To Whom it May Concern,

After a half-lazy summer of French literature and psychology research, I had been more than eager to return to Columbia University in the City of New York, whence I would have done, the previous spring, anything to immediately escape. Perhaps my burgeoning summertime excitement sprouted from an aura of misattributed memory, or distance, that had begun to pervade my long days at home in Chicago; in any case, I had nearly forgotten why it was that I had so desperately wished to return home. I remember now.

Someone once told me that it pays to be optimistic, that the cup half-full is a psychological phenomenon that does wonders to the courses of the mind. Yet if being up for my 8:40 classes means that I must drink my cup of coffee in a matter of seconds if I hope to glean any important information from lecture, and as such I have no time to contemplate philosophical matters of the like: I have my Contemporary Civilisation class for that. But returning to optimism. It is true that while I have been having rather a difficult time being back at Columbia, what has kept me going is the possibility that things might get better once I get more settled in, that I will reach some of the solutions to the questions whose answers had last semester run amok. So far I have found no such answers. I do not know why it is that I feel so unsafe on campus. I do not now why I find it so incredibly difficult to speak my mind here without the danger of facing disciplinary consequences. I do not know why, when I received my acceptance into Columbia, I could not have asked for a better place to spend the next four years of my life. I do not know why such a supposedly wonderful place has felt the need silence me with an electronic communication sent to me last spring, an allegation of something they termed "Gender Based Misconduct" when all I had been trying to do was attain closure for myself, reach some sort of peace of mind.

Now, I was never given the chance to voice my own opinion. You never asked me what I was doing back up on the floor where I had spent my first seven months at Columbia, in New York, back up on the floor from which you politely suggested that I move out. And so I did, believing it beneficial to my own emotions to recreate themselves on a cleaner slate. Cleaner, yet still dirtied with the fumes of my old New York. For what you don't realize is that when your time at Columbia becomes intertwined with certain people, events, memories, it is impossible to be here without having to relive it all whenever I walk down College Walk. It is a phenomenon that is called, in psychology, episodic memory, and it is not something that just goes away with a change of room or building. Perhaps I don't have a concrete answer to the question you never asked me of what I was doing up there again, but I know that at a certain point Furnald 9 became my home, and to be asked to leave my home and then, to be presented, the following afternoon, with an allegation of stalking, is, I would like to point out--pardonnez mon français--a load of shit.

I was under the impression that all students are treated fairly by the administration, but I have learned since coming here that that is not at all the case. I don't believe I ever did anything wrong, and indeed, if I had, I know you, and I know that you would have created some sort of Paul Nungesser out of me. The fact that I am in no trouble whatsoever does not negate the fact that I am a human being with emotions and now feel heavily traumatized by the repercussions of last year's case. If anyone can jeopardize my academic standing at Columbia just from their own stubbornness and cruelty, then I am very afraid of what might happen to me next. I am afraid to date anyone here. I don't trust you or them, and that is a terrible feeling to have to live with. This is liberal New York, and all of you are about political correctness on college campuses. I think we have the classic case here of a man being able to control a woman with just a single word, to be able to silence her without taking the time to understand her position. The fact that I could be expelled from Columbia with a single drunken text message is, can we say, absolutely terrifying. And furthermore, I think that as human beings, we will inevitably encounter social and emotional problems: we can't just live our lives without contention or disagreement. Most people get the chance to solve such matters. Most people can talk things out after a few months of heated argument or silence. You never gave me that opportunity. You ordered me to shut out my problems and pretend as if I don't want to burst into tears every time I set foot in the New York subway. It's difficult to live in this constant state of unrest. It's difficult to know that there is no one who will listen to my voice.

Admittedly, I am actually enjoying my classes this semester. I have had the summer to mull over my career options and know now what I must do to build a stable foundation for my future. But knowing is not executing, and stability is hard to come by when my mind is so constantly in this traumatic state. I don't expect you or anyone else to understand. The counsellors at CPS treat me as one grand farce, my friends refuse to speak with me on this issue and tell me just to move on, and most importantly, you, the administration, hover over me like the Furies from the Greek myths. It is difficult for me to even open up an email from anyone affiliated with Columbia without feeling at risk for a panic attack. Do you know what it's like to have to receive constant reminders of a no-contact directive? Have you ever been asked to ignore something that bothers you in your sleep and dreams and waking life? Do you know what it's like to know exactly the solution to all of your suffering and to be told that that is the one course you cannot take? Do you know what it's like to attempt to separate my academic and emotional states when you have inevitably intertwined the two for me in your university restraining order?

Look. Last spring I was in contact with Daniel Follmer from the University of Chicago. Somehow I'm still here, and I know I'm here because I love love New York too much to transfer elsewhere in attempt to erase what happened last spring, but I know it will be a constant battle for me during these three remaining years at Columbia. I'm not asking you to make it easier for me. I never thought life would be easy. But I'm asking you to simply listen to me once when you have silenced me and will continue to silence me for my next three years here.

I'm going to go focus on my GPA now, solve some math problems, read some Aristotle, show you all that despite what you have done to me, I can emerge stronger, get into the grad school of my choosing, and eventually live the peaceful life you have denied me here. I'm going to go out there and find the people who truly do care about me as a person. I'm going to go find someone who will listen. And if you've gotten this far, I'd really like to thank you, because you have.