For fall break my friends I decided to go up to Seattle to do some window-shopping, snacking and walking around the neighborhoods. We didn’t want to do any of the generic tourist-y Seattle things, we were all pro’s at that already and wanted to get to know native Seattle-lite perspective and lesser known areas to explore. I wouldn’t say hipster or hippy are the right words to describe Seattle per say but its very much a city of the individual, or hand-crafter, locally sourced produce, goods and activity. And it was all over the city, in the boutiques we went to, the multiple of food options around and hubs of activity. We jumped from Melrose Market in Capital Hill to Fremont Square and then Ballard all in one day. Smaller pockets of what makes up the large city of Seattle. And as someone from Hawaii, I don’t know if understand what makes a city, just that; a city. Are these areas merely neighborhoods, parts of the larger definition of a city..
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How to Clean Your Suite
This year is my first year living in a suite, before this I lived in an on campus house (Langlow). One of the main differences is that my suitemates and I have to clean the inside of our suite ourselves. In Langlow, we had maintenance come once a week. This was nice. It meant that we didn’t have to clear all the toothpaste out of the sink ourselves. However, since moving into Trimble, I have been learning to take care of household chores on my own. Or, failing that, to at least thank my suitemates for taking care of them. Some chores you can get away with not doing for a while. For example, I haven’t swept or vacuumed my room since I moved in. Others you need to do regularly. Anything involving the bathroom needs to be done regularly. Below, I have written out a tip list for cleaning a suite. It’s fairly simple but I hope it will help.
1) Create a chore schedule. Otherwise everyone assumes someone else will take care of it and no one does anything. Either that, or the person with the least tolerance for filth does everything, becomes resentful, and begins plotting ways to kill their suitemates.
2) Get all your hair out of the shower when you leave. This applies even if you are not living in a suite. No one wants to see someone else’s hair in the shower.
3) Don’t let the trash pile get too high. If you see that it is higher than the actual trash can, remove it. You don’t want it to turn into a trash mountain.
4) Don’t feel bad about reminding your suitemates to do their assigned chores if it has been awhile. If it’s a choice between silence and a clean shower, go with the clean shower. A hot shower is one of the best parts of the day. You don’t want to feel like you should be wearing a hazmat suit.
5) When you ask a suitemate to clean up, ask nicely first. A casual reminder is usually all that’s needed.
6) If there is something malfunctioning in your suite, ask your RA for a work order sooner rather than later. Our drain malfunctioned and we let it get to the point where it didn’t matter if it was in or out. We removed the drain and the water still wouldn’t go down the pipe. It wasn’t pretty.
Cleaning is like any other part of suitemate leaving, as long as everyone is reasonably courteous it will go fine. If not, there is likely to be the kind of drama that makes you wonder if you are in college or middle school. But that is a story for another blog.
Experiential Learning
After spending nine months travelling and studying in Asia during the past academic year on the Pacific Rim / Asia Study-Travel Program (PacRim), I’ve grown accustomed to experiential learning. Courses on PacRim were almost exclusively experiential in nature. In the morning, we would meet for lecture and in the afternoon we were brought to the very sites we had learned about earlier in the day. There is nothing that makes a lecture on the Taj Mahal or Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum more engaging than knowing you will be marveling at it in just a few hours.
Taj Mahal, Agra, India
This summer, as I prepared myself to start my final academic year on campus in Tacoma, I knew that the element of experiential learning was something that I was going to miss. The ability to draw direct connections between my coursework and the observations I was making outside of the classroom proved to be such an intellectually stimulating aspect of PacRim. While I yearned to recreate my experiences from my time in Asia back on campus, I doubted that it would be possible; that is until I took a trip to the Seattle Asian Art Museum this past weekend with Professor Zaixin Hong’s Japanese art students.
Colored Vases, Ai Weiwei (Seattle Asian Art Museum)
Professor Hong welcomed me as an addition on the field trip along with a handful of other students who were also attending despite not being enrolled in the course. As Professor Hong guided his students around the different exhibitions he made comments connecting each piece to some concept or theme he had discussed in lecture. Looking at the group meander through the galleries, I knew that each of the students in Professor Hong’s class were being given the amazing opportunity to immerse themselves in experiential learning the same way that I had while on PacRim.
Professor Hong isn’t the only professor making these connections for students at Puget Sound; in fact, the majority professors are drawing relevant, real-world connections for students on a daily basis. Although I had spent the summer lamenting my loss of experiential learning, it turns out that I had simply forgotten that that’s the norm at Puget Sound. Our excellent faculty and location in the Pacific Northwest allow for students of all disciplines to not only learn material, but engage with it firsthand in meaningful and tangible ways.
