no longer handle the challenges. What I’m trying to say is that I took on a lot, much more than I could handle, not because I was trying to impress anyone but because I believed I had to. I had to do it for my family and for myself. And before I knew it, I had completely drained myself. It became too much and my environment wasn’t helping. I was randomly placed with a roommate and I couldn’t feel comfortable in my own room so as a result I spent the majority of my day in my suite’s common area. Spending my time there was alright but I lived with 11 other girls at the time, meaning there wasn’t much down time for myself. I was stressed with having to pack and unpack my bags every weekend since I always went home. I’m not saying that I didn’t appreciate any of those things but at times it became chaotic and it didn’t help me while I was taking on so much. I’ve never seen it that way though, as I just thought hanging out in the suite meant always being around my friends and that going home meant being in my own bed and always getting to my laundry at home instead of in the dorms. So, what does any of this have to do with What It Took? Well, this fall break I took a trip to Baltimore. I went to see my best friend and learn what her college life is like in person. Toward the end of the trip we went to a pop-up market where craft vendors set up at a food court. We walked around for a bit, grabbed lunch and sat down and talked for hours. We brought up so much stuff from our high school days and things that have been keeping us up at night. I brought up to her how I was feeling and the questions I’ve constantly been asking myself. I figured that since she had known everything I’ve been dealing with, her insight from an outside perspective could be useful. She said that the opportunity to always be around my friends and have a good time and to go home every weekend is great but it’s such a different atmosphere than what I had during high school.  She said that yes, while you got to spend most of your day hanging out with your friends in high school, once you got home you had down time all to yourself. You got to stay in your room by yourself, which gave you the time and chance to do your homework, assignments, and projects. Now that you’re in college, you no longer have that space to yourself. When you’re with your friends, you see them 24/7 because you live with them. And it’s not a bad thing, but it becomes apparent that you are lacking that alone time. That is the main difference with your college experience compared to high school. And all of what she said made sense to me. I never thought that I wasn’t getting alone time maybe because it didn’t bother me or maybe because I like always having someone around. But she was right.  So what do I do with this realization?  I have to be more intentional, and I have been. I now make time during my day to get alone time to complete my work. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out what work space and or environment works best for me when it comes to getting my work done. I’ve tried spaces on campus where everyone is locked in and doing their own work, I’ve tried study rooms in my dorm, I tried working around my friends but that never worked well. Sure, I might have gotten one thing done out of the many but that wasn’t enough. Then, one night, my roommate needed the room for herself. I didn’t know where to go because of the time of night and I didn’t want to bother anyone so, I went to the newsroom in Bergami. I went late one night where I ended up being all by myself and found that this would be the place I get most of my work done. The newsroom provided me a quiet and comfortable space to do my work. And the great thing was that I could adjust the space to fit me the most. From messing around with the lights, setting up the couch in a specific way and playing YouTube videos or music on the room’s screen, I found the place that will allow me to get the most work done, becoming my equivalent of having my room back at home in high school. So yes, sometimes it takes a shift. Sometimes it takes a change. It took me a trip to Baltimore to learn that the change in my environment made it difficult to thrive academically and that I needed to shift how I study and where I study. I’m not saying you should book your next trip to Baltimore to find what you’re looking for. What I’m trying to say is that a change doesn’t have to be a scary or foreign thing, but that you can take it as a time to learn something about yourself especially if you’re traveling alone.

