This photo was taken in the most sacred place in all of Demarest. It’s hard to explain this particular tradition to those who are unfamiliar with my dorm, and to avoid divulging too much information to those whose jobs are to keep this place so secure, I will leave it at this: we are the first generation of Demarites to reach this place in the past four years, and it probably will not be done again for quite some time. I have to avoid posting any of the (better) pictures that reveal what this place is and who is in it, but it was amazing to see some of the things that were written in this place, some of it dating back to the 1950′s. Unfortunately, days after this success, we learned of a tragedy in the dorm that affected our community in a way I’ve never seen before. On Thursday night, our friend and beloved Demarite took his own life.

I chose this particular photo for an entry about my friend because when we reached this sacred place, I noticed one psalm in particular that was written on the wall: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalms 30:5) My friends know that I’m not one to quote the Bible as anything that is meaningful to me, but that psalm has always struck me as particularly moving, and I know it is something that Onion wholeheartedly believed. In spite of everything, Onion was the most positive and outwardly optimistic person I’ve ever known — and when I say that Onion lived to cheer people up, it’s not just something to say. I remember distinctly the times we counted attendance sheets and request forms in e-board meetings and always stopped at his name to mention how wonderful, how involved, how dedicated, and how sweet he was. There was never anything Onion wasn’t willing to do for a friend or neighbor. It’s hard to think back now on how suffocating it must have been for him to live every single day for another person, because he never even let on about the difficulties going on in his life. The few personal struggles in his that we were privy to, he seemed to handle with ease. I know it’s pointless and vain to look for warning signs after the fact, but it’s so difficult to think back on every memory I have of him and realize that he was never as happy as he seemed, and that every smile and every hug he ever gave to me was for me, and not for him. We always question the people who look more upset and more depressed than usual, and never think to worry about the people who don’t seem capable of expressing any sort of negative emotion at all.

I don’t really know how to begin explaining what we’ve been going through these past few days or what our response has been. It’s just hard to believe that something like this could happen in our own home, and I don’t think I’ve ever lost someone in quite the same way before. When someone passes away in a place like Demarest, there’s hardly a single person in the entire community that isn’t affected. We all grieve together. We go to bed and wake up with a hundred people who are all crying with us. It wasn’t until hours later that I realized life was still going on outside of the dorm, and that it was a regular Thursday night of drinking and partying and everything else. It’s almost assaulting to finally walk out into that after an experience like we had. I can’t even write about how I found out because it was such a horrifying realization when it finally clicked for me, and all I could think about was finding Kayla… never mind trying to fathom how this could happen to someone like Onion. But returning to normalcy, I’m realizing, is even more frightening. I’ve slept in Kayla’s room for two nights, avoided the dining hall, avoided leaving Demarest at all, and cried with people I don’t think I’ve ever had close relationships with at all. I think we’re all getting over the initial shock of it together, and I’m amazed at how supportive our entire community has been, but it’s not easy to know how to grieve when someone passes away like this. I do know that we’re all lucky to have known Onion, and for now, that and the support of our Demarest family is what’s getting us by.

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Luckily, Hall Government was cancelled tonight so that the love birds amongst us could spend the evening fornicating, and the rest of us learned about and composed erotic fiction in the Main Lounge (a joint section between Creative Writing and Sex, Sexuality & Gender — it’s a hit every year). You’d think the cancelled meeting would allow for plenty of free time, but somehow I ended up still awake at 1:30, blogging instead of sleeping… I should really work on that, considering I wake up at 6:30 during the week…

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Tonight, Demarest co-sponsored its second LGBT Shabbat dinner with Hillel, and this time Kesher (the Reform group within Hillel) and Kol Halayla (the Jewish a cappella group on campus) also got involved. Last year we were ecstatic that about 30 or 40 people showed up, and this year, our attendance doubled. I don’t know if it was because of advertising, because we did a better job of reaching out to various communities on campus, or because the timing was just right (a week after our unified protest against the Westboro Baptist Church), but either way, it was a huge success.

Rachel, on the left, is a high school friend who is active in Hillel and played a big part in organizing the event. Next to her is Kenny, yet another friend from high school, who ran the service. We soon realized that altogether, there were 5 Rutgers Prep alumni in the room at once, spanning across 4 different years (Adam left before the picture was taken). Considering our high school is only a few miles down the road from our campus, this probably doesn’t seem so exceptional, but when you consider the fact that my graduating class consisted of about 80 students, it’s rather impressive.

