I am writing here today to express the story of my life and the changes needed to make for a healthier environment for all that live on the Princeton campus. My story begins after I was born in the summer in Holder Hall. After freshmen move-in day I no longer was alone, but surrounded by a new community. Hearing rumbles of footsteps and giggles of freshmen girls flowing through the door, I knew my time to emerge and experience the world had come. I heard the door bang open with a loud Thud and looked at the multitude of different colors and textures that adorned the feet of the girls. I promise I did not focus solely on their feet (because that’s weird), but from yellow polyurethane to black rubber, the girls’ shoes provided a window into their personalities. I began to decipher each one: an environmentalist always ready for a protest, a philosopher always ready for an argument, and a musician always ready for a moment of creativity. It awakened me in a way that I had never felt before. I was surrounded by people who were actually captivating and deep. I scurried from my lonely home by the drain to the center of the bathroom to attempt to capture some of their mesmerizing energy. The floors had been freshly cleaned, allowing me to glide over the tiles with ease in an attempt to be included. Isn’t that goal of coming to Princeton? Being surrounded by a diverse range of people and being allowed to express your individuality, so you can all grow. My idealistic thoughts were rudely interrupted when I heard one of them yelp, alerting the others of my presence. Blood rushed into her face and fear overcame her eyes as if she had seen an extraterrestrial creature instead of a peer. The shoe that once symbolized happiness and hope in the musician’s life was now being used as a murder weapon. Jumping around, she attempted to end my life. I ran, becoming accustomed to my newly lost hope in humanity. I wanted nothing but to be included, and wasn’t Princeton a place of diversity and inclusion? As I re-entered my small home, I continued to listen to the girl’s conversations: “I can’t believe … barf noise … that I had to see that. I’m not going to be able to sleep all night:’ As I stood in the drain hidden away from the world, I knew I could not stand silent like my relatives and ancestors. I must fight against this blatant discrimination. Even though we come from different families, we deserve the same treatment, and it starts in this bathroom within the historic Holder Hall of Princeton University. As I began to emerge more, unphased by the many attempts on my life, I became appreciated by some generous members of the community, adopting the moniker, “Greg”. The members of the floor began to coexist peacefully with each other alongside me. Until one fateful day, when a new girl entered our peaceful inhabitance and screamed for help. I was confronted with the large, gray garbage can hovering above me and nowhere to run, resulting in my body being squished. As I lay half-dead upon the tiles, I knew I must leave my message here to be heard by the entire Princeton community. We, cockroaches, are members of the community, just like all of you mere passerbyers. We deserve the same level of respect that each student receives no matter our class, so please be kind to those who live in your bathrooms, around the campus, and in your walls. They were born into this life. Don’t abandon your values now. Become the change no other part of society could dream of adopting.
Yours Truly,
Greg Blattodea
ALEXANDRA ROBERTS ’25
Illustrated by DANIELLE JENKINS ’23
