WHAT  A  LONG  DAY  MUWCI TIMES

N•7

MUWCI TIMES N•7

words Jeppe Ugelvig

William Hunt

Nanya Jhingran

Brenda Wacuka

Juliet Hoornaert

Lamisa Hossain

Fernanda Uriegas-Fabian

photography Karanjit Singh

layout Cecilia Cortes

Jeppe Ugelvig

publishing

& editing Jeppe Ugelvig

CONTENT

EDITORS NOTE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Jeppe’s monthly review of the current times

THOUGHTS OF THE AFTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Former editor Gesa reflects on her life post-MUWCI

2 AM. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . 7

Nanya shares the frustrations of MUWCI lifestyle.

THE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Brenda argues that we all have the right to express ourselves – or do we?

NEW ARRIVALS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . 9

Get them while they’re hot – brand new updates from the library.

THE MAGIC OF IT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 10

What does your mother tongue language mean to you? Lamisa explores.

THIN CHAI, HUMAN RIGHTS AND TWO FOREIGNERS IN THE VALLEY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

In December Christoph and Jason went to Kashmir and met someone very special.

PAIN, FIRE, FIRE AND SMOKE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

An anonymous contributer has written yet another beautiful poem.

DARWINISM: GIVE IT SOME THOUGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Will’s monthly opinon – this time on Darwinism

IT DEPENDS FROM WHERE YOU SEE IT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

In a creative piece, Fernanda tells a story we can relate to.

BACK IN THE OLD DAYS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Juliet contemplates on MUWCI’s development

As the “winter” slowly vanished and the temperature

reached the other side of 30o Celcius, a vast amount of

the community was seen participating in the newly

revamped Theatre Season. With more than 10 big and

small theatre projects, spanding from the Akshara

adaption of Oscar Wilde’s The Selfish Giant, to a 12-hour

refugee simulation in the Biodiversity reserve, it is

reasonable to say that the community has been both

stimulated and activated in the month of February. With

still a week left, I am looking very forward to see even

more theatrical inititatives, that all somehow inspire and

provoke thought..

Simultaneously, it has been a rather stressfull month for

second years, finally facing the evil of the two compulsory

essays; TOK and EE. It was, however, noted that these

combined 5500 words took over all of the acedemic focus,

suddenly acting as an excuse for all sorts of things.

Hopefully, by now, the students can lean back for a while

and look forward to the just as pleasurable final IB exams.

On a more officail note, we can also look back on the

first whole month with Pelham, who has been establishing

himself as a headmaster practically as well as figuratively.

There was a sudden clarification of the new Wada 5, which

seems to be a reality from the next school year. With close

attention from both students and faculty, guidelines for our

way of living (including housing, academics and the

treatment of rulebreaking) have been drawn and redrawn,

resulting in agitation as well as admiration.

As we can see, the MUWCI life can be both troubling and

exhausting, and that is exactly why we bring you a fresh

issue of MUWCI Times, providing all sorts of written goods

on the next 19 pages. I hope you will enjoy the 7th issue of

MUWCI Times

-Jeppe

 

EDITORS

As the current editor of MUWCI Times, I am proud to introduce you to Gesa Sofia, MUWCI 2011 graduate and former editor of MUWCI Times. I asked Gesa to share whatever thoughts she would have on the MUWCI Afterlife – if there is one. This is the result.

Jeppe

And then I hear names I once spoke every day. Names, words that sound strange and distant to me now.

My life after MUWCI is mainly one thing: Away from MUWCI. So far away in fact that what you are right now calling your reality is for me barely more than a dream. If it did not sound so inept, I’d even say I forgot about it.

I have not forgotten what it felt like to dive in the pool in the morning. Nor have I forgotten how Santosh confused me with my co-year Aviv day after day, no matter how often we corrected him. I remember the smell of the valley, the children’s laughter in Paud, lying on my roof, stargazing. I remember learning beautiful German poems with Christoph, motorcycling with Lucia, watching the sunset with Toni. I remember Jeppe’s smile when I asked him to be the editor of this newspaper.

I remember, but I am never reminded.

