Radio Chthulucene 87.9 FM

I’ve heard from several classmates that UC San Diego is, by design, decentralized: we lack a central meeting point in which to congregate, politically or socially. Between the eucalyptus groves, each college exists in its own, separate universe. Geisel Library is surrounded, not by grass, but rocks and concrete—and snakes.

My favorite professor from community college loves Milton’s Paradise Lost; it changed the trajectory of her career, as she did mine. I meant (I mean) to send her a photograph of myself in front of the stone text, to thank her for inspiring me to pursue a degree in literature. I can’t bring myself to send the email. I’m not sure why.

I did not expect to find any connection, here. “UC Socially Dead,” they said. This appealed to me, initially: I fancy myself an introvert, an anti-social. Yet I derive my purpose, my power, from people. I cannot help but love people, from pleasing them at any cost. People are all I’ve got. 

I met one of my closest friends at the Jeannette McCurdy auditorium at Sixth College’s Triton Transfer Orientation. I dreaded the event for months. I had to pay to attend. I resented this. The morning arrived, and I was a bundle of nerves and crappy coffee. “I won’t make friends in college,” I’d said to my mother, in a thinly veiled attempt to conceal my fear of rejection (social and academic). “I’m here to learn, not to socialize.” God forbid I enjoy myself in the pursuit of knowledge. Fruit, forbidden.

Satan says “the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven” (Milton, Paradise Lost). My mind is the site of infinite self-doubt, insecurities hidden beneath a surface that is at once obscure and transparent (depending on the day, or the lighting). Secrecy, mother of Shame, wraps its thick tentacles around each of our disparate minds, feeding on our performativity—did you know that an octopus’ nervous system is, by design, decentralized? We believe ourselves to suffer in isolation; we pretend to be okay, to be strong, to be brave. But I’ve heard some say that truth-telling, art-making, asco can set us free.