About Tomoko
YENA: First off, what's your name, class, and major?
TOMOKO: My name is Tomoko Hida. Maybe I should include my middle name. Waseda. Tomoko Waseda Hida. I am a 2026 junior and a Statistical and Data Sciences major with an intended Computer Science minor.
YENA: Do you not normally put your middle name?
TOMOKO: Not really, no.
YENA: So, why now?
TOMOKO: I don't know. It felt more like…official. [Laughs]
YENA: Okay. So, what media have you been into recently?
TOMOKO: I'd say audiobooks have been my recent media of choice. I want to read more. I think it's something that I feel is missing in my life. OHHHH. Recent favorite media? My friends’ substacks. My friends’ writing, if that counts.
YENA: Yeah, it does! 1000%.
TOMOKO: I think over the summer it was movies. I love watching movies alone. I talk a lot during movies with other people. [Laughs] Sometimes I feel like I just need to pause and reflect when I'm watching it and I feel like I can only do that very liberally when I'm on my own. But recently, yes, my friends’ poetry, my friends’ songs, anything that has to do with appreciating the art that my friends create.
YENA: How would you describe yourself: artist, filmmaker, writer, musician, etc?
TOMOKO: I think…why did I think listener? Like, that's so pseudo-profound.
YENA: Wait, I love that though!
TOMOKO: I think that in music or in art or in people's writing, I’m always just trying to listen. I can get into this another time and I can write this to you and just send it to you rather than it being in the interview, but I was reading Susan Sontag’s Against Interpretation and I wrote something really similar in my Smith supplement, about Mahler’s Fifth Symphony Mvmt IV. Adagietto. I said that I love that piece because I am not trying to understand it. It is existing and I am passively letting it happen to me. It is such an intricate and overwhelming piece that—you cannot try to understand and predict everything that's going to happen, kind of like expecting that flashy, you know, a surmount and then the predictable resolve. Like it doesn't happen like that. You can't time it because it's such a slow piece. I played it first when I was fourteen. And that's the first orchestral piece that I loved. It's still my favorite orchestral piece to this day. It taught me patience, I think. In being someone who loves art, that's why I said listener.
Otherwise, I think that I am an artist because I think that as an artist, you are trying to manifest ideas and emotions and feelings that you have, whether that ends up being through copic markers or or little sketches of your friends in your graph notebook or through music. I'm just trying to create an instance of a sentiment or an emotion or an atmosphere that I want to exist. I say that I'm an artist. And that sometimes manifests in music. Sometimes in poetry. I do love how everything works. Oh, I will say that when I feel like I can't draw something, like the Vic poem—I didn't think I could draw Vic in a way that represented how I felt about them. So then I was like, you know what? I'll just start writing about it. And then I was like, that's exactly how I feel. And no drawing would have done it justice.
YENA: Would you like to discuss any of the pieces you’ve submitted and why you chose them?
TOMOKO: I think that I'm very sentimental. I think there was this conversation that Josie, you, and I were having about being yearners or something. I'm like, I'm not a yearner.
YENA: Yeah you are!
TOMOKO: Well, I think that I'm sentimental about things that happened. And moments that I had or that I shared with people. I don't think that I work towards something that isn't—that I didn't have in my hands before. I think that I have desires, but I don't live drawn around by those desires. Do you know what I mean? Like, I guess like in the yearning way where it feels unfulfilled? Constantly? Those are words I'm stringing together, but that's why I feel like I'm not a yearner. But anyway, back to nostalgia and sentimentality. I think that one of the things that is very centering in myself, or just about me, is that I love my mom so much. And I think my mom is the closest thing to, like, godliness that I can imagine, kind of like a divine femininity.
YENA: What’s the piece you’re referencing?
TOMOKO: It's a poem that I wrote about my mom, about her. It's a drawing and a poem together. It's on my Instagram.
That one?
YENA: What's it called?
TOMOKO: I laugh because you are just like me. I don't know. There's a lot of complex emotions about being similar to my mom that I feel. There’s a lot of pride that I feel, but also a lot of expectations that I feel like I'm not necessarily meeting, because she's always been telling me: “You're just like me.” Even when I was little, everyone would call me mini Kyoko-san. Like Kyoko-san, like my mom. And then her friends would call me that too. And just the way that I spoke to people—I talked to adults mainly when I was a kid. I didn't really talk to my classmates. [Laughs] I was always just talking to the teacher, and my mom took note of that. There's a lot that I tried to be like my mom, but, I don't know, okay, what I'm rambling on about.