Mt. Rainier
On the third floor of Wyatt Hall, if you stand right next to the windows, and if it is a clear day, you can see, straight ahead, Mt. Rainier. Mt. Rainier is, of course, the largest mountain in the lower 48 and one of the most topographically huge mountains in the entire word—it dominates the skyline.
This is from Wyatt 304, at maybe 5:45pm.
You can merely admire the view; I myself did that for a very long time. But you can also make the drive out and actually see (or, at least, theoretically see—this is highly weather dependant) the mountain up close and in person.
The day we decided to go for a hike on Mt. Rainier was, quite frankly, the wettest day of the school year thus far. I woke up in the morning to the sound of rain pounding on my window and on the pathways outside my room—and, like a proper Northwestern citizen, I said, “This isn’t that bad,” and then packed an extra raincoat and a towel.
We had chosen to hike up to Crystal Lake; to get there, you drive four miles past the Mt. Rainier National Park sign, and then slam on the breaks because there isn’t really a proper trailhead or anything else that would suggest that your destination is upon you.
The trail itself starts just off the road, and then winds up the mountainside. You hike through forests upon forests; forests that bear the marks of fires, with pines only at the top of the trees and the trunks themselves sooty and bleak; forests with trees covered in moss and ferns, green on green on green. And eventually, you cross the timberline, where the trees downsize and the wind constantly roars.
We continued hiking up, towards the lake. We just crested the hill and there it was.
Pictured: the wind chill. Not pictured: me drowning in the wind and rain.
On any other day, I would have sat down on a convenient rock, maybe found an appropriate place to wade into the water, felt the lake (ice melt, from one of the 28 glaciers on Mt. Rainier) with my bare toes, probably had a snack. I would have definitely hiked the circumference of the lake, admiring its pale blue color and the icy mountain views from all angles.
On this day, however, we crested the hill and the first thing we registered was not the lake, but the wind and the rain. The forests below had protected us from the weather; here, the rain crashed into us with the force of a power hose. It was almost all I could do to stand up straight, and then break for cover to take some photos.
We headed back down the mountain instead, rain dripping from our hair and hoods (as proper Northwestern people, we had worn our rain coats; we just hadn’t actually put the hoods up). Every step was damp and, for lack of a better word, squelchy.
I have some advice for aspiring hikers, if they’re interested:
- Just go hiking. Who cares about the weather?
- The only excuse you are allowed to have is mountains (hahah…) of homework.
- Pack extra socks and extra shirts and maybe a change of shoes and a towel. Leave all of this in the car, to stay nice and dry.
- Bring food. Snacks, sandwiches, whatever.
- Bring about twice as much water as you think you will need.
- Also, bring a swiss army knife. At some point, you will need it. This is basically guaranteed.
Mt. Rainier is an active volcano, and on the Decade Volcano List, which I believe means it would suck for everyone if it erupted (as far as I can tell, it does not mean that the mountain will erupt within the decade). Point being, you should go up to the mountain, and experience before it turns into an ash pile.
It’s well worth it.
The very pale squiggle down the hill is a stream/river that runs along side the road.
A friend of mine recently told me I was one of the rudest people he knew.
I wasn’t offended.
First of all, I really appreciate it when people are forward with me. If they are clear and honest with their word, I’m a happy person. Even if they are painfully honest, I’m cool with it. Better painfully honest than constantly tiptoeing around subjects. Which leads to my next point.
I already knew.
I have a strong, assertive personality that I got from my mom. My siblings all inherited her personality as well. I explained that my rudeness stemmed from the environment I grew up in.
All the strong personalities under a single roof did not create the most ideal circumstances. When strong personalities meet, they clash, hard. My siblings and I all grew thick skins and explosive tempers. We learned that we needed to fight in order to make it through each and every day. Before we all moved out, a week wasn’t complete without some screaming showdowns.
Not long after I explained my circumstances to my friend I stopped and thought about how my personality affected my life before UPS and after arriving.
I never really learned to “turn off” that strong personality whenever I left home. It had become so integrated into my identity that if I did manage to turn it off, I wouldn’t be me. So, this personality that had been forged from a necessity to survive became a necessity to my identity. How I think this affected my life is interesting and shameful, which just a touch of hilarity. I mean, why else would I be writing this?