An open letter to the campus community, by Sheraud Wilder, President of the Gamma Alpha Tau Chapter of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity, Inc., I, Sheraud Wilder , would like to thank Patch Bowen for allowing me to speak on my thoughts as a student leader on campus. Individuals like Patch fuel my drive to speak out against the injustices faced by students and minority communities. They have these platforms to share the message and our voice for something greater. In my four years as a student leader, I’ve seen many come and go, but the dismissal of individuals, such as Jurea, Kenny, Tim, Barbara, Tahera and Brian Ibarra, has left lasting voids within the multicultural community. The safe haven we worked so hard to cultivate is being stripped away. We’re losing our voice, our confidence, and our sense of belonging. The departure of Jurea, Kenny, and Tim speaks volumes. Jurea tirelessly worked day in and day out to ensure that the FSL community was not only revived but also thriving prosperously. Only to silently exit the university without any acknowledgment of the impact she left. Kenny, an alumnus who returned out of love for the university, embodied the spirit of what the Myatt Center was meant to be. Yet after speaking his mind on sensitive topics during times of distress, he no longer works here. Despite his leadership, activism, and the kind of personality that touches the lives of every individual he came into contact with. Tim, the heart of student engagement. Advocating and supporting not only multicultural student groups but also making sure that members feel at ease to be their true selves.  The gratitude his spirit brought to the university is unparalleled and helped many of us succeed within our own organizations. My heart goes out to everyone who resonates with these words and questions what the future holds.  I speak to shed light on the injustices we face as students of this university, especially as we prepare to enter a world where people who look like me are too often treated as expendable. Never forget why you started, and  always remember the impact of the lives that you can touch  when you continue to live a path of righteousness. Be Different. Surpass Expectations. Challenge the System. Take Risks and Live In Your Purpose. “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” — Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

As the world recovered from the Covid pandemic, the West Haven Veterans Hospital allowed 25 youth volunteers back into the building in the summer of 2022. I was one of them, three years ago. All masked up at the tail end of the pandemic, I initially got the gig to get community service hours for my high school. I eventually racked up about 130 hours that summer. Most of the patient escort job involved waiting for elevators, sitting at the front desk and taking phone calls, pushing around veterans to their appointments and solving problems that you encountered along the way. Most of the other kids were there because they were going into the medical field. I was just there because I had nothing else to do, I suppose. It was fun working at the front information desk, where I quickly learned the ropes. The adult volunteers were all older people who, as such, became great sources of intergenerational contact for us high schoolers. Although I recorded most of my volunteer hours that summer of 2022, over the next three years I would return to the hospital whenever I had time, and I eventually amassed more than 300 hours. Sure, I no longer needed hours to graduate high school with distinction but it kept me busy on days where I didn’t feel so great and was also unemployed. It distracted me as I was always on my feet and with something to do. It also made me feel better as I helped veterans who served our country.  In those three years, I have seen a lot of people come and go at the hospital. Adult volunteers, youth volunteers, the veterans themselves, familiar faces that went to and fro.  Yet a lady named Louise at the front desk remained a constant. Once college started, I found it difficult to find time to volunteer as even though the hospital is near my school, I was busy with other things. In the summers of 2023 and 2024 when I was more available, the youth program took more than 50 kids instead of the Covid-19-reduced 25 which was more manageable. Some of these kids were distributed across the hospital in various clinics, but during these summers there were at least 15 kids at the front desk.  Most of them were high schoolers who couldn’t remember where easy places like the pharmacy was after the third time of going there. They would just sit on their phone or goof off. Louise was never upset with them and was always more patient than even I was at times. I began volunteering at age 16 and I’m about to turn 20. In the turbulent world of adolescence and chaotic issues of growing up in these peak years, I sometimes could never make time to volunteer. But whenever I did, Louise and the other adult volunteers would be there, almost remaining static in an ever-changing world. I could rely on the hospital to be the same every time I returned.  