Aviva Binder

I never read my columns once they are published because I’m always afraid of discovering an unintended meaning in my words that I didn’t notice when I first wrote it. What if I come across as selfish, or cocky when writing my columns? What if they aren’t relatable at all?

We landed in Oakland Airport, and my first mission was already clear: get In-N-Out. After the disappointing chips, however, I was less clear. Where do I go from here?

I resisted obsession of boy bands and MagCon boys, avoided indulging in makeup until I was in high school, and certainly didn’t claim pink as my favorite color. But why? Why was it necessary for me to avoid these things?

Why are certain things considered hobbies, but not others? How come watching movies is a hobby, but watching TV is not? Why is playing video games a hobby, but not watching YouTube? Cooking is a hobby, but eating good food is not?

My identity felt fluid and contextual. Depending on where I was or who I was with, a different aspect of my identity would come forward. When people ask about my name, Aviva, I am Jewish. When people ask about my parents, I am Indian and white. When people ask where I’m from, I say San Francisco.

I did get into UC Berkeley in the end, but college decisions were a huge reality check for me. And it also brought into conflict two aspects of my personality: the confidence in my academic ability, and my lack thereof in pretty much anything else.

My whole world revolved around these 30 people in my elementary school class; none deemed me worthy of a crush. I became an introvert, engaging in the less rambunctious games during recess and not talking much outside of class.

Not only was my college journey stunted by the arrival of a pandemic, but I felt that I was stuck in my middle school body. My height, paired with a natural baby face and now the braces, made me feel like I was never going to get this dream college glow-up that everyone else had.