Reason for that may well be the vast changes in my life – changes I found hard to believe but wonderful to see. Few weeks after my return from India I was hired by a local newspaper. Now I am what I wanted to become, only 10 years sooner: A journalist. I was asked by a publishing house to write a biography, so I spend my weekends filling chapter after chapter. I started playing the cello again, live now not with my family but with a friend in an apartment I find beautiful. I found new and old friends, met men I liked, fell in love. I was caught by a life of Cafés, of trips to Paris or Prague, of long walks along the river, of beautiful books, of the indescribable feeling writing gives me – caught by the first world luxury. Caught by something I call both, superficiality and meaning. My mind is busy with the changes, with the theatres, the books, the articles. It is not reminded of life on the hill.

THOUGHTS

OF THE AFTER

 

Only meetings with co- or secondyears force me to think of it. “I miss

everything so much”, they say and I stay quiet. “I have not met one person I can talk to like I used to talk to people in MUWCI”, they

say and I stay quiet. “I cried everyday in the summer”, they say and again I stay quiet. It is then that I hear names I once spoke every day. Names, words, that sound strange and distant to me now. I do not like those meetings, I avoid them in fact. I see no point in reliving what so clearly is over. I see no point in rebuilding the hill when I knowI will never reach its height. Instead I would like to be thankful for what I was given. Thankful for what creates a connection to the big and a distance to the normal world: Those funny two years.

When I came to India, I promised myself not to fall into the “Post-UWC-Depression” after graduation. When I then returned to Germany I told myself that I will not idealize UWC, that I will always remember the bad things – the hypocrisy, the stealing, the pressure. And I told myself one more thing: That there is no need for MUWCI’s details to stay in my mind, to be remembered and relived – as it is, that the time on the hill will remain always in my heart.

 

CONTRIBUTE TO MUWCI TIMES

PICTURES//INTERVIEWS//ESSAYS//OPINIONS//ANNOUNCEMENTS//ADVERTISEMENTS//ANONUMOUS ARTICLES//OPEN LETTERS//…

IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING YOU WOULD LIKE TO SHARE

THIS IS THE PLACE

SEND DOCUMENTS OR PICTURES TO JEPPEU@MUWCI.NET

 

 

Its 2 AM and all my room-mates are asleep. There’s a bunch of people partying outside and I run to the protective atmosphere of my corner, avoiding all the problems that glare in my face when I’m around people. I run to the cave that I have discovered. A cave I can crawl into and expect to be saved in – hide in the false pretensions of personal time and isolation. I run away from everything I’ve been hiding in holes all over the place. There’s a bunch of broken friendships hiding in a pit near the tree in front of the wada 3 common room. There are some unacknowledged feelings lingering in the chilly air near the art centre verandah. There’s a bag full of unfulfilled promises lying in the cupboard in the lost and found office. And I just escape all of them by snuggling into my blue comforter on my bed, putting on headphones and just closing my eyes.

I missed a Triveni last week that I promised I would attend. The only reason I can possibly give for not going is ‘I couldn’t’. But really I was just filling up a hole on Internet Hill that hides a broken relationship never dealt with, I don’t want people to find out that I am not strong enough for this. And so, I miss a day’s work, I close myself off and fill up all the gaping holes of insecurity and snuggle into bed to avoid talking about them.

But I don’t realise that someday it’s going to rain heavily and all these holes will flood, and bare my secrets in their wake. The air near the Art Centre will whisper my secrets into someone’s ears and they will know. They will know of all my mistakes and my shortcomings, and maybe they will find out that I don’t deserve to be in this place where everyone’s perfect. And then, I can’t run away to my room, and then I’ll have to face the debris of my hidden treasures.

So tomorrow, I’ll go to the Art Centre and collect my feelings, and take the promises from lost and found, and take all the relationships I have dug in at the Art Centre, and take them to someone and talk about them. So that I hear myself, to make it real. To start dealing with things that are mine, because I can’t keep throwing away parts of my life – the most real, human parts. Will you keep my secret? Will you tell me yours?

By Nanya

2 AM

 Hello? Hi. Yes, you.