Last summer, I had a job at a summer camp. I really enjoyed it. My coworkers were great, which in turn made my work environment just as great. I grew to love waking up at 6 every morning to catch the train to work (this was just a day camp held at Stanford University). Every day made me smile. So it was bittersweet when I had a week off in the middle of the summer. I would get a break from nightmarish campers and parents, but I wouldn’t get to crack stupid jokes with my coworkers or geek out about computer stuff (this was a technology camp).
Every Friday, we’d host an open house so our campers would be able to show off their projects to their parents. Every classroom had at least one staff member assigned to it while everyone else was spread out into support roles. My role every week was to stand at the entrance and direct parents to their kid’s classroom.
After I returned from my week off, one of my coworkers told me that he had to take my place that last Friday. My boss told him, “Be like Kevin, but less aggressive.” Wow boss, I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Flaffended? Ottered? Whatever, you get the idea.
Thing is, my boss and all of his bosses loved me. They loved my personality and thought it was hilarious how no matter how much I yelled and shouted at the kids, quite a few would name me as their favorite staff member when we did end of the week surveys. Kids are weird.
Too bad I had to learn that shouting only works on kids the hard way.
The second night after the freshmen moved in, a bunch of my floormates gathered in our lounge to get to know each other and start to bond as a floor. Things went pretty well, then I introduced Psychiatrist.
Psychiatrist is a party game I learned last summer from my coworkers. I won’t go into details, but I found that it’s a really fun game because it’s a great way to get to know funny things about people.
Being an excited college freshmen, my floormates didn’t listen to me. I really didn’t, and still don’t, blame them. We all just moved in and were still settling in and getting to know everyone. However, I reacted in a less than ideal way.
I told them all to be quiet, in a much less polite and much more vulgar way. What a great way to start off my relationship with my floor. Spent a lot of nights laying in bed thinking about that.
It’s easy to point fingers and blame people for my behavior. My mom gave me my personality. My family encouraged it to grow into what it is today.
But the only one to blame is me. I’m aware of this issue and don’t put very much effort into correcting it. I do try to filter my language and reel in my temper. And I’m becoming more successful with that. But, it’s just too easy to slip back into old habits sometimes.
But maybe part of me knows that it’s good to slip back into those old habits. I’d be staying true to myself rather than trying to be someone I’m not.
Yes I’m loud, rude, vulgar, stubborn and impulsive. But that’s me. That’s Kevin.
Three Semesters In
It’s one of the first things you do when you decide on a college. One of the first things you do when touring a college. A way to say: I am here! A declaration of support for the school, for the memories you’ll make here. It’s the awkward, slightly embarrassed feeling that overcomes you, as you stand and smile and people walk past you. It’s jumping up and stretching your mouth into the widest smile you can manage. Standing on top. Sitting in front.
The picture equivalent to the college sweatshirt you wear with pride senior year of high school. The clarification that, no, it’s pronounced “puge-it” not “pug-it.” It’s the grass that is always green and slightly damp. The flowers that are always blooming.
I don’t know why I didn’t take a picture when I first toured the school, summer before senior year of high school. The sun was high that day and campus was absolutely gorgeous. On admitted students day there were so many people around and I was so determined to decide, is this the right place for me? to bother with pictures. The only picture I have of that day is me walking in front of Jones, it’s blurry and I’m laughing, because my mother had been lost moments before. (“It’s the brick building,” someone had told her. She had looked at him flabbergasted: “They’re all brick.”) Move-in day freshman year I was too focused on getting everything unpacked. Having my garden-level room feel like home. Meeting people, putting in an effort to make new friends for the first time in years. Coming back for sophomore year, my mom must’ve mentioned it a half a dozen times. “Talena, let’s get a picture in front of the sign!” I nodded at her every time, but never made an effort to actually get the picture taken.
I was cognizant of the fact that it is slightly embarrassing, standing up there. It is much less like a goofy picture of you and and your friends and more like a statement: Here we are. It wasn’t until yesterday, while we were waiting for someone to run back for a jacket, that the thought of getting a picture in front of the sign came back to me.
“Gaea, let me get a picture of you in front of the sign,” I proclaimed, pulling out my phone.
She gave me a flat look. “You should be in it too.”
So there we stood at last, grinning and laughing and feeling a bit like idiots in front of the sign, in front of the school we were so proud to go to.
Signs
The other day I walked to church. It was windy, so I walked with my hood pulled over my head. Puddles had formed in the sides of the street and leaves were floating in the puddles. A man sat on the sidewalk underneath the sign of a CD store. His shoes were torn around the soles and his toes were sticking out. He held a piece of cardboard, asking for money. I saw a rotting banana peel on the ground next to him. I made eye-contact with him. He pointed to the sign. I shook my head. He let his head roll onto his shoulder and I kept walking.
