My Name, My Story
I had two names growing up: my American name and my Korean name. It seems complicated, but it isn't really.
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I had two names growing up: my American name and my Korean name. It seems complicated, but it isn't really.
When the trailer for M3GAN first dropped last year, people immediately took to social media, obsessing over the well–dressed, blonde, robot girl and celebrating her odd (but intriguing) dance routine. What wasn’t there to enjoy about a killer doll with great hair and sassy moves?
Kim Petras and Sam Smith stunned this year’s Grammys with a killer performance of their release “Unholy,” surrounded by fire and luxurious Valentino wear. Petras sparkled in a red dress—not even the cage could diminish her stellar voice and fanfare from the crown. Smith performed in a bizarre red top hat with devilish horns. In the days following the award show, conservatives criticized the performance “sent from hell.” It’s clear that Petras and Smith walked away from the 65th Grammy Awards leaving an astounded crowd on every side.
Listeners stay connected to music because of their emotions. Love and music, particularly, seem to have an unbreakable connection. As we experience it in its various forms, love can be unpredictable, beautiful, ugly, etc. Regardless, the overarching theme is this: love is too complex to fit under one genre, and this is a message SZA brings to fruition through her newest studio album: SOS.
Content warning: The following text describes domestic abuse and trauma and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
Walking through campus, it’s easy to feel the shift beginning to take place. The weather is getting warmer, the sun is setting later, and the grays of winter are melting into mottled greens. Slowly but surely, spring is coming, and with it comes plants’ time to shine. Blooming flowers and the fresh green leaves will take center stage.
The audience sits tight in Kelly Writers House, neatly tucked away from the bustle of Locust Walk, in an appropriate sanctuary given the guest speaker that will be coming in any second now: Ling Ma, the author of Severance and Bliss Montage, reputed for her astute and poignant criticism of modern society. Ma’s writing style effectively transmits the somberness of our modern condition through the coquettish use of satire that simply yearns to be read with ease, never sacrificing one for the other. Her impressive ability to interweave the dark and the light is not lost on contemporary readers, and she boasts handsome accolades including winner of the 2018 Kirkus Prize, a spot on New York Times Notable Books of 2018, and being shortlisted for the 2019 Hemingway Foundation.
As I turn the corner into the main exhibition hall at The Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, I see a painting I’ve seen a million times before—the stately, perhaps boring, Washington at Princeton (1779) by Charles Willson Peale. George Washington rests his hand on a cannon, standing confidently after winning the titular battle. The flag of the thirteen colonies waves in the background—just above his enslaved valet, William Lee.
From chocolates to serenades by Penn Glee Club, there are almost too many ways to celebrate those you cherish on Valentine’s Day. But, the day dedicated to celebrating romantic love has passed. This year, inspired by Miley Cyrus’ newest single “Flowers,” I decided to spend the holiday focusing on myself. While I didn’t actually buy myself flowers, I tried to embody the spirit of the song by loving myself better than anyone else can. Anyone can embrace this sentiment, regardless of their relationship status. To countless people across the globe—single, committed and anywhere in between—“Flowers” is the new self–love anthem we've all been waiting for.
The film A New Old Play opens with its protagonist’s death.
At 7 p.m. on a 30–degree winter night, the bundled up masses of high school and college students could only be going to one place. No, not a frat, a BYO, or a date night, but a house show. Similar to '90s Riot grrrl movement in Olympia or the early 2000s alternative scene in NYC, the house show scene is characteristic of what it means to listen to music in Philly. The scene is underground, and the people who inhabit it are much like me and you, except cooler. They smoke Marlboros, have mullets, and wear tight muscle shirts with wide–legged pants.
I’ve always been a bit of a mushroom enthusiast. The wide range of colors and types I’d see on walks through the mountains in North Georgia made it inevitable. Once I discovered Champignouf, a mushroom photo identification app, I was able to recognize the bright red Alice in Wonderland–esque toadstools as the fly agaric, and the seaweed–like, coral fungi emerging on the sides of the paths as ramaria. I was even known among my floormates for my mycology posters and mushroom throw pillows.
Some individuals have comfort people while some have comfort blankets. Others, though, have comfort TV shows. Comfort shows—with their specific storylines, immersive worlds, and fictional characters that we grow to know so deeply—as a type of emotional support aren't a foreign concept, but they're arguably more important now than ever before, given the current climate of the world.
If you take everything else away, I would contend that my defining characteristic is my hair. As a kid, my nickname was broccoli, based solely on the fact my hair resembled a sprouting floret. Coming into the COVID–19 pandemic, I remember a teacher noting that while he struggled to recognize the rest of his students in their masks, he always knew I was approaching because of my signature mane. Everyone’s first compliment was of my curls and their last question was an inquiry into my hair routine—to which I always falsely answered, “I don’t even know,” as if I didn’t spend hours on Sunday pre–conditioning, co–washing, plumping, or whatever other tips I picked up from the endless curly hair influencers I followed.
Of the 3,404 students admitted to Penn’s Class of 2024, 168 of them hailed from the city of Philadelphia. While it is highly unlikely that every Philadelphia admit accepted their offer of admission from Penn, it can be assumed that around 5% of the 2,400–person junior class possesses the unique perspective of attending college in the same city where they reside based on the number originally admitted. Statistically speaking, then, being included in this percentage is a rarity on this campus.
One of my favorite introductions to a film is that of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. (Which, if you haven’t seen, you should go and watch immediately before reading this spoiler.) In it, a Nazi colonel (Christoph Waltz) visits a French farmer’s (Denis Ménochet) house, responding to rumors that someone in the area is clandestinely sheltering a Jewish family from the Holocaust. The first ten minutes play out, slowly building tension as the audience attempts to piece together which character knows something that the other does not. Then, as the farmer details the ages and features of the family’s children, the camera slowly pans down to reveal them quietly hiding beneath the floorboards.
As I entered Union Transfer, the demographics of the Wednesday night crowd struck me. Twenty–something women in New Rocks coexisted alongside seventy–something men wearing pullovers, making it the most generationally diverse concert I’ve attended. This universality is unique to this small band from the UK.
In the summer of 2016, construction workers stumbled upon a mystery while performing centennial renovations on the historic Thomas Evans building in Penn Dental Medicine. “My phone rang one day that summer, and Elizabeth Ketterlinus, Senior Associate Dean, announced that construction workers had located two boxes in the [Penn Dental Medicine] basement that might be of interest. An hour later, I was perusing their contents,” says Lynn Marsden–Atlass, director of the Arthur Ross Gallery, remembering the start of a nearly decades–long artistic mystery.
The Oscars are having an identity crisis.
The Traces by Mairead Small Staid is a philosophical exploration of happiness in which the author interweaves musings by figures like Aristotle, Cesare Pavese, and Alain de Botton with her own. She turns her self–reflection outward onto the reader, making this debut memoir both revealing and introspective. Small Staid discusses place, longing, and memory, journeying back through her life–altering time as a student abroad in Florence, Italy where she spent idyllic days studying “poems and paintings below oaken ceilings” and "[drinking] espresso in a sunlit courtyard.”