You are free to speak, as long as it is something that I want to hear. You are free to shout, shout as loud as you want, as long as what you are shouting is in line with my principles: in my way of thinking, in my perceptions of the world. Yes, give me your opinion, as long as it is the same as mine.

You are free to write, write what you must, please, it is your right to write as long as … it is something I can read. Do not bore me with your different ways of seeing. It is a waste of time. I only wish to make you see at the end of the day, that my way is right; that my way, is the best way. So that at the end of the day you can see that really, it was our decision. Our combined efforts that made you think like me. It was not me alone.

Let us dance together and I shall teach you the choreography. Hush now, it is a combined effort, isn’t it? Who would I be, without you here? Without your patience to listen to me and agree that mine is the logic and acceptable way of being?

Let us sing together. I can choose the tune and you shall pick the lyrics. No! Those lyrics do not fit my tune.

Change your lyrics, aah, much better. See, how good we are when we work together?

Let us talk together. No. That topic makes me uncomfortable. That topic makes me sad. That topic might actually show me that you might think differently from me. No. Let’s talk about something else. We will definitely enjoy the conversation more.

Wait a minute. What are you doing? Why are you doing things differently? How many times must I tell you that this is the right way? A flower, belongs in a vase of water. The clothes are meant to be hung outside. Don’t you see? I know I may be far away from you, as you do this, but it saddens me that you choose a different path. Change it. See? See how much better that makes me feel? This is for us, really.

Why do you think I’m talking about that? Why is that on your mind? Why do you think it is on mine? Or are you blank as you read this?

This is not about you… or this, or that, or nothing. This is simply about freedom. Freedom of expression and I am expressing myself as well. Do you know about this freedom?

What do you think? Tell me. You are free to speak.

THE FREEDOM OF

EXPRESSION By Brenda

NEWARRIVALS

BOOKS:

India and the Romantic Imagination John Drew.

Selected Works of Khalil Gibran Khalil Gibran

Conversation and Gender By Susan A. Spear and Elizabeth Stokoe

Linguistic Imperialism Robert Phillipson

Media and Society - Critical Perspectives Graeme Burton

The Cambridge Companion to Modern British Culture Michael Higgins, Clarissa Smith and John Storey

What is Film Theory? An Introduction to Contemporary Debates Richard Rushton, Gary Bettinson

A Handbook of Literary Terms M. H. Abrams, Geoffrey Galt Harpham

Fiction as Window V. Padma

The Divided Self

From The Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie

DVDs:

The Dirty Picture

Pearl Harbor

The Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie

1947- Earth

Dhobi Ghat

Jerry Maguire

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse

Inside Job

Woman Next Door

Sleepless in Seattle

You can also visit the website for more arrivals: http://pumba/webopac8/index.asp

Even before we take our first steps, the arbitrary muddle of noises that spatter from our mouths merge, twist and transcend into words; words that are not quite as they ideally should be, but still recognizable; words that are understood by everyone around us. After that point, we do not look back again until we face a situation where we realize that not one person around us speaks or understands our language. It does not matter that you know another language; it does not matter that you are still able to communicate with them: the barriers are up and you already feel the presence of that tiny vacuum inside of you which cannot exist when you’re at home and where everyone understands you.

When one types “language” and right-clicks to find the synonyms, the options MS Word presents are “verbal communication”, “words”, “speech” and a variety of terms completely insufficient in replacing something as vast and incommunicable as the umbrella that is language. Language is, to a great extent, a cultural instrument and as such, is taken for granted- this is a universal fact. It is what you grow up with; it’s one of your fundamental rights as a human being, and is, on an average, an innate skill. It’s on very rare occasions that people are forced to take a stand in order to make a change in the existent state of culture or language. I am lucky, or perhaps unlucky, enough to be from a culture where my forefathers were compelled into rebelling against authority when they attempted to snatch away our right to speak in our mother tongue, Bangla, as a method of oppression; not only did they rebel, but they were also successful in retaining this right that should have been inherent as well as setting the cornerstone in the path that led to eventual liberty from the tyrants.

