In times of turmoil, many of us resort to a place of serenity and peace to clear our minds. Our editors have shared a few of their favorite places, and we hope it inspires you to think about yours.
Avinash Iyer, Opinions Editor: Alumni Gym
Of the many stickers on my laptop, none is more precious to me than the one that says, “Hang on, let me overthink this.” Between class notes I take in LaTeX, homework, edits for the newspaper, my honors thesis and my hopeless Twitter addiction, I probably log somewhere around 14 hours on my computer every day, often overthinking much of my life because of this extreme usage.
Nevertheless, I try my best to make time for one activity that lets me fully unplug from the computer and its stimulation of my academic and argumentative mind. Sometime between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. on most days, I drop my bag off in the Media Suite, walk down the hall to my dorm room, change into a pair of sneakers and walk to the gym.
At first glance, it seems odd to find peace in sweat, grunts of exertion and muscle soreness, but the sea of gray metal and black rubber provides the perfect neutral environment — an opportunity to fully disengage the most intensive mental faculties.
Everyone goes to the gym for a different reason, but for me, it’s a kind of physical meditation. All the more reason to keep it simple: two to three exercises, two to three sets, three to five reps and no phone, music or workout tracking. With the clang of machines and din of treadmills behind me, I let my mind wander while my body undergoes its prescribed physical exertion.
As I walk out, I feel at ease — physically drained but mentally alert, ready to take on the rest of the day’s tasks, be they edits for the paper or my two-week late Partial Differential Equations homework.
Noah Kim, Senior Writer: Pentimento Montage, Ali’s Spot
I’d never have noticed it if he hadn’t stopped me. He was short and wore a wide-brimmed hat, the kind workers wear to keep cool in the sun. He called himself Ali. I was walking to the library on a slow Sunday morning, when he stopped me by the AGC building. I was confused at first, but he continued to beckon me over. In front of him, by the shade of the building, was a series of small square murals with a plaque to their right which read “Pentimento Montage by Professor Linda Lyke.” In one square, on a purple gradient background, there was a picture of Martin Luther King Jr. on campus and beneath, in tiny print, a poem.
“O that our souls could scale a height like this,
A mighty mountain swept o’er by the bleak
Keen winds of heaven; and standing on that peak
Above the blinding clouds of prejudice,
Would we could see all truly as it is;
The calm eternal truth would keep us meek.”
Ali was a ballboy for the Occidental College men’s basketball team during his adolescence. He said that back then, he used to get in fights with other neighborhood kids. Maybe he wasn’t called Ali before; he said that Ali was only a “nickname.” He asked me what my name is and said that Noah is an interesting name. He told me that he’s reading the Quran after finishing the Bible. Between the wide brim of his hat and his mask I saw only his eyes as he spoke. He said that he takes walks through the campus and comes to this spot in front of the poem to rest.
I left him there and continued to the library.
“Peace be with you,” he said.
There are a few spots on campus that I go to for rest. There’s not much I have to say about these spots other than that they are places where I don’t usually do schoolwork or newspaper work. But, half-scoffing, I ask myself: Who would go to rest in front of something as silly as a poem, and a baroque, moralizing, barely legible one at that?
I saw Ali later as he was leaving campus and I, the library. I had a meeting to go to and after, an essay to write. Tonight, I think about our encounter as I work, and I remember the strange man as old and kind and serene.
Theodore Wilton, News Editor: Norris Balcony
The social, the solitude, the chill — my quad’s Norris balcony, overlooking a view of LA from the top of campus, serves as a sanctuary from the frenzy of daily life. Too often, I find myself distracted by everything I need to do with my mind jumping between tasks on an imaginary to-do list. But after some time on the balcony, I am reset to the present because of the serenity of my surroundings.
The members of our quad have many uses for the balcony. The city’s abundance of sunshine enables us to have a couch outside, along with a Bluetooth speaker that has not moved in weeks but magically remains charged. And for music purists, there are occasional live acoustic guitar concerts and spontaneous freestyle performances. Direct and usually hot sunshine is a constant factor after noon, making it ideal for sunbathing. As the day cools off and the sun dips low, the sunset becomes a big draw for the balcony. Many step out to admire the fleeting, majestic colors.
