Sometimes people go to parties. Sometimes people go to parties, and Malia Obama is there. Sometimes it’s hard for people to think of words to say when they are caught off-guard! So sometimes people say really basic things, like “Sup Malia, you should come to Brown.” Sometimes that person is you, and you realize you’re worthless and have nothing to offer the world.
You start to wonder, “What did I even mean?” You think, “Why would I say, ‘you should come to Brown,’ to a person I don’t even know?” Maybe you were still reeling because you had spent a lot of time just the day before charting her style evolution on Google images. Regardless, you decide to do some research. You watch a lot of poorly constructed photo compilation videos on her college touring process. You soon discover that not only does Malia have great style and diverse interests, but you have a mutual friend–Nobel laureate, global advocate for girl’s education and all-around baller, Malala Yousafzai!
Yes! You are friends with Malala, because you watched a documentary about her, read her book, and are a self-proclaimed member of the Brown University Students for Malala Fan Club, population 1! And you now know Malia is friends with Malala, because there’s a picture on the internet of Malia staring longingly at Malala across the oval office while she tries to teach Malia’s dad about drones (how do you know so much about drones, Malala?!). As her close personal friend, who is privy to most of Malala’s goings-ons, you also know that she’ll soon be ready to head off to college herself, as soon as she takes the SAT! So as you lay in bed, trying to remember what you got on the SAT and nursing the pulled muscle in your neck that you got from getting too excited while wearing a turtleneck, you can’t help but daydream about the day that both Malia and Malala, two of Time Magazine’s most influential teens, come to Brown to spend time with you. But not actually “you.” I’m really just talking about me here. This whole story was really just about me, but I thought second person would be more relatable.
I can picture it now: Malia, Malala and me…
We would walk arm-in-arm through the main green in a powerful formation – Malala in the middle obviously (she won a Nobel Prize) and Malia and I flanking her like her bitches. People would stare and say, “whoah, look at those two celebrities, and that girl who’s giggling a lot.”
Our first activity would be creating a short film together– obviously because Malia is interested in studying film, and Malala is a documentary star. Malia and I would get really excited about making a film about burritos, a topic I know she is passionate about because of all the pretty violating stalker photos people took of her eating burritos when she visited Brown. (Like, rude, but I appreciate the info.) Before we got started, however, Malala would remind us that if instead we made a film about young girls unable to go to school because of economic injustice, corruption, and institutional patriarchy, we could spread awareness about the topic and potentially change the world. “You know,” she’d say, “it really just takes one child, one teacher and one pen.” Malia and I would have to acknowledge that Malala was right, and we’d settle for going to Chipotle for dinner.
Next we’d hit up the athletic facilities (no idea what these buildings are called… #NARP) for some tennis. Malia and I both have extensive experience with the sport, I’m sure at the same level, and since according to her documentary Malala only follows tennis for Roger Federer’s bod, we would spend a few minutes coaching her on proper form before starting a game. It would soon become clear that Malala had had some sort of accelerated training by Andy Murray himself during her time in England, because she would beat our asses 6-0, 6-0 in about 5 minutes and have enough energy left to dedicate her win to the girls of the Swat Valley. She would handle her win very humbly, which would kind of annoy Malia and I for no justifiable reason. Like, we get it, you won a prize for being peaceful.
I can see us rolling up to the muffin line together at the Blue Room, me still panting a little bit from all the running. Malia would go for pistachio, Malala, French toast, and I, butter rum. We would take our muffins out to the Faunce steps, and I would propose a friendly muffin-eating contest, in hopes that American gluttony would pull me and Malia through for a win on this one. I would even decide to cheat a little. But we would soon find that Malala had no problem getting violent when it came to muffins, and she would finish hers first, even with me waving my chemistry textbook in front of her face in attempt to distract her (so much for her famous “thirst for knowledge!!”). Malia would be all, “Malala, are you kidding me?” and I would be like “It wouldn’t hurt to let other people win sometimes, because like, you have a Nobel Prize, and like, we’re just trying to make it, you know?”
I don’t know why this fantasy has made me like Malala less, but I think it’s possible that it’s justified, and that maybe we should all spend some time reconsidering why we’re all so obsessed with Malala.*** After, of course, we come to terms with that fact that Malia is probably going to Stanford.
***Malala if you’re reading this I love you so much please don’t hate me you are my inspiration ***