Oberlin Blogs

You know that one, the one where you're scrambling to get things done and say goodbye to everyone, and y'know, pack? I like that day, but I don't.

Spring break in Mammoth Cave! Featuring: flutes, food, camping, kodama, hiking and super-cool people.

Personally, I was completely terrified of the concept of office hours my freshman year. The professors were amazing and awesome and being in the same room as them one-on-one just seemed like a god-given experience, something not worthy of a lowly freshman. So, baby steps.

Why do so many Oberlin students double or triple major? I really want to know.

My colleagues and I looked at each other in astonishment. No, we mumbled almost apologetically, we're sorry, but that is not a problem we tend to have.

Tomorrow will be my first opportunity to listen to my completed mix, The Long Road Home. That last leg that seems to last oh-so-long will be much quicker this time.

I don't know what it is about giving a speech that makes it so affecting, its ability to connect with and instill hope and pride in the hearts of listeners. All I knew at the time was that it was something I had to experience doing.

Once people get over the novelty of Dorothy jokes and tornado questions - inevitable, I've learned, when I'm outside of my home state and meeting new people - it's actually pretty cool to be from somewhere unusual. Especially when I get the opportunity to share my hometown and state with other Obies, many of whom have never even been so far west.

I’ve been having fun reading about everyone else’s paths to Oberlin, so I thought I’d throw my own story into the mix.

I think a die a little bit every time someone uses the word Obie to describe a person who goes to Oberlin (as in: We Obies love to hate things). I think The Grape--one of Oberlin College's many publications--described the word as (and I'm paraphrasing here) "used only by The Review and the Admissions Department."

A couple days ago, I decided that I would take advantage of all of the free time I have on my hands and set out to Tigre, a city located in the delta of the Paraná River, a half-hour train ride from downtown Buenos Aires. I got lost exploring the island, but it was worth it.

During fall orientation, while moving all my belongings from storage to my room, I got a phone call inviting me to Thanksgiving. And due to the sheer wonderfulness of this family, and their foresight, I accepted. I knew that my Thanksgiving would feel like home with the Albrechts.