I got to church early. I walked into the chapel and found my usual seat in the fifth row. I sat and looked at the purple and green stained glass windows. I ran my fingers over the back of the pew in front of me. The wood was smooth and cold to the touch. I breathed into my hands and rubbed them together, then stuffed them into my pockets.
During worship, a woman sat next to me. After she had taken off her jacket, she straightened and began to sign in sign language. She was signing to the lyrics of the songs. I didn’t turn but watched her movements from the corner of my eye. She altered the positions of her fingers in succession, flicked her wrist, and, every so often, touched her forehead. At times, she resembled a conductor; at others, she looked like a typist. She signed to the melody of the song, which made me realize that, of course, she could hear. She just couldn’t speak.
When the pastor asked us to introduce ourselves to our neighbors, I turned away from the woman who had been signing. I didn’t know how to introduce myself and how I would learn her name. I shook hands with everyone around me. Then I sat down and stared at the communion cups stacked on the backside of the pew.
The woman touched my shoulder. She had brown hair and brown eyes, and I could see the gold chain of a necklace hanging off of her collarbone. She smiled and held out her hand. Her wrist was thin and on its underside I could see veins. I stood and shook her hand.
I said, “I’m Matt.”
She nodded. She could hear.
I said, “What’s your name?”
She smiled and signed her name to me. I could pick out four discrete letters, or signs, but couldn’t read them.
I shrugged. I checked around for a piece of paper and a pencil but couldn’t find one.
She held out her hand as if wanting me to take it. I raised my hand and held it next to hers. She grabbed my hand and stepped closer. I let my arm slacken. She propped it on her arm and held my hand in the nook of her elbow. Then she pushed up my sleeve and, using her finger, traced her name on my arm. She traced slowly and in capital letters. Her nail ran over my skin and over my veins.
“Tori?”
She nodded.
“Short for Victoria?”
She nodded.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, offering my hand.
She smiled and nodded and shook my hand and signed something to me.
The Girl Gang Takes Europe
After my time in Rome with my connections class (see my post about it here!) this summer, my two classmates and friends Ashley Dyas ’16 and Marissa Irish ’16 and I decided to hop around Europe a bit more before heading back to Tacoma. It’s much easier to get around once you’re actually in Europe, so we popped on over to France first!
Paris was incredible. Everything was so ornate and beautifully decorated. I took another 1000 pictures and did my best to narrow it down!
Ashley and Marissa enjoy some tea and the Lourve!
We visited tons of museums and landmarks together and a few I explored on my own. Being able to see so much of the art I’ve studied for years was absolutely amazing.
Sleeping Satyr at the Lourve
The man himself at the Musee d’Orsay!!
Notre Dame!
Venus de Milo from my day at the Lourve!
Saint Chapelle’s incredible stained glass
Sunset from atop the Arch de Triumph
The incredible Eiffel Tower light show! (+ wine)
And of course, Versailles!
I also visited the Musee de l’Orangerie one day and spent a GOOD amount of time there. This museum has Monet’s wall-length waterlilies. I could have stayed there the entire day.
During our visit to the Musee d’Orsay, I accidentally stumbled across my absolute favorite painting… and proceeded to cry in front of a large tour group. Marissa took a photo to commemorate the experience.
La Naissance de Venus by William-Adolphe Bouguereau + me and my tears
That was not the last of the art related tears, however! I was also fortunate enough to see my favorite sculpture in my trip to the Lourve — the Winged Nike of Samothrace. Cue tears.
This was on my second visit…and I didn’t even cry that time!
So I covered the art, one of the best things about France. But I left out one of the most important things… FOOD.
Crepes for days!!
I even tried escargot! (I pretended it fit under the pescatarian diet)
So many desserts…
…SO MANY
Our Paris obsession: fancy tea!!
After our time in Paris, we visited somewhere I’ve always dreamed of going: Ireland. But there’s even more pictures for that story, so I think it deserves it’s own post! So au revoir for now!
Treat Yo’self.
Fall break has officially begun! But before I was able to celebrate my future four day weekend, I had to make it through midterms. So in order to cope with the stress of little sleep and enough art history flashcards to make your head spin, my buddy (and fellow UT Improv co-leader) Dylan and I took a trip to the Metropolitan Market.
I know what you’re thinking. A minivacation to a market? But trust me, it’s so much more. It’s a wonderland. An expensive wonderland for a college student, but a wonderland never the less. We went with one mission in mind: stress relief sweets. Our mantra? Treat yo’self. You see, it was also the anniversary of perhaps the most important Parks and Recreation episode of our generation.