YENA: How does this go back to the yearning? How does this go back to the nostalgia?
TOMOKO: Well, I was saying that I'm sentimental and I'm always thinking about…how my mom felt about me when I was a little girl. Just like imagining all of the things that my mom must have felt as a young woman, having me in her life. I just think that motherhood is probably one of the most beautiful things ever. And I feel so blessed that at some point, I hope I’ll get to experience it. And so I think that, like, writing about my mom is a big thing that I do, and so that piece is definitely something that I’ll submit.
YENA: What mediums do you prefer to work in, and why?
TOMOKO: I'm noticing that my most common medium as a person, as an observer, is my notes app. I write a lot of things down in my notes app, things I want to remember about people: conversations that I've had with people, dreams that I've had, plans for the next Lamont house event, jokes, people's names, books I should read. My notes up has been my recent medium of writing.
Also things that connect me to my Japanese heritage. Whenever I feel like I’m drawing something that's like a historical landmark or writing my name in, like, classical Japanese calligraphy style. I shouldn't say classic because that has a lot of different connotations, but I guess traditional Japanese calligraphy. If I'm drawing my Japanese family members, if I'm drawing my face, anything that really has to do with my culture, like persimmons—that's my favorite. Being able to kind of reckon with that part of me that I don't know has ever felt very emphasized. Because I've been an American for forever. And we've talked about the discrepancy and I have other Asian friends that I have talked about the discrepancy with, about grandparents being like, “No, but you’re Japanese. You're a Japanese girl.” I'm like, I think I'm American, you know what I mean? And then so, just doing that.
YENA: As a way to feel closer.
TOMOKO: To try to learn, to try to prove that to it's like I want this part of me to continue existing.
YENA: Yeah. And that's one of the ways to preserve it, to carry it and pass it down.
TOMOKO: Even just for myself. Yeah.
YENA: So what has inspired you in the past, and what inspires you now?
TOMOKO: What’s inspired me in the past was love, for sure. [Laughs]
YENA: Like romantic? Or just all kinds?
TOMOKO: Yeah, well, I think that romance made me think all about interpersonal stuff. Why I felt—just that there was so much writing that I did when I was 18, as you know. All I thought about was love, since I was like in seventh grade or sixth grade, when the first person told me that they liked me. I used to be such a daydreamer.
YENA: A yearner?
TOMOKO: I thought—yeah, definitely. Yeah. I used to be a big yearner. I think that's why I can so confidently say I am not now, because I know what it was like. And in the biggest way. [Laughs] Yeah, I wrote a lot about love. What it felt like in my body. What it felt like to look at someone and see that.
Just like, I don't know, the love that I also felt from—I don't know that I was necessarily thinking anything so profound when I was younger. I used to draw really sad stuff about myself. But, I don't know, it was always just sad and then writing about love, and then sad about love.
YENA: When did that change? Like what inspires you now? I’m also curious—if you're not a yearner anymore, when did that shift happen? And how has it affected your art?
TOMOKO: When I started loving myself and realizing that I loved myself, I think that feels like a big, big breaking point of this kind of behavior. That was last spring.
YENA: You want to talk about it? I mean, I know the story.
TOMOKO: You know the story. [Smiles]
YENA: Tell the people!
TOMOKO: Well, I'm trying to connect, like when did it? Yeah, cause even freshman year into sophomore year here, I was such a yearner. I spend a lot more time on my own now and I am happy and grateful to spend time by myself. Because I think I have a lot of grace for myself now—even though I might not always speak to myself the most kindly when I've disappointed myself—that's something I'm still trying to work on still. At the end of the day, I know that I'm perfectly respectable and perfectly capable. I'm caring. All of these things are, funnily enough, things I wrote about myself when I was eighteen, but I don't think I believed it really. I think I was starting to realize that maybe these things were true about me, and then I wrote them down. I sent them in a letter.