Maybe they had redecorated, there was a wheelchair shortage again, the lineup of volunteers would be different, a specialty clinic would be shifted in location and confuse us, there were new rules, or even a new president in office which shifted the federal building regulations. Yet it sort of felt like an oasis where I could rely on some constant variables to be stable in my entire adolescence of turbulent times. Louise was probably the one person who embodied this constant more than anything as essentially the boss of the front desk.  I’m not going to pretend as if Louise was only kind to me. Sure, we talked a lot about life in those years, but her main mission seemed to always be serving the veterans. She wasn’t just a constant for me, but for everyone who entered the hospital as a friendly familiar face that was there everyday. Despite being at the VA for a couple years, the amount of faces that come and go everyday make it difficult to pin down the same veterans unless they were frequent visitors.  Sometimes I’d be pushing a veteran to an appointment and they’d remember me as someone who’d helped them in the past. I’d feel guilty as I could not remember everyone I encountered in my time there. That would be simply impossible. Yet Louise probably knew almost everyone that went there and was deeply ingrained in the community and loved by all. The hospital was always shifting and had something changed every time I returned. Since Louise was there all the time, she knew pretty much everything. In other words I’d be confused about how to punch in a clinic extension on the new front desk phones and she’d have the answer. If someone appeared asking for an office I’d never heard of, Louise would know exactly where it was. She was extremely competent, which I feel is a hard quality to replace. I have never met anyone who was so positive, joyous and hard-working. If she had troubles she certainly didn’t show them. In order to do such a job as she did, you have to really care about what you’re doing and she for sure did. The amount of people she helped with her friendly presence, calm directions and easygoing demeanor is countless.  We have had so many laughs over the years, seen so many people come and go and seen the hospital go through so many changes. A lot of the time my incentive for going to the VA to continue volunteering and helping the veterans was simply because she was there and I wanted to catch up and hang out.  A lot of the veterans have health issues or other issues going on so I think one of the main things the VA taught me was being patient and accommodating. Speak up if they can’t hear you. Talk to them if they’re lonely. Make conversation and tell them what university you go to. Go shopping with them in the Patriot Store even if it takes awhile. In a world with so much cruelty and pain, the least you can do is extend a hand to those in need. Louise really embodied this and honestly I can’t think of anyone more inspiring because of that. Her final day at the VA a couple weeks ago on Halloween was bittersweet. Retirement was deeply deserved for all the hard work and love she poured out. Yet as selfish as it sounds, I was a little upset that this constant variable in the last three years was about to disappear. Then again I realized, I am not the same person I was when I was 16. Who really is? It almost signaled the end of an era of life for me, and the start of a new chapter. The VA is not going to be the same without Louise. There’s no doubt about it. Yet it’ll continue operating, because despite all its problems, it needs to. People need people like Louise. That’s why I am going to continue volunteering when I can, because it’s all about kindness. So thank you Louise for all the years of laughter, tears, growing up, stories and hanging out at the front desk. I wish you well in retirement, and even though we’ll all surely miss you, it is no doubt apparent what an enormous impact you made and continue to make on the lives of countless people.

To whom it may concern,  Have you ever asked yourself who is holding the pen to your life story?  There are moments when you look back at your life as if it were a book, every experience a page, every year a chapter. The funny thing is you realize you never actually agreed to write it. Page after page and chapter after chapter have already been written for you. Paths you did not choose or ask for. Decisions were made in courts and conference rooms where your presence was not needed. Plans were drafted for your future by people who never asked who you hoped to become. For an exceedingly long time, you were not the author of your own story. Your story has been shaped by systems, strangers, case numbers, expectations and society; anyone and everything else except you. Your circumstances were shaped by adults who “knew better.” Your narrative was not yours to begin with. It was already planned and labeled before you got to say a word.  They say, “You are the author of your own story.” But let’s be honest, are you really? How can one be the author of one’s own life when they are not given any choice? When you have been told where to live, who to trust and what to feel until your own thoughts fade away and you just start to follow the script. Your identity has been reduced to statistics, stereotypes and a box that you barely fit in.  You never got to write the beginning, did you?  