So, we treated ourselves. Dylan went with gelato while I reunited with my one true love… The Cookie. That’s right, THE Cookie. I’d explain to you the simple perfection of this baked beauty but no words can do it justice. It’s basically the most wonderful combination of all things chocolatey and delicious, just gooey enough in the center to melt away all stress and sadness. Basically heaven incarnate in a cookie. 
Next on the list? Beverages. An easy choice too, since no normal human can resist chocolate milk. (Unless you hate chocolate milk, which is totally fine ’cause that’s your opinion. I mean, you’re wrong, but y’know. It’s fine.)
With sweets in hand, we made our way out into the cool autumn evening. Before enjoying the spoils of our adventure, however, we couldn’t resist the neat little photo opp set up for us just outside the market doors. Dylan blends in perfectly.
Taking a little break amidst the tests and essays was well deserved and necessary, and now we’re free, with a lovely first day of fall break before the second half of the semester picks up! Here’s to that lovely turn of phrase, treat yo’self!
Point Defiance Park
I feel like, at times, people can easily get caught up in the blatant grandeur of the words ‘adventure’, ‘journey’, or ‘expedition’. Don’t get me wrong, these words are fantastic and I’m inspired by them just as much as the next person. But often, when we consider the weight of these words and allow them to govern our dreams and aspirations, in comparison to our actual lives, we can quickly become powerfully discouraged. It’s as if, in one moment, those words are lifting us up, challenging us to pursue the unknown, but in the next, we feel guilty for not doing so nearly as often as we want to. We’re left, rather stuck, in a difficult limbo between our goals and our realities.
The obligatory photographer foot shot; post-bike-ride and pre-hike.
For the longest time I was plagued by this condition, until I realized something that’s shaped the way I think about those aforementioned words. It goes like this: even though those terms do have dictionary definitions, that doesn’t have to be how you choose to define them. Let me give you an example of what I mean.
A beautiful example of the Northwestern rainforest climate; a tree completely engulfed in undisturbed and lavish green moss.
The famous ‘Five Mile Drive’ that provides drivers, bikers, and hikers access to Owen Beach, Fort Nisqually, and the rest of Point Defiance Park.
Tacoma’s surrounding locales are legitimately insane. On the west side you have the Pacific Ocean and the Olympics; on the north you have British Columbia; on the east you have Rainier, Baker, and the Cascades; and on the south you have Hood. Honestly, even thinking about it makes me feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. So, when I get the itch to venture outside, that’s often where my mind goes. However, that poses a problem because it’s a little harder to get to Rainier or the ocean than one might expect; all you Tacoma natives know this.
A staircase at Owen Beach.
So, a guy like me has got to get his fix somehow, right? That’s where Point Defiance Park comes in. At a modest five miles from campus, Point Defiance Park is easily accessible by bike, bus, or, if you’re really in dire straights, you could get on some hiking boots and walk it out. Point Defiance, or as most call it ‘Point D.’, is actually a city park, but it comes off as a state park when all of its amenities are taken into consideration. Not only does it provide beautiful vistas as well as exhibit some of the native flora and fauna, but it also has hiking trails, a beach, a marina, a ferry dock, a zoo and aquarium, a preserved fur trading post called ‘Fort Nisqually’, a pagoda, a zen garden, boat rentals, a restaurant… the list goes on. In all, Point Defiance has consistently allowed me to enjoy the Pacific Northwest outdoors in very attainable and practical ways.
A large freighter floats through the Sound, into a wall of rain, en route to the Tacoma docks.
All of this being said, Point Defiance is definitely not Rainier, nor Hood, nor the Pacific Ocean, but it does provide me with enough adventure for a weeknight and it has helped me to realize that there’s not only beauty in the big, bountiful, and boisterous, but also in the small, nuanced, and quiet. Point D. has helped me come to know that it’s not the destination that defines an adventure, but rather the adventurer. Being able to find glory in the minutiae is, in my mind, a key characteristic of a great outdoorsman or woman.
The inside of a small garage in the marina that I occupied for some much needed rain coverage.
A small boat moored in the marina.
A receding cloud line played backdrop to a group of gulls circling the marina.
Keep this in mind when you are feeling a little down about not climbing Rainier over fall break or kayaking to Portland for spring break, and consider checking out Point Defiance, or even Todd Field. Like I said, you define your adventure.
The color-changing coastline amidst heavy rainfall.
Two fisherman defy the tempest in order to procure baitfish off the dock.
Happy trails,
Colton Born