Campus-dwellers find fun, valuable experiences over J-Term
Josefine Ulbrich
Issue date: 2/4/10 Section: Opinions
Even before I arrived in Northampton, family and friends came to know "Interterm" as the treacherous scheme preventing me from spending more than a week in New York this year, a trip I had frantically planned since my acceptance letter from Smith had arrived.
In the most literal sense of the name, Interterm forced itself right between my reveries of ice-skating in Central Park, blueberry pancake breakfasts and nights out in East Village.
Instead, I saw myself strapped to a chair in a Ludovico Technique scenario, where chemical formulas and expansion rates of Daimler stocks were thrown at me. For some reason, I didn't know Interterm was based on voluntary participation, a misconception that wasn't exactly contradicted by information I could find on the Smith Web site.
As I got to know more people at Smith, my usual polite conversational gap-filler "What class are you taking for Interterm?" was quickly replaced by "Are you going to be here for Interterm?" In 90 percent of all cases, the worn-out Smithies preferred the warmth and care of the parental nest to a hastened return to this place we embrace with the same ambiguous affection we provide for little brothers. We know they're part of the family and we love them dearly, but sometimes it's nice to get a break.
However, since I had already determined my resettlement in Northampton for the first of January, I decided to give Interterm a chance. After all, I had nothing to lose except a few hours I probably would have idled away on Facebook anyway. In what seemed to me the direct pursuit of the previously made New Year's resolution to figure out my life after May 2010, I chose the class that I thought might come in handy some day.
Whereas the Smithies I talked to who intended to stay during Interterm took Economics or Digital Media classes, I signed up for Colloquial Tibetan. And it turned out to be the best decision I have made in 2010 so far.
Under the lovely guidance and, above all, patient eyes of Tenzin Dechen '10 and Tenzin Kalsang '11, my six classmates and I stumbled our way through the jungle of aspiration and voicelessness that insiders call the Tibetan language. Not only did both of them teach us useful phrases for everyday conversations, discuss current political developments with us and give moving personal accounts of their life as exiles in India, but they also amiably praised our off-key versions of Tibetan nursery rhymes.
Apart from the fact that I can now properly perform the Tibetan equivalent of the hokey pokey and pay compliments such as "You have two pretty feet," I cannot exaggerate the cheerful diversion those daily two hours meant to my in-between-semesters days.
And just in case my applications for grad school unravel, I'm considering recording an electro interpretation of the Tibetan alphabet song as a serious career option.
In the most literal sense of the name, Interterm forced itself right between my reveries of ice-skating in Central Park, blueberry pancake breakfasts and nights out in East Village.
Instead, I saw myself strapped to a chair in a Ludovico Technique scenario, where chemical formulas and expansion rates of Daimler stocks were thrown at me. For some reason, I didn't know Interterm was based on voluntary participation, a misconception that wasn't exactly contradicted by information I could find on the Smith Web site.
As I got to know more people at Smith, my usual polite conversational gap-filler "What class are you taking for Interterm?" was quickly replaced by "Are you going to be here for Interterm?" In 90 percent of all cases, the worn-out Smithies preferred the warmth and care of the parental nest to a hastened return to this place we embrace with the same ambiguous affection we provide for little brothers. We know they're part of the family and we love them dearly, but sometimes it's nice to get a break.
However, since I had already determined my resettlement in Northampton for the first of January, I decided to give Interterm a chance. After all, I had nothing to lose except a few hours I probably would have idled away on Facebook anyway. In what seemed to me the direct pursuit of the previously made New Year's resolution to figure out my life after May 2010, I chose the class that I thought might come in handy some day.
Whereas the Smithies I talked to who intended to stay during Interterm took Economics or Digital Media classes, I signed up for Colloquial Tibetan. And it turned out to be the best decision I have made in 2010 so far.
Under the lovely guidance and, above all, patient eyes of Tenzin Dechen '10 and Tenzin Kalsang '11, my six classmates and I stumbled our way through the jungle of aspiration and voicelessness that insiders call the Tibetan language. Not only did both of them teach us useful phrases for everyday conversations, discuss current political developments with us and give moving personal accounts of their life as exiles in India, but they also amiably praised our off-key versions of Tibetan nursery rhymes.
Apart from the fact that I can now properly perform the Tibetan equivalent of the hokey pokey and pay compliments such as "You have two pretty feet," I cannot exaggerate the cheerful diversion those daily two hours meant to my in-between-semesters days.
And just in case my applications for grad school unravel, I'm considering recording an electro interpretation of the Tibetan alphabet song as a serious career option.
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