However, the facilities and fun pale in comparison to what is by far the best aspect of the balcony: the people. It’s an incredibly chill group of guys. At the beginning of the year, I was unfamiliar with the majority of the people in our 16-person quad. But from the moment everyone moved in, that changed, thanks to the welcoming atmosphere fostered by the group. As a social hub, the balcony naturally became a place to connect, hang out and truly get to know one another.
After a long day, hiking up the hill to Norris is tough, especially with the day’s fatigue weighing down on my legs. But seeing the fellas posted up on the balcony, unwinding and enjoying the night, makes it all worth it. There’s a certain ritual to nights like these — stepping outside, letting the city’s lights dance while my mind drifts somewhere softer. I take a deep breath, hold onto the moment, then let it go, watching it fade into the LA sky.
Anna Beatty, Arts & Culture Editor, Kawena Jacobs, Editor in Chief, Jameela Bowo, Opinions Editor: Yogurtland
Nothing else can be quite as awesome as being huddled in Anna’s 2018 Subaru Outback — Kawena sitting shotgun with Jameela crouched in the back seat — clutching our cups of frozen yogurt and queuing up “Cloud 9” to get ready for our karaoke session in the parking lot of Yogurtland.
In all honesty, most people wouldn’t find it relaxing. It’s not uncommon for us to have to slip past high school students on an awkward date or rambunctious children whose parents seem to have let them loose in the store. The parking lot is oddly crowded for a Wednesday night, and at least one of us is always close to getting hit by a driver as we trek back to the car. However, within the confines of the humble SUV, all the chaos and pressures of the world melt away as we belt Disney Channel Original Movie soundtracks and gnaw on our gummy toppings that have succumbed to the cold of the yogurt. Every week, we look forward to seeing what new flavors may have been added and perfecting our froyo-to-topping ratio with an array of fruits, sauces, gummies and chocolates.
Yogurtland, though, is not really about our meticulous flavor pairings and discussing who we think Maddie from “Liv and Maddie” should have ended up with. It is an attempt to reckon with the passage of time and getting older while celebrating the simplicity of our childhoods.
From debating decade-old celebrity drama to contemplating our plans after graduation, Yogurtland has given us the chance to disconnect from our current stressors. Our conversations always flow naturally, and we often find ourselves reflecting on our time at Occidental and the things we have to look forward to in the coming week. We find solace in the ease of watching our friendship bloom, and Yogurtland — however boisterous the environment can be — will always be a marker of comfort and relief.
Ava LaLonde, Managing Editor: Library Snack Room
It’s on Floor -1, by the entrance to the stacks. A short hallway next to the water fountain leads into my favorite liminal space on campus — the library’s snack room. Are there any snacks in there? None that I know of. It does contain a seldomly used microwave, three sets of diner-style booth seating and a large half-finished puzzle laying on a table. Who works on this puzzle? I couldn’t say, for the majority of times I encounter the snack room, I find it empty with an air of abandonment. That feeling is imaginary — there’s a whiteboard with different writing on it most times, meaning people have been using the space to study for their exams. But I can’t escape the sensation that the snack room appears when I walk in and disappears when I walk out.
Not a lot of my time is spent there, but I do have some choice memories. During my first year, my friends and I danced along to Just Dance videos on one of our laptops. During my sophomore year, my friend and I investigated the drawers of the Letterpress cabinet and found a poster my FYS class had made. For our group of friends, it is the last choice on the list of lock-in locations, after the study rooms or a random Johnson classroom.
However, the lack of windows and the cold temperature make it a perfect solo focus spot — in a calming way. I can’t keep track of time down there, and it’s hard to get distracted. I listened to a three-hour video lecture from my professor the other day in the snack room, and, somehow, I didn’t get bored. The anxiety induced by a more occupied, serious space like the quiet section doesn’t find a foothold here, and the hum of the bustling, chatty Green Bean fades out. The world of the college falls away, leaving me, my laptop and a slightly uncomfortable diner booth bench.