Bangla is not by any means (much to my parents’ dismay) my first language. Having studied in an English-medium school my whole life, I can say with no hesitation at all that English is the language that I find the easiest to use and the

THE MAGIC OF IT

By Lamisa

“Language is, to a great extent, a cultural instrument and as such, is taken for granted”  

 

 

 

one that I am most fluent in. But this does not change the fact that Bangla is my mother tongue; the value of having a mother tongue, a language that is unique to just a particular group of people, was something I neither fully understood, nor appreciated. I believe most people do not realize it until they have moved away from home: it is only when you have to seek out one who speaks the same language and belongs to the same cultural background as you do that you realize what a comfort it is to be able to say those garbled words that you learnt as a toddler to someone who understands and is just as relieved to have you to confide in.

21st February, International Mother Language Day may just be observed in earnest where I come from, but I think it is a great opportunity for people around the world to stop, think, trace back their roots as far as possible and to contemplate their culture. Language is not static, inert- it’s far from it. In fact, its dynamic nature contributes greatly the magic of it and this day provides us with an excuse for the celebration of not only the history of language, but the way that language alters itself across generations in order to keep up with the times.  

 

“Language is not static,

inert - it’s far from it”  

Climbing up the staircase with steps 3 inches wide, leads us to a narrow corridor. From here, we overlook the Jhelum River, "over there was the Gawakadal massacre, I was a little child then". Baba's message is clear.

We need to stoop to enter a tiny room with fractured windows and thin curtains. the wind is blowing through.

This is Srinagar, around 0°C, no snow, but Christmas.

Baba, a Kashmiri friend of us, working in Delhi, takes us from heated living rooms, to newspaper offices and back to the posh cafe, chatting about , while soldiers are patrolling outside the large glass windows, their breath visible in the air. Through Baba, we meet local writers, editors and activists. One message, one face, one little

THIN CHAI, HUMAN RIGHTS AND TWO FOREIGNERS IN THE VALLEY

"It 's a country without a post office, but we will stil l write a letter."(Mc Kash)

lawyer's chamber got ingrained in my memory.

We two foreigners - probably the only ones in Srinagar at this time - ask an elderly, fragile man questions we have never asked before, but he has answered a thousand times.

Parvez Imroz, lawyer, human rights activist and founder of the NGO "Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society", explains to us the "Tragedy of Kashmir" from his point of view: "The Indian Government is too successful, Islamophobia is growing around the world and, of course, Palestine is more important than Kashmir" he tells us about the lack of information in the media. "No one cares out there" the man with seemingly too large trousers and blazer looks at us, fire blazing in his eyes, surrounded by wrinkles.

He doesn't seem to belong in this tiny room,

Imroz Parvez and Jason in Shrinagar, 2011

sitting backed against the wall on his little wooden table, not even a desk. Only the bookshelf gives some ambiance - a few volumes on Indian law next to a series of Amnesty International reports. "Mass graves, disappearances, torture" - words that seem far away from water consumption, new headmasters and student councils.

Cold feet, Chai as thin as water and a squeaking chair do not create the atmosphere, we expected when we were told we would meet a holder of the Ludovic-Trarieux International Human Rights Prize. This is the same prize Nelson Mandela received when he was imprisoned, like Parvez Imroz is, too. "The government denies us passports. My wife had to receive the award in Brussels."

After a sequence of awkward silences he clears his throat: "I got shot, beaten up, my phone is tapped by the government"

We look at each other, don't know how to respond to this man. This fire in his eyes is no blind hatred toward the people who did that to him. He is determined to help friends, families, other Kashmiris who lost their sons and daughters to the violence of the past two decades in Kashmir Valley.

"You can make some change to the people of Kashmir" is the last message he gives us when we leave. Knowing more about the "Tragedy of Kashmir" but being even more confused about our role here in Srinagar we walk outside on the cold streets of Srinagar.

From a white wall, a silent scream is still following us.

"AZADI" in bold, big letters.

