The Crux of Disarray

By Serena Fonseca, Art by Anonymous

My body vanishes in this classroom  

Here I descend into anonymity 

They are smarter than you 

Stronger than you 

Worth more than you 

I surrender to the voices 

But my soul reeks of Suffering.

I can feel the force of Her grip on my throat 

Shrouding me in submission, 

daring me to escape, 

knowing I won’t get far. 

I cannot fight my condition.

Instead, I muse over the life I’m supposed to be living:

The man I marry, 

The children I raise, 

The degrees I collect,

The money I make.

In another life I do everything right.

I’m exhausted.

I sculpt myself into the woman I should be: 

A tangle of good grades, self-restraint, and reputation,

but even I know my limits. 

Why is it so hard being me?

So I remember my story. 

The back-breaking work my parents endure 

(their shitty pay, the holes in their clothes, their permanently tired bodies)

And the expectant look in their eyes.

They think I’m doing great. 

How I wish we could switch places, if only for a day.

I have no right to complain. 

After all, I am living my dream. 

Didn’t I wish on many stars for the chance to be here?

But what if I’m not happy just yet? Is that okay? 

I can only succeed 

There is no other option. 

I am earning the education my ancestors deserved. 

So I push all my worries aside

With the promise that I’ll let myself grieve tomorrow 

but probably not. 

Yet my desk exposes me for who I am.

Riddled with half-finished coffee cups, motivational sticky notes, and scattered papers, 

It is obvious that I struggle to keep up with the Dartmouth mentality.

Sometimes I think I’m too weak to be here 

Other times I pride myself for long study stretches in Tower. 

Either way I’m fated to agonize in the abyss of 

Isolation 

And 

Dedication.

For it is only in there that I know who I am

And what am I if not resilient