While I was applying to college, counselors told me that you should avoid writing about divorce, trauma, and any adverse moment in your life as you don’t want universities to feel sorry for you. My first internal thought was, “fuck… what else do I have going for me?”
I started this process as I was entering 10th grade and living in a bubble of absolute privilege. Left and right were students with clothes on their backs, friends at their sides, and more fortune than these words could ever describe. For a brief moment during this time, I found myself often sitting alone during break periods. In the shortest of words, my friends dumped me, but I owe zo a huge thanks. The time alone became time to observe and learn about those that I share a space with. I would listen in on conversations, watch friends interact, pay attention to body language, and more. Being born and raised in Los Angeles, I absolutely love “people watching” because people that roam LA never cease to amaze me – my highschool peers were no exception.
Upon observation, I found myself asking questions of why people got to be the way zo are. My early conclusions were: “parents are rich”, “zo are attractive and zo know it”, and “zo care what others think”. Rarely did I ever ask myself this question. When I did, my conclusions were recognized to be temporary and were something along the lines of: “you worked your ass off you ginger man”. It was not until I found myself sitting in a classroom facing Professor Dominique C. Hill that I began to ask myself this question for real – what in my life led me to Women’s Studies?
While the question had first popped into my mind out of absolute fear for myself as my professor initially scared the shit out of me, it eventually turned into a legitimate question that I had to answer. That is why I write this piece. To the best of my ability, I am going to try and suspect out what exactly led me to an introductory course on Women’s studies. Furthermore, I am going to try and