After a sequence of awkward

silences he clears his throat: "I got shot, beaten up,

my phone is tapped by the

government"

 

By Christoph

 

 

PAIN, FIRE, FIRE AND SMOKE

Dreams get torn from dreams themselves,

And all there's left is smoke,

Hearts are betrayed by hearts themselves,

And the smoke shrouds all the hopes,

Love gets hurt from love itself,

And all there's left is fire,

The pain gives pleasure to pain itself,

And the flames keep soaring higher...

What sort of a deranged love is this?

All pain, fire, fire and smoke?

What kind of a love is this?

When I have faith in love no more?

By Anonymous

Most MUWCI students are fairly familiar with Darwin’s theory of evolution, his explanation of the creation of the world’s wide variety of life as a result of adaptation to change, or lack thereof. Some of us question evolution, perhaps because we have our own religious convictions, perhaps simply because evolution remains, despite all evidence in favor of it, a theory. But many scientists have come to believe that evolution’s status as simply a theory simply doesn’t do justice to its enormous strength as a framework for understanding why and how life has developed as it has.

In the United States, approximately eighteen state education systems either do not include evolution in their science curricula, or teach it extremely poorly. It’s no wonder that according to some polls, around a third of my country absolutely denies evolution, while less than one in five Americans are equally certain of evolution’s validity. In Europe, four out of five accept evolution. The disparity here indicates a willful resistance to an exceedingly well-founded

DARWINISM:

GIVE IT SOME

THOUGHT

theory. We each have the right to believe what we want, but the denial of evolution as a legitimate theory indicates a level of dishonesty or a lack of intellectual curiosity and skepticism that is unjustifiable, whatever an individual’s personal beliefs happen to be.

The tailbone serves no purpose in the body of a human being, referred to by scientists as a vestigial structure, the final traces of a disappearing tail that no longer helps humans to survive. Would an intelligent creator have added tailbones to human beings? It seems unlikely. Evolution is a part of the never-ending march of humanity towards filling in the enormous gaps in our understanding of the world an universe in which we live, and every time that evolution or another such gap-filler comes along, religious understandings of our world take a hit.

Even before Darwin, our conception of the world was beginning to change. Various scientific discoveries, many of them geological, began to point to the idea of a dynamic, rather than static, world, a world in which, for example, forms of life suggested by

fossil evidence no longer existed. Many of us take for granted today that the world we live in is not the same one people lived in thousands of years ago, but until recently this was not at all a widespread idea, and seemed to fly in the face of the religious conception of a world that has remained unchanged since its creation. Darwin simply took the dynamism that he and others observed in the world, and asked the question, how could the apparent elegance and beauty of life be explained by the laws of the universe simply playing out their roles in a random manner?

His conclusions have implications that, whether valid or not, are important to the examination of many non-biological subjects. One economic theory, for example, is that evolution, which so effectively preserves and improves upon life as it exists independent of any deliberate, conscious interference, indicates the strength of the laissez-faire market, which relies on the “Invisible Hand” of market forces rather than the purposeful manipulative efforts of a large government. Another example is the political argument that just as evolution makes small, almost imperceptible changes in a species in response to changes in the environment, so political change must be slow and conservative in nature. Whether these are valid arguments or not, they are incomprehensible without an understanding of the basic tenants of Darwin’s theory.

I have heard it argued that because we cannot prove that God did not create the world, creationism and similar beliefs are as valid as any other. But this argument

in the negative – “it’s not true” – provides no solid ground for belief. And the evidence that there is still so much that we don’t understand is shaky as well. The trajectory of our understanding of the world makes it clear that questions of evolution that remain unanswered now will eventually be illuminated, if we’re given enough time to develop the technologies and theories to explore them. Darwinism, though it remains a theory, is one of the most powerful and well-documented theories that we have, and it merits far more examination and support than it has in our modern world.

 

By Will

   

Close your eyes. Breath deeply. Feel the wind caressing your skin and lifting your hairs. Smell the plants that the wind has brought to you as a gift. Are you barefoot? Feel the grass between your toes. Wet? Dry? Long? Short?

Forget about what just happened. Dry your tears with the blanched sleeves of your long, old sweater. The one you wear when you need a hug.

