engulfed my best friends and peers.
Voyages of an Oceanless Boat. Voyages of an Oceanless Boat, a title based on a real childhood memory.
After three years of adjustment to college, it possessed me a deep feeling of alienation in rooms of smiling people, although a lot of public service soothed my aching soul. I found myself in my final year of college as a Comparative Literature student, a field I chose to bolster my understanding of contemporary literature and sharpen my skills of deciphering the intricacies that authors put in their works. I had to choose a thesis topic, something I avoided for about four months, nervousthat my desire to finish my latent creative project would be rejected. I swallowed my fear of disapproval and advocated for a creative thesis in an exceptionally theoretically rigorous field. The department believed in me. I got to writing.
I closed my eyes in my dorm room and put myself back in my hoods, even though I was distant from them, physically and emotionally at that point. I smelled the hot air, the rubber from screeching tires, and my first frosty days in Langley Park. I considered the tropes of the ghetto and decided I was going to push its representation to the depths of creativity and philosophy. I wanted to let our people see the profundity in the senseless deaths, the richness of bonds created by need, and the existential pain of loss, lack of opportunities, and discrimination. My characters were going to be complex, oscillating from despicable to relatable. Most importantly, they were going to be immortal benders of reality. Voyages of an Oceanless Boat was set to be a text that exposed the cracks in our reality, explored Hood Existentialism, and exonerated and examined the confused and choiceless of the atrocities poverty makes them commit.
Jose Coronado Flores with Priscilla Chan Zuckerberg
Phillips Brooks House Association at Harvard University