I love seeing the confusion that flashes through the eyes of a straight white man as he tries to decide what aspect of my identity to attack first. Should he go with the tried and true misogyny, or sneer at my caramel skin? Or perhaps he should settle for the low-hanging fruit and comment on my hijab.
I’ve never considered myself a foodie, but I can’t deny that eating is one of my favorite activities. There’s something special about sharing a hot meal with people who equally warm your heart. Back home, my sister and I always gorge on homemade meals together over laughter-filled conversations or purposeless movies. Our meals together are some of my favorite memories and one of the things I was most afraid to let go of when preparing for my move to college. I did, however, feel comforted by the flood of anecdotes I heard about the unique freshmen dining experience at Annenberg which I hoped would fill the void.
I never realized how much of home I would actually miss in the dining hall. Whereas before, I could always count on my mother’s comforting food to make me feel at home after a long day, I am now always struggling to find comfort from the once-reliable friend I call food.
My first few weeks of college have been a whirlwind of emotions: awe at the beautiful campus, excitement to meet my suitemates, nerves to leave my family for the first time. And of course, buried underneath everything, doubt that I would be able to handle the transition.