Archive for the ‘onLove’ Category

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

Greetings Readers,

My first order of business is to introduce myself as a new Campus Clipper guest blogger. My name is Ashley Teal, and I’ll be here to speak on all things Love and of Values. As we all know, the rest of the world sees New Yorkers as fast-paced, dark, and cynical. I’m here to bring a little sunshine into the world, as well as prove for certain that New Yorkers are hopeless romantics just like any mid-western mush or southern sap. With a pinch of realism and a scoop of the warm and fuzzy, I’ll be focusing on the heart warming aspects of life, including advice, psychological studies, and recipes for love potions and swoon worthy dishes.  After all, it can be a drab and gloomy city if you’re looking through the wrong kaleidoscope.

I obtained my B.A. in English gushing over the classics and soaking up the local color of the Hudson Valley’s legendary writers. Some sway for the red carpet’s guest list, while I squeeled with delight at visiting scholars. What kept me wandering the stacks of the university library, letting my fingers run down thousands of cracked, dusty spines, was the work of so many, the lives of thousands, poured into those pages. While it may have been written in solitude, literature speaks volumes about human connection, which thrills my skin to prickles. All human connection is love, which fuels our values.

I hope you’ll all stay with me and leave a little brighter, with a little more faith in humanity and see the glimmer of what we can accomplish as we spin on this big ball together. So, greetings, nice to meet you, won’t you take off your coat and stay a while? Don’t forget to check out my blog:  amteal.tumblr.com

Love,

A.M. Teal
amteal.tumblr.com

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Vagabonding in NYC

Friday, December 3rd, 2010

Written by Megan Soyars

Soon after I arrived in New York City, I found myself unemployed, friendless, and—worst of all—homeless.

I’d headed up to NYC from Texas on a something of a romantic whim. I’d seen the Big Apple portrayed glamorously in movies and television, I’d listened to Alicia Key’s New York, rocking my head to the beat and thinking, I could make it there. Life in the city drew me like a moth to flame, and just like a moth, my journey was unplanned and perilous. I simply packed up my bags, bid my parents farewell, and hopped on an overnight flight.

When I arrived in NYC early next morning, exhausted yet disparately exhilarated, I called up my friend to let her know I had arrived. I’d made arrangements to sleep on her couch for a week or two till I found my own place. She responded to my call with a devastating message—her grandmother had fallen ill and was moving in to live with them. In other words, I had no place to crash that night. I made some desperate scrambling and secured a $65 room at the YMCA for the next two days. Then I called up another random friend, who agreed to let me sleep on her futon for three or so weeks. But then she kicked me out early. Once again I was a vagabond.

After a month of hostel-hopping throughout the city, I was desperate to find a permanent place. I was tired of moving, tired of suffering through uncomfortable beds and loud hostel-mates, tired of throwing away clothes and toiletries to lighten my load.

While my fellow hostel-mates (all international kids around my own age) headed to the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and other bustling attractions, I sat hunched over my laptop in the lounge, scouring the housing ads on Craigslist. Then I made a discovery—a discovery that turned around my hapless situation and ultimately made my experience in New York City an inspiring one.

That discovery was the existence of Centro Maria Woman’s Residence. Centro Maria is one of several boarding houses in NYC. These boarding houses provide a safe and peaceful place to stay for hundreds of young people. Depending on the house, a person pays between $400 to $1,000 a month for a furnished room. Many of the rooms are single, but some are double or triple if you’d prefer a roommate. Several residences also provide meals, usually two a day.

So everything was provided for me at Centro Maria. I had a clean, furnished room, complete with a bed, dresser, desk, chair, and sink. I was given free home-cooked, delicious meals twice a day. I had access to a library, TV lounge, and computers. And all for $720 a month! But not only that, I was given a sense of community.

Centro Maria is run by the Sisters of Mary Immaculate. The Sisters genuinely care about each woman in the house. It is like having several moms who are all ready to lend a helping hand. I also have a great roommate; she is from South Korea and studying English here. And I’ve met so many friends during breakfast and dinner in the dining room downstairs.

