The 47 Bond

Cecil on Carnegie steps
By Danny DeBare ‘22 In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Pomona College is OBSESSED with the number 47. Why? Beats me. If you go to the Wikipedia page and listen to donor speeches, you might find “a reason,” but don’t believe it’s worthy of every advertisement campaign and piece of apparel this college promotes. But, whether I like it or not, this prime number reminds me ...
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The Claremont Community

Daphne at Bert & Rocky's
By Daphne Chapline '22 One rainy Sunday morning, I was walking back to campus from a yoga class at Claremont Yoga when I heard someone yell, “Daphne, wait!” I turned around and saw a staff member of Bert and Rocky’s, an ice cream shop in the Claremont Village. I ran inside the shop, she handed me some pumpkin bread and said “Here, on me!” As I ate my pumpkin bread, I chatted...
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A Letter for Incoming Black Students, from a Black Student

By Ebere Amadi '22 It was a 47-minute car ride from my house to Pomona College on Move-In Day, August 25th, 2018. I drove down the 60 freeway with a car full of family, luggage, and Frank Ocean’s nostalgic tunes. As the familiar melodies of Ivy and Nights boomed through my speakers, I almost cried as Frank beautifully sang “we’ll never be those kids again” because it was tru...
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First-Year Tips on Surviving Pomona College

Frary dining hall
By Myles Ashitey ‘22 Being here for almost a full academic year, I am starting to feel comfortable amongst students and faculty alike. Not to sound overconfident, but I’m 90% sure that I know almost all the ins and outs of Pomona College. Whether I’ve experienced it myself or heard it through upperclassmen, I know what jobs to find, what dining halls to eat at, what activiti...
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Questions I Wish People Asked Me on Tours

Danny giving a tour
By Danny DeBare ‘22 Giving a tour can be really fun. When you have a group that isn’t too big–but just big enough to have a wide variety of interests and perspectives– that’s when the best energy and information flow. On the flip side, sometimes my tours resembles an audio guide, a voice in your ears that sort of just talks at you when meandering through a vaguely historical...
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Getting to Kyrgyzstan

Dakota on Cecil the Sagehen's back
By Dakota Crookston ‘21 My parents met online, I found Pomona through a web search, and I’m flying to Kyrgyzstan in seven hours because I googled “intensive russian study summer.” My trek started late last August, when I was scrubbing the internet for summer opportunities to learn Russian abroad. Unfortunately, the well-known Critical Languages Scholarship was out of the ...
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My First Year at Pomona: Seven Things I’m Grateful For

faces of friends looking down
By Becky Zhang ‘22   A few days ago, my best friend (who took Intro to Psychology and had many a fun fact to share with me throughout the semester) shared that gratitude was an effective remedy for all sorts of maladies. She dropped some statistics on the scientifically-proven benefits of practicing gratitude: an extra half-hour of sleep, and so on. Whether or not th...
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Oh, . . . So You’re an Only Child?

Cogie as child with mother
By Cogie Celzo ‘22 “… How about you, Cogie? Do you have any siblings?” “No, actually, I’m an only child.” “Reaaallyyy?! You don’t strike me as one!” There is a certain mystique surrounding only children and the ways in which we perceive ourselves versus how others do. The psychology behind how only children are raised is fascinating, indeed, but after having gone th...
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What It Means To Be More Than a Name

Magali in front of sign about being yourself
By Magali Ngouabou ‘22 The American government knows me as Magali Astride Cyrielle Leslie Ngouabou Noubissi. The first four are all my first names, and the last one is supposed to be my middle name, but the guy at the social security office (who was somehow in charge of typing out the name I’d have to live with) messed up. As a result, I now have to squeeze even more of my n...
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Small-Town Roots and the Whirlwind of Disaster

sunset among clouds
By Calder Hollond ‘21 When I was a young child, my mom taught me my address, one of the first pieces of information I ever memorized. If you put this address into a GPS, it would lead you to an old farmstead in the countryside in Linwood, Kansas, on a sprawling 40 acres of fields where I spent my childhood roaming around. Linwood itself is a small town of 400 people, and sur...
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