Hear the flutter of a bird that just passed by; hear the noises from the village. Imagine how many people you can hear whom you don’t know. Imagine how many people can hear you whom you don’t know. Maybe you can send them greetings with the wind. Maybe you can even tell them something.

Open your eyes. Sunset already! Look at your watch and realize that you are late. Don’t mind. You’ve decided to ignore whatever you had to do and stare at the sunset reflected in the Mulshi River. Look at the tiny houses, not so tiny really.

Focus on the road. There are a couple of kids walking together. You cannot see their faces, but you can see their hands holding each other.

They saw her without wanting to see her. Brother came running while sister was washing dishes. He showed her. Grandma had given it to him as a birthday present. Their eyes became wide open in front of the fascinating artifact. After some experiments, they found out it was a binocular. I saw it in a movie! Sister said They spy people with this. She left the dishes half cleaned and ran out with his brother.

They hid behind the bushes. Where to look? The only place far away enough to be looked at through binoculars: The school on top of the hill, of course, where those strangers live. Fighting to look through the lenses, Brother finally sees someone. I found someone!! Sister tries to snatch it away let me see! Brother refuses Give it to me, it’s my birthday present! The brother, all of the sudden, stopped fighting with the sister that asked what was wrong. I think she’s crying. He said.

One kid’s eye in each lens, they saw her. She had her eyes closed. If she had her eyes opened, Brother thought, she would be looking in their direction. By their closed eyes and the tears slipping down they knew she was trying to bear the pain until it faded away.

The kids looked at each other, but said nothing. They didn’t know someone like her could cry. The binoculars didn’t seem so fun anymore and anyways they had to go back: it was getting dark. They left at sunset, holding hands.

IT DEPENDS FROM

WHERE YOU SEE IT

By Fernanda

It's completely natural to romanticize the past. Talking to people that have known of a different kind of MUWCI-environment, I wonder if certain aspects of this community have been changing drastically over the years. Every batch defines a new character for the community, but I want to consider tendencies that seem to become more and more prevalent over the years.

Apparently today's consciousness of grades is a phenomenon of only 3, 4 years old. The importance of the International Baccalaureate seems to increase for every batch. This phenomenon is rising in UWC's all over the world. How come? Is it a byproduct of a trend in society, a change of mentality happening amongst students all over the world? Achievement is more often measured by grades, certificates, prestige. But is that why we are here? Or maybe the profile of a “UWC student” has simply changed, and national committees have started regarding ambition and academic perseverance as an important tool for the change they want to see in the world.

In an earlier version of this community, people are said to have been more engaged when it came to experimental learning- through discussion, dialogue, intercultural exchange. Subjects were approached in a more practical way. This way of learning is still very much valued amongst today's MUWCI-students, but less prioritized.

Another feature of MUWCI life that seems to have changed drastically would be the social dynamics. I was told that 7 years ago, after check-in, it was habitual for students and faculty to gather in the social centre. There was less division, both within the student body and between students and faculty. Nowadays student relations tend to be more exclusive, interaction limited to the people that have made their way to your comfort zone. For a community that is supposed to be open-minded and tolerant, I think there is a very strong sense of social hierarchy.

BACK IN THE OLD DAYS

By Juliet

“Nowadays student relations tend to be more

exclusive, interaction limited to the people that

have made their way to your comfort zone”  

I don't know what level of comfort the majority of the student body has in this place, but I think many of us are very conscious of how they will be judged by others. In a closed and small community like this, judgment and hierarchy is only natural, but there's no harm in being idealistic. I was also told that earlier there used to be a kind of spontaneity present: students would step out of their routine and surprise themselves.

In the evenings the residential area would be full of life. Maybe there's no more necessity for exiting our corners since the luxury of fabulous new Internet routers?

My hypothesis is that the changes in both grade-consciousness and social dynamics are interlinked.

I don't mean to generalize or condemn any aspects of our college, nor do I want to disregard any positive change that has been made. Eventually we all come here with our own priorities and expectations, and we are provided with all the freedom and opportunities that we need to learn and gain from this place what we aspire to. Eventually, it is our individual engagement and focus that shapes our “UWC-experience” and in what sense it enriches us.

 

THE END