None of you ever got to write the beginning of your story. It has already been written and set in stone for you to follow like an obedient child. You wake up and get on the hamster wheel, thinking you are going somewhere. But are you? Have you ever thought about the fact that you are just running in endless circles? No, because everyone else is also doing it and many pages of your story tell you to do so. How do you stop the circle? How do you even know you are in an endless cycle? Now, the question that haunts all of us: Are you ever allowed to reclaim the pen? And if you do then what? Will the story be done then, or are you going to write over it? Can you simply start fresh? Trying to cover a deep scar with a tattoo does not quite erase the pain. Just the look of it from the outside. The body and the mind remember. Do you wonder if, maybe, just maybe, the power does not come from rewriting or erasing the past? Maybe it comes from acceptance and refusing to let it define you? Strength is not about forgetting the pain or running away from it. You only become stronger once you have embraced and made peace with the past.  On the days when you feel like a side character in your own story, when your voice gets small and your hands feel too weak to hold the pen, do not get comfortable with someone else drafting your story. Even if you have learned to sit back and let others speak for you. Even if you are afraid of what your own voice will sound like, use it anyway. You must still crave control, even if it scares you.  Here is the truth: you can, and you will take the pen back. No matter how your voice sounds, you can write it out. Write badly. Write nervously. Write beautifully raw and honest. Whether it is a whisper or a shout, you can choose the next word, the next sentence, the next chapter, good or bad. You are allowed to fear the pen but still write anyway. Don’t worry about what others may think because guess what? At the end of the day, it is “me, myself and I.” Be selfish because you deserve to be after years of following orders like a puppet. Make mistakes on your own terms and scold yourself if you want. You can reclaim what has always been yours from the start. The story is yours and you are the main character. Not the victim, not the side character, not a stereotype, but the protagonist of a perfect story that is still being defined. You can stumble and fumble with the words. Make as many mistakes as you want and still own every word of it. A story that gets to be whatever you want it to be because it is yours. With love, Someone who took back their pen.

In a bid to balance a multi-million dollar loss in revenue from international students, the University of New Haven has fired or merged the responsibilities of some 46 faculty and staff members since June 2025. Jens Frederiksen, UNH president, and other cabinet leaders confirmed growing student concerns about missing staff during a public assembly with the undergraduate student government association in October. Included in that figure are staff members under the umbrella of diversity, equity, inclusion, accessibility and belonging. Some have been terminated, while some have had their responsibilities merged under different titles. The position of vice president for institutional diversity and inclusion,  created by the USGA vice president of community advocacy and diversity in 2023, has been eliminated since the firing of Barbara Lawrence  in May. This academic year, the university has 2,300 fewer students attending on F-1 student visas, which effectively removed $28 million from the university’s 2025-2026 budget, according to Frederiksen and Deborah Flonc, associate vice president for budgets and financial planning. Figures from 2023 show   83% of the university operating budget  comes from enrollment. Flonc said the dip in enrollment has been anticipated since March, within the annual budget proposal period. While Frederiksen described the international enrollment cliff as ‘catastrophic’ during talks with students, Flonc feels differently, expressing her excitement for career services and student affairs initiatives. “I wouldn’t even call it a crisis necessarily,” Flonc said. “What we are going through right now is a blip, and it is a phenomenal opportunity for the university to really dig into all of the different departments.” “We’re doing a lot of assessing at a very granular level to make sure that we’re investing in the right areas of the university,” said Flonc, "and sort of redirect funding so that it's in places that make sense.” At an October town hall meeting hosted by the USGA and the Graduate Student Council, Frederiksen answered questions about the school’s financial challenges. Frederiksen withheld comments pertaining to ‘personnel matters’, as he referred to them as. Together, roughly 140 students attended, as well as multicultural RSO leaders like Nicole ‘Nikki’ Rosario, president of Latin American Student Association. “But I think what people are asking is,” said Rosario, “how is the university looking to help the minorities who are directly being affected?” “Though we do get a certain sense of support, it does feel a little empty when these people are being fired.” Rosario said, “That's a group of people who [are] losing their voice.” “Well, it's always a little bit more complex than that, right?” Frederiksen said to Rosario, “What I can say is that funding will continue, and if there are individuals who