Word: chickening
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Courtyard legends would be born. Stories will be retold years from now about how The House Master left his footprints on the backboard, Popcorn Chicken dunked blindfolded, and The Senior Tutor jumped over that...
Once on the other side of Johnston Gate, however, things looked considerably different. Instead of engaging in philosophical discourse while sipping mocha in between classes, I stood in line at Annenberg for chicken marsala and stumbled through awkward introductions with my new classmates (Rena Xu; Holworthy; Pittsburgh; Biochemistry). Instead of reaching enlightenment in a stately wood-paneled chamber, I found my way to Cabot Library (“They never showed THIS in the brochures!” my freshman roommate exclaimed indignantly). And far from knowing instinctively where my niche at this large school lay, I treaded uncertainly...
...picked through our chicken marsala, I also realized that happiness ultimately has nothing to do with ambition or expectation. After two years of college, my life still looks nothing like a brochure. There are still highs and lows to each day and week; I am still meeting new people, many of them fabulous; Cabot Library is still ugly. But something important has changed. In abandoning the idea of finding an illusive perfect life, I have gained the luxury of being real. And in shedding external standards of happiness, I have found the freedom to define the college experience for myself?...
...Castillo could use those stamps. Four years ago, he lost his job as a janitor at the Quezon City Hall. He and his family are now scavengers, living out of a wooden pushcart. This is Castillo's idea of happiness: "Once I found nearly half a fried chicken wrapped in plastic," he told me. "I knew it was still edible because it was still cold, just came from the refrigerator. We had a feast that day." Around the world, people are searching for happiness. For Filipinos, happiness isn't a goal: it's a tool for survival...
...p.m.Outside Loker Commons, students with IDs of varying authenticity jostle each other in a line rivaling Annenberg’s on popcorn chicken night. The doors to Harvard’s inaugural Pub Night are still closed, and Zachary A Corker ’04, mastermind of the joke, is MIA. “Hurlbut? Canaday?” yells a male undergrad, eagerly eyeing some female specimens. “They’re all freshmen...