Editorial: On 1/16/2023

Editorial by  SOPHIE MA ‘24

Written 1/17/2023

In Chinese culture, the color white is symbolic of death.

How white the ground is right now, a carpet of grief across our campus. Just yesterday, we marched from our dorms toward Love Gym like a funeral procession, snowflakes covering our bodies in makeshift mourning dresses. The sky draped the bushes outside his dorm with pale shrouds, white cloth cold to the touch. While we walked in that freezing, colorless land, toward a finality many of us already knew, it felt as if the world was mourning.

We, too, were mourning, and then suddenly, we became the world. Everything else faded away. Indeed, everything which was once so significant now feels small in the face of death. In the face of death, life becomes that much more real. We become more real.

At other times, it can seem the exact opposite. Our existence can feel bizarre — surreal. How is it that the sun can shine so beautifully in a time like this? How can time itself continue to trickle when, for one soul, it has stopped forever? I asked myself this and found others asking too. The world may mourn, but it is still too cruel. When I cannot make sense of something, I often turn to the act of writing to make sense of it. Yet today, I find that no matter how many words I put down to paper, some things remain senseless.

In the past 50 hours, I discovered that grief is an infectious thing. It builds with momentum. When you see those around you crying, you can’t help but cry. When you see others in pain, you can’t help but feel their pain. At the same time, I’ve witnessed extraordinary kindness in the smallest and biggest of gestures. In every embrace, our arms grow a little tighter, fingers locked like a promise. We exchange quivering breaths on the napes of our necks as if to say, please don’t let go. 

I’m so scared of letting go.

Our campus may be 675 acres, but it will never be enough to hold our collective grief. 

To those reading, please take care. Take each day and each hour one at a time. To those who loved him and are grieving especially hard, I hope time slows down for you. I hope the world is extra patient and extra loving. I hope you know that it is okay not to be okay. Most importantly, I hope that everyone can find someone to share their burdens.

Rest in peace, Matthew.