As Kenny ran the service, he talked about the relationship between his Jewish identity and his gay identity, so there were lots of different ideas thrown out about how to interpret Leviticus, how to approach various laws from the perspective of the Reform movement, and how to rectify one’s sexuality and religion. On one level I understood the idea of wanting to break away from religion because of its intolerance of homosexuality while feeling a longing for the culture and beliefs that we all grew up with, but to some extent I’ve always struggled with the very idea of returning to my “Jewish roots” — mainly because I don’t have any. I was raised Catholic until a couple of years past my first communion, only turning to Judaism out of curiosity and as some bizarre act of rebellion in middle school. (Rebellion is clearly something I failed miserably at — while other girls were piercing their bellybuttons in the bathroom and making out with boys at the municipal grounds, I was enrolling in Hebrew school and becoming a vegetarian. In some of my more daring moves, I stole chocolate and engaged in political debate with my parents.)

So, once my mother converted to Judaism and became more interested in the study of it, that turned me away entirely. It still does, even as I become more interested in Jewish culture, largely because she uses religion to stand in place of her family… by no coincidence did her interest in Judaism coincide with her father’s death — and even more directly, her actual conversion coincided with her ultimate decision that “those people” (meaning her mother and sisters) were not a part of her family. I think that’s why it always upsets me to see her lighting the Shabbat candles alone and saying the prayers by herself, because these are such family-oriented practices that seem completely out of place at our kitchen table. That’s where I’m left unsure of what it means to have Jewish roots, because I’ve always been more interested in the culture and community than anything else, and that’s where conversion becomes an extremely controversial topic within the (ethnically) Jewish community, as it’s not really possible to “convert” to a culture…

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At Damian’s suggestion, we embarked on this pumpkin-picking excursion early today — and although it involved waking up at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m. on a Saturday, enlisting the help of our hall director and other drivers in the building to help make the trip, and sliding around in the mud and rain searching for pumpkins all morning, the outing was a definite success. Out of my group, Kayla drove, meaning an appropriate mix of showtunes and country music on the way to the farm, where RJ, as expected, found the largest pumpkin he could (aside from the $50 monstrosity sitting in front of the register). Dan was far more interested in the deformed pumpkins and even more phallic-looking gourds, while I spent most of my time looking through the baskets of mini pumpkins for the cutest one, contemplating the possibility of cooking pumpkin seeds in the microwave. (In my household, anything involving actual cooking is strictly frowned upon — but I’ve escaped from inheriting at least some of my mother’s foodisms, as the only thing she really eats other than raw vegetables is buffalo, something I’m not so inclined to try…)

After buying our pumpkins, Kayla, RJ, Dan, Liz and I set off for the dollar store, where everyone bought lights for their Jack-O-Lanterns. Once again, our purchases pretty accurately summed us up as a group, with Kayla buying a raincoat for Dexter, RJ getting a whole pile of useless items that will somehow, one day, come in handy, and Dan finding yet another black hat to add to his collection of all black clothing. I, of course, was more interested in the candy aisle, while Liz seemed to be the only one who could remember what we actually came in for.

Clearly, we’re an interesting bunch of people.

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Here is my proud bed-racing team from the Charity Bed Race event that Demarest Hall participated in tonight. On the bed, from left to right, we have RJ, Dan, and Andrew (whose breasts looked fabulous — even better than they did during our drag show last year, when he wore the pink bra I lent to him from the picture on the right). Finally, squatting down, we have Catherine, who led our team to victory in the first round.

As outreach coordinator in our dorm (sorry, “residence hall” — apparently “dorm” sounds like a prison), I signed us up for this event and pitched the idea of a drag theme for our dorm. It was a subtler version of my original suggestion, “Free our Bathrooms,” which was a response to the housing administration “taking away” our gender neutral bathrooms this year, despite the fact that gender-free bathrooms have been a part of our dorm’s culture for years (largely because of the queer presence here, but also for the convenience of all residents, as we pride ourselves on having a very active and tight-knit community, and regulating which bathrooms students can use in a place they consider to be their home is absurd). However, a charity event didn’t seem like the appropriate venue for such antagonism, so we ditched the toilet seat and went with a giant purple penis modeled after the now infamous Power Penis Vibe. I’ll save the story behind that one for another time.

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