But this day was the day that I performed my second year violin performance piece. It’s Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D, Movement II. Canzonetta, and—the first movement is the most famous, it's like so flashy, it's eighteen minutes long. I chose the six minute one. Six minute, second movement. It's slow. It's a little bit melancholy, but then it's—relieving. There’s a joy to it. I don’t know, it doesn't feel right to say joy. I mean, I wrote about it in my substack, I can send it to you later.
“The longing, gasping, breathing in relief, thrashing around, grabbing and pulling with the momentum of frustration, all tamed too soon in an apathetic resolve. “
That evening, the performance, it lowkey went bad. I don't like how I played that day. But, Kamali and Laney were there. I was wearing a big flowy dress. I didn't feel great in that dress, but I don’t know, I just—some things were just in line that day, in such a way where the things I loved and were happy about, totally outweighed things that I was unhappy about. Whether it was the way that I played the piece or the way that I looked. I've never been confident about the way that I look while performing. That's just no longer a concern of mine. It’s not about what I look like. It's about what I'm making people feel, you know? I hope my calves look good [Laughs] but you know.
That day, I finished that performance and I walked home with my violin alone. Something was clearer about the air. It was crisp, of course, because it was spring. It was about maybe 72, 71 degrees or so. There was like a light breeze in a way where it's like a very clear refreshing laughter, passing by. You know, like that's what the wind felt like, and I think that it was dark, but I just went home and I was like I can't believe I'm supposed to—what, like I'm supposed to do homework now? I was like there's just no way, and then I texted The Vibes group chat: does anyone wanna take a walk? I think I put it on my Instagram story, and then I was like, who am I waiting for? It's fucking beautiful, and I don't care. I'm gonna put on some earphones and walk. And that felt like such a spontaneous decision of mine. I was like, fuck it. I'm gonna take a walk by myself. That was not something that was super regular for me.
And then doing that, I went back to Sage. I went back to Paradise Pond, and I was listening to Dido's “Thank You” the whole time. And my playlist “Sitting Happily,” which was exactly how I felt that day. My dress was so flowy and the wind was just so kind and I was literally just dancing with my skirt just billowing around me in a circle with my arms out too, like with my wired earbuds and stuff. I was just dancing—no one could see me because it's down that hill. It's dark. And I'm listening to Dido, but I can also just hear the rush of the waterfall. Of Paradise Pond. And like this is the best. Like, I can't imagine a moment that feels better. It felt so good and I was like, I love it, and I just stayed and kept on doing that for like twenty more minutes. I sat on the edge of the—where you can sit on that little concrete triangle when you go a step further down, on that little landing as you go down to the athletic fields. I sat there with my legs dangling, and I was like this is awesome. I can just choose to be here. I can choose the music I know I like. I know I love how I feel in this dress. Well, I love how this dress feels on me. I love how the air feels around me and I am at a college that is full of opportunity and there is just so much to be grateful for and happy about is what I felt in that moment, and then I was like I have a beautiful mind. I was like, I'm so happy that I can think these things now. And to be overwhelmed with appreciation when just two years ago, that was inconceivable, you know?
So, I think that that was just what caught me by surprise. And from that moment kind of like, I've had like a good couple of moments where I'm just really embracing the atmosphere around me, the way that I'm feeling inside. Because I remember exactly what that night felt like. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Yeah.
YENA: So it's kind of like, what originally inspired you, kind of came from this place of deficiency—like what you were saying with the yearning and, you know, like this love that was kind of seeking something from others in a way. Recognition.
TOMOKO: Yeah.
YENA: And now it's sort of like grounded in that self worth—in wholeness and appreciating what is and what you have, you know?
TOMOKO: And what is to come for me. And what I hope it is to come from me. When I was eighteen, I wrote in this letter to the person I was infatuated with at the time, that at that point in writing it, I felt as though I had just woken up. I just realized that this whole time, I was looking at myself through my perceived lens of what this guy might have seen me as, and constantly adjusting myself. It's like I'm looking through someone else's glasses to see how they see me and thinking: Oh, like I don't like how that looks. I should fix it. And then I didn't have anything because I didn't know if I did anything because I liked it. I was always doing everything because I thought someone else would like it. Literally. I mean, not like everything I did, but like what I wore, many of the things that I took on. I don't know, it's nuanced, but I feel like I only took charge of doing things because I want to see it in me. You know, like I think I want to do this. That didn't happen for me until after I graduated high school. Yeah, and I feel like I can only really confidently say that this is true for me now.
