Today I saw a student on College Ave. holding this sign that simply says “I’m sorry.” I was heading to work on another campus, but I had some time to quickly ask him what exactly he was sorry for. He explained that he was apologizing for the general hypocrisy of the Church and for those Christians who make it their business to tell others that our existence is wrong–that our homosexuality offends them, that our faith or lack thereof will damn us to hell, and that we have no place in the world.

So, to those students who spent today holding up these signs on College Avenue: I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that when we, as queer and progressive students, lash out at Brother Greg and others, we often forget that they hurt the kind-hearted Christians out there as much as they hurt us. I’m sorry that when students bring ex-gay ministers and other such hateful events to campus, it alienates you–queers, allies, and progressives of the Christian faith–more than anyone. And I’m sorry that we all feel the need to apologize for things we shouldn’t accept fault for.

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As I’m sure many of you know, some students were upset about the rally. These students were also largely misinformed about the purpose of the rally, the events surrounding Tyler’s death, and the history of queer students’ battle for safety and recognition at Rutgers. It’s no coincidence that Tyler is the second queer student at Rutgers to take his own life in the past year or that this particular incident occurred after a horrible violation of his privacy.

For those arguing that this “isn’t what Tyler would want,” you’re probably right. He wouldn’t have wanted a group of students rallying around his death because I’m fairly certain, based on his own online postings as well as basic common sense, that he never wanted his privacy and safety so violated in the first place. Unfortunately, because that’s what happened, a public response is necessary. And when this happens in the context of a university whose housing department continues to refuse LGBTQ students the safe spaces we deserve, even after the suicide last year, it becomes even more important.

At the rally, I heard a number of disturbing comments, largely coming from students who showed up to defend the actions of Tyler’s roommate, arguing that he advertised this private encounter out of “concern” for Tyler. Some were upset at the idea of using Tyler’s death as political leverage, claiming that “no one would care if this were a straight student” (because we all know how biased the world is against heterosexual people, right?), while others simply laughed at the protest and made derogatory comments about a friend of mine (“ew, he said he was transgender, does that mean he was born a woman?”) as well as other students at the event.

The fact that these students are comfortable enough in their own privilege to make such blatantly homophobic and transphobic comments at a rally organized by queer and allied students perfectly illustrates the kind of environment we are dealing with. This type of ignorance is not limited to the students I interacted with, either. Months ago, the head of housing at Rutgers told me that because safe spaces imply that other areas of campus are not safe, she will never agree to the idea of safe space residence halls. Of course, by default, no place is a safe space–but even in the wake of this tragedy, many students and administrators prefer to remain ignorant to the pressures facing LGBTQ students and the fact that homophobia and harassment were indeed at the root of Tyler’s death. It’s just unfortunate that our school is so willing to neglect our need for real safety in order to protect the illusion of safety they so pride themselves on.

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Anyway, I took this photo on my phone during a creative writing workshop that was held in the library. The quote on the wall says “libraries enable the past to talk to the future,” which I thought was funny, considering the quote was painted on the doorway leading to the computer lab section of the library, which was basically the only part of the library being utilized. That’s one thing my high school does have in common with this one — our library has a computer lab, and couches, and a study area, and even a reading room, but the books themselves haven’t been touched in decades. I think that’s more because the students typically buy their books rather than because they don’t read, but it seems odd to have a whole dusty collection of books just sitting there like some sort of decorative accessory…

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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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I visited my high school on Friday — a trip that’s always followed by a frantic search for old photos, essays, projects, and whatever else I can find as I subject my friends to cheesy anecdotes and a list of complaints about changes I do not approve of (a maroon carpet, really?). What I found last night were these photograms, made during my senior year with whatever jewelry I was wearing that day in the fall of 2007 and the help of a pen flashlight from my Harriet the Spy phase. If you’re wondering why I was still carrying around my spy gear at age 17, take this as a hint that you should never have private conversations within earshot of me…

So, in the midst of a rant about the class registration process, I mentioned to my former photo teacher that I’m taking Digital Storytelling next semester, a class he was already familiar with, as the new film course at Prep is apparently an offshoot of some of the Literature & Technology courses at the Writers House. They created this course with the help of the former chair of our English department at Rutgers, whose daughter I had just met, randomly, in the art studio… and I’m now absolutely certain of my theory that when you graduate from Rutgers Prep, the “six degrees of separation” phenomenon is cut to just half that. I’m hoping that next time I visit, I can meet a student who is somehow related to Mariah Carey. In the meantime, I’ll begin composing my list of reasons why I’d make a better spouse than Nick Cannon.

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