2013 - Carnegie Mellon University

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Last summer, Kendra and another friend, Olivia, came to
visit me while I was pet-sitting for a family that was on vacation.
After dinner, as the summer light disappeared and we sat in the den
surrounded by pillows and blankets, two cats, and two dogs, one
of which hogged a spot on the couch, we started discussing many
different topics. Somehow, religion came up.
“I just don’t believe what I used to,” Kendra began, cradling
her glass in her hands. “I can’t. There are so many contradictions
in the Bible. We’re supposed to use the Bible to judge that homosexuality
is wrong, but then ignore things like owning slaves is okay,
and eating shellfish is an abomination, and that we’re not allowed to
wear garments made from two different kinds of thread? I just can’t
believe something like that. It doesn’t make sense.”
Olivia and I nodded our assent.
“I believe that I’m right, in believing that,” Kendra said.
“But there’s still a part of me that’s…terrified.”
“Terrified?” I asked. “Of what?”
“Of going to Hell.”
And suddenly I felt so sad. And then suddenly angry—
murderously angry on her behalf.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, my voice tight with suppressed
rage. “Religion should be something that helps people, that comforts
people, that makes them feel safe and protected and loved.
Reassured that they won’t just disappear into oblivion when they
die. All this guilt-tripping and fear was created by people who seek
power. They are the ones who have twisted the true meaning of religion.
You don’t need to be afraid, Kendra. You’re a good person.
Anyone who says you’re going to Hell is reducing God to the level
of men: petty and narrow-minded. And even though I don’t go
to church—and frankly, this is a perfect example of why—I believe
firmly in God, and I don’t believe that He is petty or narrow-minded.
I believe He is all-loving. Kendra, you don’t have to be afraid.”
Kendra nodded, twisting her glass nervously in her hands. “I
know,” she said. “But when you’ve been raised to believe that your
whole life…it’s impossible to just forget.”
College Prose, 2nd Place
White
By: (Paul) Victor Nunez
What does it mean to have white skin in America? To
some it means that you are privileged. It means that your family
has more money and opportunities than my family. That because
you’re white, you have an inherent advantage over your darkskinned
peers due to biased social norms. To others it means that
you are the social norm. So normal in fact that Crayola and Band
Aid use to design their “skin colored” products with the pinkish
hue that most white people are born with. More often than not
though, it means nothing. To have white skin just means you burn
more easily than others on a sunny day. To me it means that I will
always have to explain to future employers/recruiters/professors/
friends/acquaintances/DMV desk clerks/“that guy” at the cash
register that “Yes, I am, in fact, Hispanic. No, I’m not half anything
just a whole bunch-a-Latin thrown into one bag. No seriously,
dude, stop laughing.”
My name is Paul Victor Núñez and I am a second generation
American citizen who was born with brown eyes, brown hair,
a Mayan nose, a Guaraní’s build, and thanks to some ancestors
from Europe – white skin. Despite being the son of a father who
is half Argentinean/half Puerto Rican and a mother who is full
blooded Guatemalan, most people don’t get past my last trait. My
Mayan nose often becomes a Jewish nose and my native-Argentinean
physique just makes me look “short and stocky”. I have been
confused for Isreali, Russian, Polish, and (my personal favorite) half
Chinese…That last one came from a Chinese girl I met once at a
bowling alley. True story.
It doesn’t help that I am not fluent in any form of Spanish.
Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying. I have studied it since I was in
the third grade. It’s just that my parents never passed it on when I
was a kid so I never got to practice it at home. It doesn’t help that
I also really stink with languages in general. It’s a miracle that I
can communicate with anyone in English since “my English” is
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