YENA: It’s so beautiful how music is such a site of healing for you; how it's been this site of revelation in so many ways.
TOMOKO: Yeah. I don't know if I told you this, but I had a horrible relationship with the violin for the majority of my life. Like my mom would be threatening to make me quit, saying “You're not gonna see your violin tomorrow,” because I wouldn't practice enough or like I didn't do well at my lessons.
YENA: That’s really interesting, wait—she would threaten to make you quit.
TOMOKO: Yeah, it's kind of reverse-psychology. It's like, you're not thankful for what you have because you're not taking advantage of it. Like, you don't deserve it. I'm gonna take it away from you. But my mom was just so influenced by this pre-college music prodigy culture. She just wanted us to be happy and succeed. We said what we wanted was to be good at our instruments, so then that’s what she did. She tried to help us be better at our instruments. She's never done something just because she wanted it from us. But sometimes kids don't know what they want. So, “you wanted this” doesn't suffice. I quit taking lessons my sophomore year of high school because of COVID, and Zoom lessons didn't feel like they were worth it. I had my violin of course—sophomore, junior, senior year—but I didn't play it at all pretty much like junior year or sophomore year, as like in lessons.
I was very sad during this time, and when I felt like I couldn't even speak, like that energy—when I couldn't muster it, I could pick up the violin. You know, I couldn't talk to my therapist and say this is how I'm feeling. I would have to type in the chat, through Zoom therapy. But then after that, I could play the violin. From then, when that started happening, I played two pieces during that time, Cinema Paradiso’s “Love Theme,” and the main theme from “Howl’s Moving Castle.” And those two pieces really kind of were the words of consolation or the voices where the self expression that I could not think of exerting otherwise or outputting came from. I was no longer stressed out and competitive about my instrument, more than I was just like this is an appendage of mine. You know, this is my voice, this is something that is like an extension of me.
Something that my violin teacher before my current one used to tell me was that yeah, there are instrument operators, and then there are musicians. You can be so technically advanced in your instrument and have no real voice.
It's not personal, you know, it's like someone who's just really impeccable at writing, in a way where technically, nothing is incorrect. But it’s not special? I can't even think of a real world example, really.
YENA: It's true, it's like what matters more almost is that kind of intuition and that kind of emotion and feeling that goes with it.
TOMOKO: Yeah. Yes, it is.
And just the desire to communicate. I think more than anything, that's why I continue playing violin. I want to communicate the beauty that I see—that my conductor sees, that everyone else in the orchestra feels in this music, and we just want to show people. This is what we see, can you see it too? You know, like close your eyes. Do you see? Are you feeling what we’re feeling? I don’t think I can ever get that feeling from anything else.
YENA: It's so interesting—Joan Didion has this thing where she talks about why she writes. She says: “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” For her, writing is to know what she's thinking, to find that out. And I almost feel like music is that medium for you. It's like—how we construct a self, how we construct the narrative of our lives, how we make sense of who we are—for you, it’s with music, really.
TOMOKO: I don't know what it is about specific pieces, but they are the only things I can listen to sometimes. I know it will heal me if I listen to this music, where I remember exactly that era of my life. This is the piece that I was playing. It was so difficult for me, you know, like it is—I cannot extract myself and my emotions from the pieces that I'm playing. Like it is just so intertwined. I feel like the fabric of the piece—I'm in there. And anything I'm feeling or the life stage I'm at.
YENA: Next question. How do you feel that your identity as a person of color influences or intersects with your work?
TOMOKO: I think I’m trying to understand my identity. I think I'm trying so hard to connect with my Japaneseness. Yeah. Like trying so hard. Through art. Trying to connect so hard with my family, through art, because my grandpas both were artists. My grandmother practiced Ikebana, the flower arrangement. Poetry—Japanese poetry is so specific. It's like writing sonnets. It comes in a template. Writing letters in Japanese, it comes in a template. You're supposed to start with saying something about the season. Like, you know? And I think I am because I am missing my Japanese history, my Japanese—I don't know, like lived learning—in such a big way. A lot of my art is just trying to grasp at what might be there. Writing about persimmons, drawing persimmons, being crazy about persimmons. That's also just like—I want that to be a part of me so bad. You know.
