Crimson opinion writer
Christina M. Xiao
I miss outside. I miss Eliot dining hall, and lying on friends’ carpets, and unmasked laughter. I miss normalcy. If Harvard’s Covid years saw time freeze, isolation is the most hellish version of that. But come the end of my day five, I will follow the isolation policy to the best of my ability. If I’m still symptomatic, I’m locking myself in here again. This will harm me, no doubt. But crucially, I do not want to harm other people.
It’s clear there are many reasons for undergraduates to love and miss shopping week, but this love doesn’t take into account the burden placed on others. There is no reason why course preview period can’t effectively replace shopping week, especially during the pandemic but even beyond it. Doing so will simply demand a greater measure of empathy and respect for our fellow undergraduates, faculty members, graduate students, and one another.
When I started this column several months ago, I asked you to run away into the stars with me. I hope you have marveled at what you found alongside me. I hope you have fallen in love with yourself through astrology’s external view of yourself. I hope you will continue to love and cherish yourself.
There’s a center of gravity between the extreme ends of the social interaction spectrum: outgoing, enthusiastic Jupiter, and aloof, skeptical Saturn. It’s different for everyone, but you’ll find it because it all comes from you, written in the stars from your birth. Take it easy. Friendships at Harvard are hard to navigate. But you have the map to the treasure right there, inside of you.
You will suffer sucky breakups. But through all of them, you remain worthy of love — no matter how complicated your Venus situation is. As the stars spin in the sky, eventually, someone is born under a configuration that clicks with your own Venus. By pure number-crunching alone, there is someone out there for you.