I still remember how lonely I was when bumming from hostel to hostel during my first months in New York. I’d lay awake at night, listening to my hostel-mates chatter in their own language as they packed up their luggage for a midnight flight. I’m so thankful that I found Centro Maria, and I know the residence is a great option for students like you.

Perhaps you’re living somewhere temporarily, or somewhere that you don’t want to be. Maybe you’re tired of the dorms, or your roommate, or you’re running out of money and need an affordable place to live. Consider Centro Maria! You don’t only get a room here; you get a family. And who knows—maybe I’ll see you at the residence soon!

Contact Centro Maria at 212-757-6989 or cenmariany@mindspring.com to secure a room. Or check out the many other NYC boarding houses available at this website.

And, if you’d like to know more about student housing, pre-order our $9.95 NYC Student Guide today by emailing us at clip@campusclipper.com.

-Megan, Trinity University

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Work of Art

Thursday, August 12th, 2010

Last night, Bravo‘s hit reality show “Work of Art- The Next Great Artist,” whose premise is to discover the next big thing in art through grueling weekly challenges and eliminations,  came to a surprising end. After duking it out with two other finalists, the underdog, Abdi Farah, ended up taking the grand prize-$100,000 and an opportunity to showcase his work at the coveted Brooklyn Museum. As the show came to a close, I overwhelmed by a series of emotions- happy that one of the two people I had been rooting for from the beginning had won the show; sad that I hadn’t decided to become a talent agent because I’ve ‘discovered’ just about everyone from Britney Spears to James Patterson (well their work blows up after I listen to them which may sound a bit egotistical but I know some folks can relate to this feeling) and angry that I have absolutely no artistic talent!

Throughout the past five or so years, I’ve attempted to weed out a hidden artistic talent by buying a how-to-draw book, sketchbook, canvas, brushes, etc (you name it, I bought it) and getting to work. It wasn’t until about the summer of 2007 that I discovered and subsequently lost my muse- a tall dark and handsome man who I had fallen in love with and who unfortunately didn’t share my sentiments.  I poured my aching heart out onto the pages of my sketchbook- the converse sneakers that he so often wore, the horses in Central Park that we’d ride on in my daydreams. For the entire summer, I drew and the work was unbelievably good.

After the initial disappointment of love lost subsided, however, I could barely even draw a straight line. It made me wonder:  Was I just hallucinating? Were all those amazing drawings just a figment of my crazy imagination? My only piece of evidence, the sketchbook,  is no where to be found so I guess we’ll never know.

These days the only doodling I’m doing is in the pages of my Hello Kitty Activity book. Whenever I need to stock up on art supplies (color pencils in my case) or fine papers for resumes or presentations, I always head to A.I. Friedman. They offer a wide selection of products for the home or office- everything ranging from computer supplies to custom framing.

A.I. Friedman’s  great prices and the even greater student discounts that are offered throughout the year allow  you to shop til you drop without feeling an ounce of guilt. Whether you’re just looking to stock up on school supplies, furnish  a home office or embrace your inner artist as I continue to do,  the experts at A.I. Friedman can help with all of your creative needs!

-Milka, The New School

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Make New Friends and Keep the Old: Wet, Hot, New York Summer

Tuesday, July 27th, 2010

This past weekend, College Girl was up in the city visiting me.  We devoted about two hours only to talking about her split with Navy Boy (after which I promptly defriended him on facebook – I am of the opinion that it’s totally appropriate for friends to hold grudges for each other when one half of the friendship is too nice to be mad on their own behalf, but I digress) and the rest of the weekend enjoying New York City in the summer.

I have no job, and all of my friends know this.  They know that my life is primarily dictated by how much money my parents are willing to give me at any given time, and seeing as how College Girl is their favorite friend of mine, they weren’t too hard to get money from for the weekend.  However, I set myself to the task of finding free things to do, and as most of us either know or are learning, there’s plenty to do in the city that’s free.  I think I’ve seen a few blogs from some of the other bloggers dedicated entirely to the city’s free events scattered throughout the summer.

