Ego of the Week: Emily Saperstein
Name: Emily Saperstein
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Name: Emily Saperstein
Welcome back to another rendition of Street's Tarot Tuesdays! This time around, we've got a special treat for you. With this Full Moon in Cancer happening, it's time to let it all out, bestie. This time might feel melodramatic as the deepest emotions and traumas hidden in the chasms of your psyche make their way up to the surface. At the same time, this full moon gives us the opportunity for some much needed catharsis.
It's 9 a.m. on a wintery Tuesday in the middle of Stommons, and unexpectedly, my day begins with a smile and a hug. Within the first five seconds of our meeting, Steven Chen eases any pre–interview butterflies lingering in my belly. The plan is to ask a few questions, sip my lukewarm cappuccino, and take notes. But as I listen, I can already tell it's going to be one of those mornings that weigh on my mind and my heart for the rest of the day.
It’s been an odd year for music.
Entertainment has been a crucial part of the transition this year from isolation to pseudo–normalcy. Last winter, we snuggled up in bed binging tried and true comfort shows (Community for me), while major blockbusters like Dune were postponed due to COVID–19 concerns.
It should come as no surprise that Penn’s founding as an all–white and all–male university still reverberates in its culture today. Two of the University’s oldest performing arts groups—the Penn Glee Club and Mask and Wig—are examples of how these traditions persist even centuries later.
It's been a weird first year.
Penn’s role in West Philadelphia has always been complicated—existing both within it and yet distinctly apart from it.
I’ve always had a fear of heavy, devastating loss. It’s not irrational by any means to be afraid of losing the ones closest to you, but it’s become an overwhelming staple of my everyday life. I didn’t stop sleeping in my parents’ bed until I turned 11, and I still spiral over every missed phone call or unanswered text message. When I was younger, I spent hours in bed meticulously going over what could happen if my close friends or siblings passed away.
At 6 a.m., I slide the window open and greet my first customer. “Good morning! What can I get for you today?” I ask. I punch the order into the register and tap the button to start an espresso shot. As they search their wallet for cash, I steam the milk. Three pumps of vanilla. Espresso. Frothy milk on top. I secure the lid, place the coffee in their hand, give them their change, and wave as they pull away. Three more cars have now piled behind. It's 6:02 a.m.
On Nov. 26, 2021, legendary composer and lyricist Stephen Sondheim passed away. The quintessential voice of the American musical, the 91–year–old writer had seemed like an impenetrable force. Nobody was prepared to lose one of theatre’s most revered figures, and he left Broadway devastated in his wake.
Content warning: The following text details the writer's struggle with depression and anxiety, which can be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
“I’ve never been to an Atlanta strip club.”
I hid my scale in April 2020, knowing that the many hours of boredom–induced eating would catch up to me at some point. At the same time, I watched the light purplish–brown stripes on my stomach flourish and thrive as I withered with each day of lockdown.
In the early hours of a warm Thursday morning, Philadelphians woke up to submerged roads, flooded sidewalks, and a brand new canal. What started as a typical late–summer thunderstorm became a billion–dollar disaster and major harbinger of a world, and city, rattled by the effects of climate change. Penn even canceled classes and suspended operations as a result of the unprecedented damage.
Grief is a complex emotion.
On June 18, 2020, the @BlackatUpenn Instagram account appeared. It came after a wave of private secondary schools and colleges created their own “Black at” pages for alumni and current students to anonymously express instances of anti–Blackness experienced at their predominantly–white educational institutions. The brief testimonies on Penn’s page showed evidence of classism, discrimination, and even fetishization of Black students on Penn’s campus. Though it amassed a large following in a brief time, the account made its ninth and final post just three weeks after its creation.
Hydroponic gardening is hard.
For as long as I can remember, there’s been a set path for me to follow. Plans were made 48 months in advance, detailing when to start what. From ACT practice tests to internships to college tours, everything was set. Life was a train ride, and there was always a destination.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year: that’s right, December, the month of being assaulted by Spotify Wrapped Instagram stories from every single person you follow. Since I have Apple Music, I thought I’d toss my own music taste in the ring, relating each song to the impact it's had on my life this past year. Feel free to judge my taste, ignore it, or take it as a recommendation.
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