Katie Santamaria

Dr. Wallace Broecker—lovingly called “Wally” by his coworkers, friends, and family—never wanted to be known as the prophet of climate change. He was the prank-playing, puzzle-loving, New Balance-wearing, colorblind, dented-Toyota-owning, dyslexic, opinionated rock of Columbia University’s Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory. Broecker saw the big picture.

I recall sitting in Butler’s Blue Java Café with a budding friend. We were discussing our sleep habits, and I mentioned that I go to sleep around 11 p.m. and wake up around 8 a.m. most days. Suddenly, the mood shifted, and she looked me in the eye with a mixture of frustration and jealousy.

In my Chinese class last semester, our teacher once asked us, “What is your special trait?”

Living in New York, I am under a constant pressure to shrink. I hold my backpack to my chest on the subway. I shrink my body as much as possible when shopping in narrow supermarket aisles. I walk quickly so as not to block anyone’s route of efficiency. I’m under the impression that if I don’t mind my space, then my existence becomes a nuisance to others.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself or others?”“No.”“Okay. The next available appointment is in three weeks.”

“Is the library always this crowded on a Saturday?”

Yesterday, I was pranked by a group of 14-year-old girls. Well, they believed they pranked me, anyway.

Victoria Hou is a sophomore in Columbia College attempting to study political science and economics (like every other student at this school). Her claim to fame includes a few posts that reached over 1,000 likes on columbia buy sell memes and her being the reason why the class of 2021 got T-shirts at the New Student Orientation Program. To all sophomores: You’re welcome. H Mart keeps her sane, but trips down to Koreatown and Chinatown keep her happy. You can find her pretending to study in Ref, likely on Facebook and ranting about Asian American issues. You can also send questions, secret admirer notes, and hate mail at vh2279@columbia.edu. Chop Suey runs alternate Mondays.

Oftentimes, I’ll convince myself that I need a tube of toothpaste just to walk to Duane Reade. I offer sick friends soup from Pret partially so I can take a stroll down Broadway and get a breath of fresh air. I’ve convinced myself that Barnard Fitness Center is superior to Dodge simply because the walk is longer.

A few weeks ago, when the skies began to turn gray, my Lit Hum professor began class by scanning the eyes of her 15 scholars to gauge the day’s vibe. After picking up on a general sense of apathy—gloominess, for some—she asked what was wrong. With no specific reason for our lack of energy, we remained silent, and she joked, “’Tis the season!” Those words stuck with me.