YENA: But it is. Have you read Immigrant Acts by Lisa Lowe? What she says is that necessarily, there is no one Asian American experience. It will all absolutely be different, you know? And that doesn't make any version more or less Asian or Asian American or whatever. And that we have to recognize the way our lives contradict those narratives.
TOMOKO: This is—my Japanese Americanness is so valid. That this is a Japanese-American experience.
YENA: It is, yeah. And what would be the right or the valid one, you know?
TOMOKO: Exactly. Yeah, you're right.
YENA: I don't know, but I think what you said is beautiful.
TOMOKO: [Makes a shocked face]
YENA: What?
TOMOKO: I forgot about cooking.
YENA: Cooking?
TOMOKO: I guess this is not really relevant.
YENA: You can put cooking in there! If you think that's like a medium for you, an art.
TOMOKO: I think cooking is an art absolutely. Bro. I can send you pictures of my cooking. So cooking is like my favorite medium. It's—I'm making something that you can eat. You're consuming my art. My grandmother—there was not a single meal she did not garnish and set up. She never just made something and threw it in a bowl and was like, okay, here, take it and eat on the couch. Always placemat, always chopstick holder, always napkin, always…little parsley leaf for garnish. In the way that—to create a little ceremony in every meal, no matter how angry you are at each other—we had a really complicated year of living together when my mom was in Japan and she was my legal guardian. Without fail, always, she made dinner and breakfast for me and made it beautiful. And when I cook for myself, I make it beautiful as well. I think it is a testament to my love and admiration for her, and my respect for her, but it is really showing yourself appreciation. You deserve for your bed to be made when you come home. You deserve for you know, you deserve for your clothes to be clean.
YENA: So kind of domestic arts? As a medium?
TOMOKO: Hmmm…those are just thoughts that I’ve thought about recently as well because I was like: I'm taking care of myself, not out of shame, not because I am like, I am ashamed to be dirty or I'm ashamed to be messy, but now I am cleaning because I deserve cleanliness and I deserve to come home and not smell the trash. I deserve to come home and not have to shuffle through a bunch of clothes that I don't know are dirty or clean. I deserve to walk out of my like house to class, feeling refreshed and clean. And not worrying about how my breath smells.
You know, these are all things that I do because I deserve to feel good. That's like a separate thought, but in this one, it’s like…here is my love that I made, on a plate, that you can eat. And I made it pretty for you. Because this is my creation for you. And I think that is an art that I’d like to talk about. I think I cook for myself in a way that I like to make it beautiful as well, cause I just like to look at it for a while first and then eat it.
YENA: And do you feel like that’s one way that you maintain your cultural identity?
TOMOKO: Cooking?
YENA: Yeah.
TOMOKO: Absolutely.
YENA: How has your work changed since arriving at college?
TOMOKO: I see my art spike up, like how often I do it, during the breaks. Winter break, over the summer, I do a lot of art.
YENA: Thanksgiving?
TOMOKO: No, not Thanksgiving. Not Thanksgiving because I was just so stressed out this time. I mean, I wrote a few poems, but that was because all of my friends were sending me their substacks. I was inspired. And yeah, it's changed in a way where I am exploring. I'm not afraid to mess up nearly as much anymore. In high school, I didn't really draw that much. I did a lot of doodling. I did fashion sketches, because I was really into fashion, so I did a lot of clothing stuff. I'm trying to remember. I did illustrations for friends a lot. I drew for my school’s literature magazine or the cover art for whatever other magazine or the yearbook or like—I feel like I was commissioned a lot by the school newspaper.
Now I draw for my friends. I give them things, I think it's like little tokens of appreciation really. It’s priceless.
YENA: That’s beautiful. What advice would you give to a young artist?
TOMOKO: Record how you're feeling. Whether that's in writing or a voice memo or a drawing of yourself and how you feel. If that's you with horns and purple nails that are actually growing out into thorns or flowers or whatever dramatic stuff it might be, like I think that for as long as you think that there is no emotion or internal feeling that you cannot make tangible, you are unstoppable. Like, if you know it in yourself that you can represent what you're feeling in some sort of medium, whatever that might be, whether it's smashing on the piano—that is what makes you an artist, I think. To be able to communicate that. What it is that's in here [Gestures to heart] and so raw. Raw doesn't even feel like the right word.