Brooklyn Bridge Park and Bryant Park both have movies showing throughout the summer, sponsored by SyFy and HBO, respectively.  In Brooklyn, every Thursday you can see a movie with the sun setting on Manhattan in the background and music provided by a DJ.  Their selection is varied, from Dreamgirls to Rear Window to The Big Lebowski and I’m counting down the days until August 26th when they’ll be playing Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.   Bryant Park is showing old school Hollywood movies, with classic favorites Rosemary’s Baby and Carousel. These two parks aren’t the only places showing free movies throughout the summer, but they’re my two favorites.

College Girl got to New York via the Megabus right around noon, just in time for a day of thunderstorms.  I have this standing theory that whenever I have a visitor, the weather is going to be bad, and the rain starting just as she texted me that she was in her cab is my case and point.  We wandered around my area of East Harlem for a while, not completely out of the rain even with umbrellas, before an impromptu trip to Whole Foods for ice cream, waffles, and pie.  Let it be known that from my stop on the 6 to the Whole Foods at Union Square takes about half an hour, but it’s definitely worth it for the blueberry pie.  After that we decided on an easy night of Chinese food and “Degrassi.”  Laughing at the absurdity of a tornado warning in New York that night, we both relaxed and caught up on each other’s lives, hoping that the next day would bring nicer weather and a chance for me to show off what I’ve learned about the city from living in it on my own for a year.

One of the best things about the city in the summer, not even taking into account the free opportunities offered, is Central Park.  With that said, Central Park is the perfect place for those with few funds to hang out.  Every summer Central Park is host to Shakespeare in the Park, often boasting big name actors that love their craft so much they are willing to put on a free show.  Tickets are hard to come by, free as they are, and can be gotten through an online lottery or standing in line for hours.  Saturday was The Merchant of Venice, and as much as I enjoy Shakespeare I wasn’t that interested until I saw the name Al Pacino.   I haven’t lived in the city long enough to be  immune to the appeal of stars like him, and again, the fact that such a thing is free, blows my mind.

Central Park also has its Summer Stage, and since we were unable to get tickets to Shakespeare in the Park, College Girl and I walked around until we literally stumbled upon a crowd of people all heading to, what we soon discovered, a free performance of the  Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater.  With the air cooling thanks to the sun going down, we watched the Alvin Ailey dancers with the soundtrack of live blue music in the background, and it was maybe of my favorite experiences of the city so far.

-Mary K

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Make New Friends and Keep the Old: Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Tuesday, July 6th, 2010

After seven years of dating, Navy Boy and College Girl have ended things.  Five months into an engagement that surprised absolutely no one, the two of them called it quits quietly somewhere between New Jersey and Washington on a cross country road trip they set out on together.  I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, them driving to Washington together and her flying home, alone.  I think that if this was a movie, she would have gone to the airport only to be stopped by him at the last moment with a grand gesture and a “Stay with me!”  But it’s not.

Navy Boy and College Girl breaking up is a difficult for me to accept as it is for a young child’s parents getting divorced.  I said it before that I don’t like change, and I really don’t.  Navy Boy is being deployed somewhere in two weeks, and I think his deployment involves being in a submarine for three months or something but I can’t remember and it’s not something I feel right asking either of them about.

The two of them were the basis of every argument I’ve ever had about things working out if you try hard enough when it comes to distance and those you love, but I think now they’re working more towards the “If you love something, let it go” end of the cliché spectrum.  My dad actually brought that saying up when he first heard about the two of them, and it’s funny to me that he would say that, that he was as invested in two kids’ relationship as much as any of their friends were.  I think, more than anyone else, my two friends know what it’s like to deal with growing up.  Both know what it’s like to sacrifice for someone you love, and to know when giving up on each other doesn’t really mean giving up on each other, but that it’s still the best thing to do even if it hurts.

College is a time for meeting new people, seeing new things, experiencing new experiences.  They’re both going to get that chance now, though in different ways, and that’s a good thing.

-Mary K

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Networking: the art of knowing a guy who knows a guy.

Monday, July 5th, 2010

I attended a pretty blah networking workshop the other day but managed to walk away from it with some  not-so-blah food for thought:
Networking–you can and should always be doing it. Although workshop instructors make it out to be a science, it’s really more of a life philosophy. It’s the the acknowledgment that anyone we meet at any point can take us to new and exciting places regardless of whether they help us out or we help them out.

