This summer, I found out that the Shoprite generic brand of Rice Krispies is “Scrunchy Crispy Rice” and lately, I’ve been feeling like the “Scrunchy Crispy Rice” of Sara(h)s. Not Sara(h) exactly, but Sara(h) adjacent.  

And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I came to Kenyon expecting to be the only Sara(h)—trust me, my entire life has prepared me for this moment. Anyone with a common name understands the agony of answering to your own name and getting “No, not you.” Like, I’m sorry, I should have understood by the cadence of your voice that you meant SaraH and not Sara, my bad, let me just go burn myself at the stake now. 

But aside from the apparent prerequisite of being something in the neighborhood of a white brunette, I don’t know what it means to be a true Sara(h). Am I still living up to my name without the h? I’m ashamed to say I don’t have the answers for you, despite all of the soul-searching I’ve been doing while getting lost in Ascension. It’s proven to be a lot easier than finding where I’m actually supposed to be. 

For a while, I entertained the idea of a name change but I don’t really feel like insulting my dead grandmother and I’m trying not to fail Latin at the moment so I don’t really have time to fill out the paperwork. If anyone has any nickname recommendations, just yell “Sara(h)” anywhere on campus and someone will probably respond.