YENA: If you could meet any writer or artist, who would it be? Dead or alive.
TOMOKO:
Anthony Bardain.
YENA: [Gasps] Good answer!
TOMOKO: I think that he is an artist in that he really cultivated kind of beautiful relationships and beautiful conversations in a way that I think is just, really, art. You know, he had such a way to himself that…I don’t know. His life was just—he just lived it. He lived art. I don’t know how to say it. I don't know how to say he's an artist. I don't know how to justify that he's an artist, but to me, he is.
YENA: No, he's totally an artist. Yeah—food!
TOMOKO: Yeah, but it's not that he made all this amazing food that is known, like Julia Child.
YENA: It was his appreciation, I think, of—
TOMOKO: The people behind it.
YENA: Yeah.
TOMOKO: And the people who ate it.
YENA: And the open mindedness, I think, like, the way he popularized so many different kinds of cuisines, because he was so willing to eat—he thought high quality food could come from anywhere. You know?
TOMOKO: Because food is so much about the people.
And I think one thing that I always ask, when someone says they're not from America, I ask: What's your favorite food, from your culture? And I have notes apps of that too.
YENA: [Whispers] This is making me hungry.
TOMOKO: Making you hungry?
YENA: Yeah…
TOMOKO: You haven't had my cooking yet.
YENA: No. And you haven't had mine.
TOMOKO: OOOOOOH. YENA!
YENA: When are we going to cook for each other?!
TOMOKO: I would love nothing more! My ears perked up! My tail is wagging! Oh my god.
YENA: [Laughs] Wait, we should cook for each other! Like do a little thing.
TOMOKO: YES!
YENA: Maybe even a dinner party for our friends?
TOMOKO: OH my gosh, yes!!! You’re like saying all my favorite words right now.
YENA: [Laughs] Do you know that Tiktok trend that’s like when you get in front of someone and get on the phone and start saying all of their favorite words and you record their reaction?
TOMOKO: Yeah, that would be so easy with me I think.
YENA: [Laughs] We’ll plan it. Anyways.
TOMOKO: Is the end?
YENA: Those are the end of the official questions, but something I wanted to ask you separately was about something we’ve talked about many times. But I think it would be interesting for you to share because I feel like part of what I admire so much—and I admire many things about you Tomoko—but one of the things I admire a lot is how you manage to keep so many aspects of your life alive in a way that like—you do so much art. You write poems, you’re writing things in general. You have your music and your performances. On top of that you’re House President and a LEAD Scholar. But then also your majors are STEM. And I think a lot of people buy into that false dichotomy that you think one way or you think the other. That you’re good at one and you’re bad at the other. And I feel like you are really good at proving that wrong. That you can love all of these things, do all of these things, and be good at them—you know what I mean? Like that it’s all possible.
TOMOKO: I think that something that drives me is that I have an endless fascination with things. I think that my fascination with stats is very similar to my fascination with theory. The fact that there is so much to learn; the fascination with the way that people are able to articulate things that I can relate to, and we've never met, we have completely different lives. The fact that I've written about myself so many times and to find it having been published as an essay in five different places. This has happened to me so many times. I didn't write about Lacan in my common app essay. It was Lacanian—what I was saying. This concept in my Smith supplement about trying not to interpret all the time—that's a published essay that's famous too, like I mean, of course they did a lot more research, but the thing we’re trying to communicate is the same thing!
I feel just constantly fascinated by the beauty of how numbers work—how someone liked numbers enough to make a formula that said, okay, I'm gonna decide that this is when a model is getting too complicated and there are too many predictors because we want simpler models. And I'm gonna work on this for so long because I love it that much. And I'm like whoa. That's awesome. Someone likes, you know, music enough to, someone likes math enough to, and I think that I just want to understand and relate to all of these people who are the best of the best in everything. And I want to understand their passion, and I want to be like, yeah, I see it! That's so exciting!
