The Crux of Disarray
- Spare Rib
- May 18
- 2 min read
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
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