Luciana Siracusano

In my last two columns, I defended the Core against its common criticisms. In this piece, the third and final installment of this series, I want to express not just why I defend the Core, but why I love it.

Last week, in my first of three pieces defending the Core Curriculum, I argued that the common criticism that the texts in the Core are written by “dead white men” was a reductive one, for the texts convey universal human truths that transcend categorical boundaries.

I love the Core.

How do you build resilience?

If you ever want to feel incredibly insecure about your productivity as a young intellectual, look at the lives of great artists and historical figures. Mozart wrote symphonies by age 10, Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice at age 20. And have you seen Michelangelo’s teenage attempts at sculpture? There is nothing like looking at what great individuals accomplished by your age to make you feel bad about how little reading you can complete before you get distracted.

Every year I’ve been at Columbia, there have been student deaths—far too many of which have been suicides. They confuse us, they anger us, they sadden us. Often we might try to forget them, so we’re not too affected and can continue with our own lives.

Spring semester has begun, and though we might desperately wish it were still winter break, a new semester always stirs with hope and energy, no matter how high the reading lists pile. Whether we return fattened from holiday cheer or weary from job applications, we do return, welcomed back by the clear ringing of pretentious and self-righteous voices in our seminars and core classes.

Identity relates to self, person, individual: how you are what you are. Yet in our effort to define self-identity, we seem to call upon different kinds of labels based on sex, race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, ability, socioeconomic status, nationality, and religion, among others, and their intersections. Too often, in our prescription of these identities, we actually avoid wrestling with one necessary question: Who am I? In an attempt to label ourselves, we write over our identity—who we truly are.

Being half has put the quest for self-discovery and definition at the forefront of my life. People's efforts to categorize me can be frustrating, since I have difficulty categorizing myself. It often involves sifting through labels and historical and political rhetoric that confuse my sense of identity. But ultimately, my mixed heritage has shaped how I define not only myself, but also what it means to be American.

When I was touring colleges, I ran into a girl who went to my high school on one of the campuses. She was a junior at the time. After inviting me to hang out with her friends—whom she seemed incredibly close to yet had only met two weeks prior—she told me she didn't know what true friendship was until college.