And I think, I'm not finding it everywhere, obviously, I'm not a Gov major. Because I think that I did see that for myself at some point, but it's not…
YENA: [Whispers] I was there too.
TOMOKO: Yeah, and I think that I'm definitely skewed in the ways—in the directions where I definitely do have particular interest. It's not where I expected it to be necessarily, but it's funny what I find exciting, I think, and I find music so exciting. I find theory and poetry so exciting. And stats very exciting. And the flip side to that is I cannot help but be in community with people. I just know that it's like a truth about me—that I want to feel comfortable—well, I feel like usually my base state is I am comfortable and I want to help other people feel comfortable. And that's why I'm HP. Because I want so badly for people to feel this embrace.
I wrote something to Ronny last night. I was doing, you know, I was having a panic attack going into...
YENA: Yeah.
TOMOKO: I wrote to Ronny: You were right. The place was filled with people I love, who love me. And the embrace that engulfed me just by my walking into that space made that abundantly clear…is what I said. To walk into a space and know that—just the warmth of knowing that you have now come home. That is missing for so many people, you know? So that is so important for me that the first years have that. I saw these little letters that were stapled onto the bulletin board when I came to Smith, without my parents, when two of my friends who were going to drive me bailed on me less than twenty-four hours, and my mom was like “Ahhh!” and got a driver service to drive me. And I was trying to make conversation for like two and a half hours. He was lovely…
YENA: But not an ideal situation.
TOMOKO: But he’s not my dad. He’s not my mom. He’s not my sister. But I walked in, and it said “YOU ARE HOME.” And then I really internalized that. Those are the first things that I saw in Lamont. So…that's why I'm HP, because I need to do everything in my power to make sure that people feel this. The this that I get to feel in so many spaces. If I can help anyone feel that way, I’ll do it. For as long as this is my capacity.
And then for LEAD, I just feel like that’s mission stuff, you know, like I have this inherent—I feel a heavy responsibility to help others understand damage. To help others understand how they're allowed to feel angry, how there’s so much more agency in this environment. I want to do LEAD because I want to help students. I want to help my friends. I want to put together resources so people can do whatever they want in this school, to help each other and themselves. I’m working on this thing called “Elevate Your Activism.” It has who to go to, in what office, for what concern, whether it’s bathroom signs or a clogged toilet. That’s an exaggeration—it’s like if this space is inaccessible, who do I go to? You know I’m always having trouble in this specific class, this professor is always having trouble with pronouns or always making the students of colors teach everyone. Like what—who do I go to for that? You know, all of these things, there is no student space—like fully governed student space, for students at Smith. Who do I go to for that? You know, all of these different things—how do I find how much I’ll be fined if I spray paint something? If I break a window? You know, all of these things, there’s so many questions.
And we've talked about it in HPA with President Sarah. I've been working on this for the entire semester, and it’s gonna be finished by the spring. I basically took this very linear formated, very millennial kind of Google doc of: what is taking yourself keep taking care of yourself as activist kind of things plus like here's a framework for activism and turning that into a Google site that has pictures, like: this is what you want, this is what you want, and this is what you want. So you don’t have to shuffle through like twenty-four pages. It's hard to read but it has links to everything that you could possibly need. And if you wanna sign up for leadership workshops. Or if you want leadership workshops for your house, for your org. Or if you want the Schacht Center to start giving out COVID boosters, to start giving out free COVID tests: how do you get that? How do you get the school to do that? Helping students engage in activism—that’s why I do that at least, with LEAD.
YENA: Yeah, that was beautiful. I guess I meant it more like…not like why you do these things, do you know what I mean?
TOMOKO: Yeah, like how?
YENA: Not like how…but I think you kind of answered it in the beginning, where you were like: You’re really driven by what fascinates you and your care for other people, and I think that’s all reflected in your art, too. So I guess I’m wondering, what role does your art and your creativity have in all of this? Like what place does it have in your life? Because you’ve managed to really admirably keep it as such a like—
TOMOKO: I think I study Stats and CS because I knew I would never stop doing art. I think I told you this, also. I knew I would never stop being interested in theory or philosophy. Or I would never stop going to museums just because I’m not studying art.
YENA: So you see it as like a life-long pursuit.
TOMOKO: Oh absolutely. It’s food!
YENA: Yeah, it is. It really is!