Networking is about coming to terms with the fact that by yourself you are a pretty small entity, but with links to others, your reach is infinitely broader and your possibilities increase exponentially.

Sound good? Okay, so where do you start?

With the very next person you encounter.

It means genuinely taking an interest in the people around you without a specific end goal in mind. After all, you can’t pin point a goal until you have some information, so just go information digging. Make it your mission to keep searching until you discover something about the person that
surprises, intrigues, or excites you. Keep exploring till you hear yourself saying: “Oh! Really?” And focus on listening, asking open ended questions, and thinking of how you or someone in your network could help this person out. Introduce people to one another whenever the opportunity arises. Remember also to network with people you already now. The person who is now your physics homework buddy can also turn out to be an event planning guru or know someone who is.
So connect yourself, connect others, then reconnect–as long as it’s genuine and you are interested in the give as much as the take. Let’s make this world a more collaborative sandbox.

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Late Night Creations

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

written by Sabina Ashbaugh

We always substitute an egg with two tablespoons of vanilla soymilk—a slight variation that leaves the dough runny and easier to mix with the cracked wooden spoon. The timer is set for 12 minutes, not 14 as the cookbook suggests, with a reminder at the six-minute mark to switch the top and bottom trays in the oven. Despite these careful discrepancies, accumulated over countless nights, our creations are never completely predictable. We speculate whether it might be the heat of the dimly lit kitchen, and that volatile summer breeze that seeps in through the windows and seems to soften the contours of the room.
Despite our many trials, my sister and I never fully plan our baking efforts, or even carefully measure out the ingredients of our amended recipes. The soymilk substitution, now a permanent step in the cookie making process, came from a late realization that the egg carton was deceptively empty. As if to support this impulsiveness, the planned desserts baked for family dinners—the pumpkin or apple pies, the blueberry cobblers, the cinnamon buns, the madeleines—are never as good as the spontaneous endeavors to satisfy late night cravings. The immediate satisfaction of these creations quickly assuaged the worries and anxieties amassed during school or work. Tasks divided and ingredients laid out, my sister and I get to work setting right the wrongs of the day.
It has been a year now since I moved away from home. Some months have flown by while others have painstakingly inched to a close, with pangs of homesickness and late night baking cravings that seemed to arise out of nowhere. Family, a concept that had seemed so natural and tangible just a year ago, has slowly been abstracted to stand for that sense of place so radically reconfigured after leaving for school. In times of stress, I often caught myself about to call the house with a confused plea of “What should I do?”
With distance I have come to realize how often I unintentionally underappreciated this form of support. I cringe at the thought that the ease and spontaneity of those nights spent baking are a lost bridge between my sister and I—treasured memories to look back on fondly but ones impossible to recapture. And yet the removal of this crutch has also forced me to examine how I will right the wrongs of the day in my own way—not by baking, but through the careers and choices that lie ahead.
Moving away is an exciting step towards independence and deciding how and what one wants to change in the world. In the midst of so many choices, the advice offered by family is a means of grounding oneself in times of transformation. Finding a niche in college involves exploring how one will contribute to society and improve the lives of others, but it also requires the recognition of the debt owed to those at home.
Growing up compels us to accept these recipes, relationships, and plans for future change. Family rituals become memories as traditions are re-made. It is important to maintain ties with those that helped us get where we are, and continue to want to see us succeed. Helping others starts by looking out for and appreciating those at home, and paying tribute to those left behind.

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The Melody Of Unexpected Rhythm

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

written by Angela M

Illustration By Tao Zao

I grew up on Disney and nightly walks with my Russian grandparents, sunflower seeds sticking to my fingers, old lady tales dripping from my ears like borscht. I was never told not to smile at a cute Asian boy, or to repress a casual wink at a dashing Spaniard.

