…highlight a whole book and still say you “took notes.”
...HIGHLIGHT A WHOLE BOOK AND STILL SAY YOU “TOOK NOTES.”
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There’s a silent, knowing nod that passes between us – current students and alumni – when this particular academic absurdity is mentioned. You remember that course, don’t you? The one where the reading list felt more like a small library. We’d crack open a dense monograph, pen in hand, determined to extract the essence. An hour later, the page was a mosaic of neon yellow, pink, and blue. Every paragraph, every other sentence, seemed vital, indispensable. You weren’t just highlighting; you were performing a detailed archaeological excavation on every single page.
And then, with a straight face, you’d tell yourself (and maybe your study group), “Yeah, I just took some notes on that.” As if scribbling technicolor across half a book qualified as mere annotation. It wasn't about laziness; it was about the sheer volume, the intellectual pressure cooker of our institutions. It was about grappling with complex ideas so thoroughly that leaving any sentence untouched felt like an academic sin. It was a badge of honor, a testament to our dedication, or perhaps, our mild-to-severe overthinking.
This wasn’t just highlighting; it was an act of survival. It was how we absorbed, processed, and ultimately, made sense of the intellectual torrent. It’s a shared memory, a peculiar rite of passage, etching itself into the very fabric of our Ivy education. You emerged from it not just with a highlighted book, but with a sharpened mind, ready to tackle any intellectual challenge.
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