Navigating impasse often is a mix of swerve and song: extremely rewarding and heavy. My lived experiences have offered me expertise in collecting human stories and histories; nevertheless, I acknowledge the constraints of my self-study and resources.

It may seem interesting that I am choosing to pursue training in such a privileged institution, that has not always been on the right side of history - especially regarding BIPOCs domestically and globally, student and faculty protesters, and dissenters. I can only apply a Sedgwickian concept in stating this: studying a field such as oral history at an Ivy League is “Kinda hegemonic, kinda subversive”(Kosofsky Sedgwick 15). I hold the truth of Columbia’s past and present history and its world status, in tandem with recognizing the urgent need for oral historical intervention, and a deep,deep, knowing of myself.

When I sat down to write this reflection I had just finished reading one-half of Depression: A Public Feeling by Ann Cvetkovich, an appropriate text for a time when I was questioning my mental state, academia, and the tumultuous marriage of the two. I thought a lot about the liminality of mental health, the use of manic energy, and the depression nestled in my body. I was fascinated by my study: writing my inquiries in the blank margins and corners of the book. I fervently journaled in my notebook and jotted afterthoughts on sticky notes and scrap pieces of paper. I gave space to all the voices in my head.

Twenty-twenty-two: that was the year I began to slip into chronic illness. The first signs exhibited as depression, muscle weakness, and numbness. Gradually, these were accompanied by loss of sensation in my legs, creaky stiff joints, and back pain. Sometimes, even contradictory symptoms, like stinging nerve pain in my limbs and extremities, and a feeling of: “Always cold," then “Always hot”. Then, something I shared with very few people until this moment: “An MRI image showing an abnormal growth of tissue on one leg”. A benign neoplasm the size of a peach, throbbing and painfully pushing against nerves. All this was very confusing; all I kept thinking was, may this not be the beginning of madness.