Maybe I was never told to not do these things because: 1) I don’t smile often, and 2) I can barely wink. Regardless, there was never any objection to multicultural friendships. Romantically speaking, though, it was never really spoken about, perhaps because it was never really expected.
My first legitimate ounce of interest in the opposite sex could have something to do with my current situation.
I was in the first grade, and his name was Timothy. He was everything I wanted in a boy. He never spoke to me; he rarely, if ever, held the staircase door open for me; and he cheated on me. I don’t know whether it counts as cheating if we were never in a relationship, but my heart was temporarily in shambles. Did I mention that Timothy was Asian? Did I also mention that I’m white and Jewish and from Brooklyn?
At 22, and not a bit less romantic than my first grade self, I find my heart taken once again (this time, in a less make-believe type of way). I am in love with a writer who just so happens to be outside of my race. Raised Muslim but not practicing, my Indian love connects himself with the folk of Jackson Heights, Queens before anything else. To sum things up, not only am I dating a fellow who’s a hundred beautiful shades darker than my pastey self, but I am also dating someone outside of my borough.
We met at a house party. His band was playing, and I later on learned that he had asked our mutual friend to invite me, since he was too shy to do it himself. The night felt like something taken out of one of those typical teenage movies where the girl seems to be playing coy, not realizing what’s going on, and the guy is fumbling over every other word, crossing his fingers that he doesn’t look as dumb as he feels. It took me half the party to realize that I was falling heavy over someone who I had never expected to come across.
Surprisingly, my mother was more accepting of my new found love than some of my friends. When I say some, I really just mean one. My Jewish friend Rebecca* was stunned to realize that I was romantically involved with someone so far from my religion. I kept it secret from her for as long as I could, afraid of the very reaction that I got. She started telling me that being a Jew meant that I was part of the chosen ones, and how keeping religion alive in my family was imperative. Basically, she made me feel like the black sheep of the herd. A day after her attack, she apologized wholeheartedly and told me that I have her full support in any decision that I make in life. (I can only imagine how Rebecca’s reaction would have been if I had confessed that I was getting married!) Just to be clear, I consider myself Jewish more in terms of culture than practice. Echoing Keats, “Love is my religion.”
In a city where love has an astigmatism and hearts beat to their own bongo, interracial coupling is more common than ever. Every way my head turns, I see it: hands of different colors holding on to each other. It’s beautiful, really. And now, I am part of it. We grew up hearing different languages being spoken at home, eating foods synonymous to our cultures, but we were also scolded by our parents for leaving cookie crumbs in our beds, and watching too many T.V. shows instead of doing our homework. Plenty of people in college date people who they didn’t expect to be with. We aren’t really all that different, though. We both love literature and writing, we listen to the same type of music, and, obviously, we both enjoy a good house party.

*Name changed to protect privacy.

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An Apology

Saturday, June 12th, 2010

Stepping off the Q train the other day, a sharp pain of guilt hit me in my stomach. In getting up, walking towards the door, and exiting the train, I realized that I might not be as good of a person that I thought I was. That’s because in getting up, walking, and exiting, I noticed this old lady standing near where I was sitting. I don’t remember her getting on the stop before, or even the one before that. She must have gotten on well before my stop, standing there, while I was sitting. The sharp sudden pain of guilt came to me because I didn’t do anything about it.

There may have been other seats available on the train, it wasn’t that crowded. She might not have even wanted to sit. Maybe she really did just get on the stop before. But these are all just rationalizations. In reality, what had happened was I was so immersed in whatever music I was listening to, in whatever book I was reading, that the thought never even came for me to exercise some common courtesy and offer her my seat.

In writing, it seems like an insignificant occurrence. It happens everyday. People don’t get seats. It’s a tough city, New York. She’s probably used to it. But in its insignificance, I’m reminded by how tough of a city it can be. So why shouldn’t we help each other out?

Being a student in the city, being a student everywhere, being a person, even, it’s easy to get wrapped up in your own mind. There are deadlines, and books, and jobs, and music, and relationships, and movies, and friends, and emails, and everything else the day-to-day offers us, making it easy to not notice the people that surround us. It’s easy to ignore the guy looking for food in the trash. It’s easy to ignore the lady collecting cans off the street. It’s easy to ignore the old lady standing on the subway.