Ruby Gower, Community Editor: The Fishbowl
The best thing, among many, about the meeting room in the Newcomb Media Suite — the fishbowl, as it’s affectionately known — is that it’s completely soundproof. When you’re safe inside its glass, nobody has to know about any “Wicked” renditions or finals week screaming, no matter how loud or off-key. The second best thing is that, nine times out of ten, my friends (and newspaper colleagues) Avinash and Kawena are always in the Media Suite, to the exclusion of literally everybody else. A late-night fishbowl study session is made a little better knowing that the Suite will be nearly empty except for the sounds of Avinash working on his grad school applications or Kawena rewatching Parasite (again). Other than that, it’s silent; I’m waiting in dread for the day someone else starts using it and I have to find a new hiding place.
When I pitched this spot, someone joked that I was “romanticizing my lack of work-life balance” by professing my love for this little meeting room; what she didn’t understand is that the fishbowl is life (this is not sad, stay with me). Yes, the fishbowl is the ideal place to work — during finals week last semester, I spent upwards of ten hours a day locked in there, emerging only to bother Kawena and beg her to go to the Cooler with me. But what they don’t tell you is that you can do everything in the Suite. This year, I made all my Valentine’s gifts on its floor and FaceTimed my friends from home, the thick glass ensuring that I wasn’t annoying anyone when the calls stretched on late into the night. You can even nap under the table — not that I would know.
It can be quite isolating to be a night owl — when you’re studying or just hanging out and might want a friend there, you find that everyone has long been asleep. But the lights are always on in the Media Suite, and I can spend as much time as I want in the fishbowl knowing my friends are just outside. The only downside is that sometimes they make me go in there to do “newspaper work?” Whatever that’s about.
Francine Ghazarian, Community Editor: The Braun Tree
The summer of 2024 was one of the calmest, most laughter-filled and memorable summers of my life, and I owe it partially to the grand and shady tree in front of the main doors of Braun.
My friends and I had the privilege of doing summer research at Occidental. In the scorching hot months of June and July, the Braun tree not only served as a haven from the heat, but also where my friends and I got together after busy mornings conducting our respective research.
Usually, my work for the day ended earlier than my friends, and I would walk up to my room and prepare our hangout spot until the rest of the group showed up. In the solitude and quiet of a summer afternoon, I would lie down on my blue blanket, either being immersed in Jane Austen’s world through “Sense and Sensibility,” crocheting or writing in my diary about my HJC summer research experience. The wide branches of the tree not only provided me with shade, but they also served as the stage for an orchestra of bees buzzing and sparrows chirping away.
When my friends would finish their work for the day, they would walk up to Braun and find me under the tree. We would convene, discuss our day and watch the K-Drama “Boys Over Flowers.”
That tree got to witness a group of three friends during a summer when they expanded their horizons and knowledge, and it also got to hear sounds of laughter, commentary on movies and discussions about our futures.
Now during the academic year, my friends and I like to go up to the tree when we want to forget about the stress of college and feel the summer nostalgia again.
Amy Wong, Media Editor: San Rafael Elementary School
The last time I visited San Rafael Elementary School in Pasadena as a student was June of 2015. It would’ve been the perfect day to play kickball, but we were having more fun in our dusty old classroom. As soon as the final bell rang, we all ran to give our teacher one final hug before rushing out to an unknown future.
It’s weird returning to San Rafael as an outsider, but seeing my old school again fills me with nostalgia. The “Barcelona Cafe” sign still hangs outside my fifth grade classroom, and the same panda stuffed animal watches the school’s front entrance. But now, all I can do is watch as unfamiliar families walk through once-familiar doors and spend hours sitting wherever makes me look the least like a creep to imagine what the school might look like now.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I took a walk to San Rafael and ran into my old principal, Rudy Ramirez. A cloth mask was covering part of my face and my hair was half the length it used to be, but he recognized me immediately and enthusiastically greeted me. He jokingly asked if my mom was still hovering around me, letting out the same laugh I remember so fondly. We only spoke for a few minutes before he had to run to a meeting, but I will never forget our sweet little conversation.
I typically only get to see San Rafael once a month when the weight of college reaches its peak, allowing me to take it easy for a few hours. These visits remind me that I shouldn’t worry so much about the minor details and instead make the most of the time I have in any given place, so I can visit again to remember all that was good. It might be a little embarrassing to say that I peaked in elementary school, but I can’t ignore the peace of mind that San Rafael has given me even after leaving.