are leaving, for whatever reason that may be, that we will continue to invest in that area and continue to have staff there to support.” At the meeting, Gabriel Aliendro, diversity peer educator in the myatt center for diversity and inclusion , asked Frederiksen, “How are we establishing a community on campus despite this recent cycle of terminations? Because we cannot effectively establish a community without grounded foundations within the faculty.” “I could be sort of delusional and say we're going to spend and we're going to invest,” said Frederiksen in return, “but then there wouldn't be any programs to run, right?” When contacted by Horseshoe, Frederiksen issued a statement in which he said that “no particular demographic was targeted” in the firing process. “The university carefully approached its reduction in headcount through a workforce-planning process,” said Frederiksen. “We also conducted a reassessment of functional needs to ensure that staffing decisions were made thoughtfully, responsibly, and in support of the institution’s long-term goals.” Jen Cinque, vice president of human resources, declined an interview with Horseshoe and said, “Based on the response [Frederiksen] provided, I do not have any additional information or context to offer.” Bonnie Urciuoli, professor of anthropology at Hamilton College, says Black students rely on multicultural faculty mentorship for success, in the ethnographic  study "Neoliberalizing Markedness: the Interpolation of ‘Diverse’ College Students." . Affiliations within the university, she says, provide students isolated bubbles of opportunity where there are none elsewhere. Before he was fired in September, Kenneth Notorino Jeffrey was MCDI assistant director and advisor to four Black and Latino organizations. Jeffrey helped to coordinate the ‘Men of Color Collective,’ a Black mentorship affinity group, with other faculty. His door was marked with flowers and affirmations from students before the nameplate was removed by facilities. In March 2025, the mentorship group changed its name to “Men's Collective.” Brian Ibarra, former faculty in the dean of students office, founded MOCC but left at the start of this semester. Timothy Prince, who had been coordinator of leadership diversity and inclusion since 2023, also left the university in October, saying he struggled with the decision because of his relationship to students in multicultural RSOs. “Nobody ever thinks it’ll happen to them,” said Prince, “but I’ve seen three waves of this.” The job terminations of his friends and colleagues pressured Prince toward the ultimate decision of leaving his position in the center for student engagement leadership and orientation. Prince said he offered to stay with the university if he was promoted to assistant director of the Myatt Center, but administrators asked him to wait a year to have that conversation. Prince’s UNH position, listed in the university job opportunities  index, is now titled “Assistant Director of Student Leadership & Intercultural Engagement” .  That is three roles merged into one new position, (MCDI assistant director, associate director for fraternity/sorority life and programming and coordinator for leadership diversity and inclusion). The recent change removes “DEI” from Prince’s former title. One of the first to hear of faculty firings was Sheraud Wilder, a senior in psychology and president of the Gamma Alpha Tau chapter of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity, Inc. Jurea McIntosh, sister of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority Inc., told Wilder she was terminated in July from her role as associate director for fraternity/sorority life and programming. Since beginning her role in 2024, McIntosh has frequently collaborated with Prince to advise the multicultural Greek Council. “Jurea tirelessly worked day in and day out,” said Wilder in a letter to Horseshoe Magazine, “to ensure that the FSL community was not only revived but thriving prosperously. Only to silently exit the university without any acknowledgment of the impact she left.” In Urciuoli’s study, she listened to stories from students and staff and explored the conflicts instigated by university leadership in their mistreatment of crucial student services, which are “seen from the outset as a diversity delivery vehicle.” One surveyed student  echoed Wilder’s sentiment. “One by one all these people who were so key in bringing us here started leaving,” they said, “and we started to see the qualms about our program on this campus.” Urciuoli’s research builds on a 2011 study, Ilana Gershon's ‘Neoliberal Agency.’  The capacity or act of exerting power, the agency to bring about change , is different from Gershon's ‘neoliberal agency.’ In agreement, Urciuoli says BIPOCs’ choices “are between limited possibilities, with the structural reasons for the limitations systematically overlooked.” Therefore, institutions have continued loosely establishing DEIAB programs, Gershon says, “as long as the cultural difference at stake can be commodified or otherwise marketed.” “For the more racially marked,” Urciuoli said, “their primary social function is their appeal…these [constructed pressures] reinforce rather than mitigate students’ markedness because they are the only ways in which students can acquire symbolic capital.”