But that doesn’t mean we should. Now, I’m not saying we should all drop what we’re doing and start committing our lives to charity. What I am saying is that, we should lay our hurried minds to rest every once and a while, and notice the seemingly minuscule things around us. Plug out and zone into the world surrounding us, and see that apathy isn’t necessarily a sin of commission. More often than not, it’s a sin of omission, a sin of people trying too hard to live their own lives without thinking about making it just a little easier for other people to live theirs.

To the old lady on the Q, I’m sorry.

-Andrew Limbong

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Make New Friends and Keep the Old: Looking Back

Thursday, June 3rd, 2010

On February 20th 2007, I turned 17.  In New Jersey, when a person turns 17, and if they have fulfilled all of the requirements, he or she is eligible for their license.  Well, I got mine – along with my first car (a 1990 Buick LeSabre, navy blue).  I was so in love with my car, and had so many plans for it…my parents had already gotten me a really awesome sound system to get installed, and I couldn’t wait to drive it down the shore for the first time.

Fast forward to March 4th 2007.  In New Jersey, high school juniors have to go take the HSPA, High School Proficiency Assessment.  The HSPA spans four days, and lasts about three hours each day.  March 4th was the first day for my class, and I wore my favorite tee shirt and most comfortable pair of “lounge” pants, and flip flops.  By the time the day was over, I was ready to get home and relax.  So of course no more than hour after I had gotten home, I got a call that I needed to go to my best friend’s house for an emergency band meeting.  Not exactly excited to get there, I nevertheless got in my LeSabre and started down my street for the easy two mile drive.  This is where things get fuzzy, because not halfway down my street I, for some reason, swerved, then over corrected, and ended up driving straight into the side of a house.

The first thing I did when I woke up, having passed out for probably a minute or two, was call my dad (not 911, of course, because that would have made sense).   I then texted my friend something along the lines of “I was just in an accident on my street.”  The friend I texted, my best at the time, got to me in record time, before my father and the ambulance he called on his way from the office.  Now imagine, I’m sitting there in my own blood, cradling my broken wrist; I didn’t know it at the time, but the front of my car was crushed all the way to the windshield , which was also cracked from my face meeting it (and that’s why they tell us to wear seatbelts).  After checking on me, my friend took it upon herself to knock on the door to make sure no one was inside and injured, ignoring the danger she could have been in from the now structurally unsafe house.  That being done, she came over the passenger side, which I had somehow slid too, procured napkins from somewhere and did her best to wipe the blood from eyes and mouth – she did all of this before any other help arrived, but checked first to make sure help was going to arrive at some point.  Now, you may wonder why I bring this story up.

I think about it sometimes, about her wiping blood from my face and staying with me until I left in the ambulance.  I think about it because just a little over a year after my accident, we were suddenly no longer friends.  I wonder how we could be so close, and care so much about each other, and how that could just end.  It’s horrible how the fact is that friends, no matter how close they are, can just grow apart.  It started with a fight that probably wasn’t even that bad, and then radio silence.  BOOM, no more friendship.  We still talk occasionally, and when I’m in town we’ve gotten coffee before, but there’s nowhere near, and never will be again, the closeness we used to share.

On the other side of that, there’s the friend who made the half hour drive to visit me in the hospital each of the five days I was there after the accident.  She brought me movies and real food, and even washed my hair for me after about three days of me living with the blood, glass, and vomit that was by then crusted into it.  Of course, with my broken nose I didn’t even notice how rank I was, so the hair washing was more for everyone else’s benefit, but that’s not the point.  I’ve known her for twelve years now, I believe; she actually was my babysitter when I was younger, fun fact.  Our relationship is probably more like sisters than friends, and we can go from laughing hysterically together to me wanting to punch her in the face.

I just wonder why that friendship is different from the other one.  There’s no denying that Friend B and I have had probably over a million fights, radio silence included, yet we’ve always remained friends.  I’ve questioned in another blog on whether or not some people are just more important in our lives, and I didn’t want to think that I could rate my friends like that.  But I guess somewhere inside I do, because the simple fact is that one of those friendships is over, and the other is just as strong as ever.

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