I vividly remember my mom telling me to flip my head over and applying Aussie Sprunch Spray in my hair when I was a kid. I had brown ringlets with blonde highlights because my mom would also spray Sun-In all over my curls. Everyone called me Shirley Temple and people with naturally straight hair would tell me that they wish they had mine. I felt the same exact way. All I ever wanted was their hair. You can only brush curly hair when it’s wet, or else you’d look like a circus clown. And because of me not knowing how to properly maintain my curls, my mom would have to cut the knotted parts out. That’s why I started having my mom straighten my hair. And eventually, I did it myself. It was a miraculous discovery! I could brush my hair as much as I wanted. My hair was even longer when it was straight. Who cares that it took over an hour to straighten my thick head of hair? I could finally look like everyone else. Except I still didn’t. I felt like the mermaids in “H2O: Just Add Water” when they were trying to avoid getting a drop of water on them. Because if the tiniest bit of water dripped onto my hair, my secret would be revealed. I wasn’t like everybody else. I was a straight-hair fraud. The rain was my enemy. Pools would make me choose between ruining my hair or putting it up and having to yell at anyone who splashes around me. Even if there was no water, my straight hair could easily be ruined by a little bit of humidity. Getting ready for picture day consisted of me running the flat iron over my hair as many times as humanly possible to try and prevent my hair from essentially inflating. There was no use in trying to keep my hair straight if I had gym right before the time my pictures were scheduled. Much to my dismay, the curls always came back. That’s why I begged my mom to take me to get a Brazilian blowout when I was in middle school. I subjected myself to over two hours in a salon chair where all I could focus on was the horrendous stench coming from the formaldehyde in the products. All so I could straighten my hair more easily and have it last longer. I don’t even think it made that much of a difference. My hair was wavy after that, but still with the unwanted thickness and frizz that came with my curls. It only lasted for a couple of months and the treatment was so expensive. So I only got the blowout that one time. I can’t remember a moment where I wasn’t trying to conceal my natural appearance. In high school, I spent so much time in the drama club. In my senior year, I was cast as Medda Larkin in “Newsies.” That was not a straight-haired role. My director came into the dressing room to discuss my character’s look and she said, “So, a little birdie told me your hair is naturally curly.” I immediately rejected the mere idea of wearing my natural hair in a stage performance. My curls were a nuisance to me. I remember I said to my director, “They’re not pretty curls. It’s just a mess.” So, for the dress rehearsals and the show dates, I would re-straighten my hair and then have a cast member’s sister curl it. I went out of my way to mimic something that I naturally had because I felt it wasn’t good enough. I thought my natural curls made me look like I didn’t try. I didn’t feel pretty with them. The last time I did was when my mom fully took care of it. But I couldn’t be an adult who depended on her mother to do her hair for her.  It wasn’t until my sophomore year in college that I finally freed my hair from the flat iron. It’s going to sound silly, but I felt inspired to learn more about curly hair because of Chappell Roan. She didn’t have perfect hair. It had frizz. It looked wild. And it still looked beautiful. My hair didn’t look good at all at first. I also started wearing my glasses all the time. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was Woody from “The Suite Life on Deck.” And when I thought I found a perfect routine (Rizo’s curl products), I started getting pomade acne from the oils in the hair products. So, I had to completely switch up my styling and look for products that had no pore-clogging ingredients. I would copy and paste every ingredient from a gel, cream, or mousse into an ingredient-checking website I found from TikTok.  During this period, I straightened my hair one time when I was going to get my hair cut because I know they charge extra to untangle hair. I came to campus with straight hair and got compliments on it from multiple people. It kind of brought me back to the mindset I had all my life. But another part of me viewed it as a challenge. I would make people adore my curls if it was the last thing I ever did. It took over a year of trial and error with different products, but I finally have a routine that I think works for me. A lot of the magic comes from what used to be my enemy: water. I do, however, credit my Bounce Curl brush for the main transformation.  Now, my mom compares my hair to ribbon candy and is jealous of the way it looks. The kids at my work are always playing with my curls and I cringe on the inside because I’m scared they’ll ruin my masterpiece. I secretly love it, though, because people are finally positively commenting on my real hair again.  Some people have even asked me for my routine. I usually give a very long-winded explanation about it. But the most important step is to stop covering up the natural beauty and find ways to accentuate and embrace it.