Calvin Sun
When Calvin Sun, C '08, needs to get something done, he gets it done—and quickly.
"The trick is not how much you do or how little you do — it's how fast you do it. To work productively, I get at least seven to eight hours of sleep every night," he said. Sun is good at telling people what he does, and he's good at doing a hell of a lot. He balances his time between working as Vice President of the Class of 2008, chairing the Asian American Alliance, hip-hop dancing, filmmaking, MTV VJing, twenty hours a week of biochemistry research, and teaching bartending. His Facebook profile, with two thousand photos and sixteen hundred friends, will eagerly advertise the rest—as will Sun himself.
This tendency towards self-promotion hasn't always endeared him to his peers. On agreeing to be interviewed, his first statement was, "You have no idea the crap I'm going to get for this." So why does he do it? Although Sun is well aware of the criticism he garners whenever people hear him talking about himself, he pays it no mind.
"I know about my hate video," he says. "I've even gotten death threats on my phone. But at some point, I just didn't feel it anymore." Sun was well acquainted with external pressures before his arrival at Columbia. Raised by first-generation, Asian American parents in a family brimming with medical professionals, he was born with a pre-med concentration. His father named him after Dr. Melvin Calvin, namesake of the Calvin cycle.
Two years ago, his father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack, and his mother was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, eventually leading to her paralysis. Sun saw this as a pivotal moment, not only in the trajectory of his life, also in terms of his spirituality. "After my dad passed away, I became more agnostic. I wanted to figure it out on my own." Since then, Sun has thought exhaustively about how much credence he should give to others' ceaseless, and often catty, criticism. He speaks frequently about "society," and is persistently suspicious of it. "Right now as an Asian American male, society wants me to be quiet, emasculated—a model minority. I'm not telling you that I want to be an arrogant, cocky man, but society should let me be."
But the Sun who most people know—the one who recently dyed tufts of his hair red, who forms break-dancing circles at parties, who recalls his sexual conquests by their building and floor numbers (e.g. "Carman 13"), and is the center of his own universe—was not always so. "I used to be such a scared kid. I was scared of sand and water, so I didn't take off my shoes. I didn't talk to other people." All of this changed freshman year when he morphed from an "antisocial Asian geek" into "a ridiculous character." To "get rid of that nervousness, I'd force myself to break-dance in front of large groups of people," he said. "Now, I don't give a shit. People know I can."
Perhaps Sun is just a misunderstood product of his noble fight against society, or maybe he's as cocky and arrogant as he doesn't want us to believe. Either way, he'll continue talking, mostly about himself. "My friends say I could be a good actor. I can isolate my facial muscles well." As if on cue, he launches into a presentation, flexing various facial muscles and winking at me.
—Tony Gong
Remi Coker
In her Facebook profile mugshot, Remi Coker, B '08, has a black eye, a sliced cheek, and blood running down her chin. "I got kicked in the face," she explains in a deep, no-nonsense voice. "Twice." Coker's injuries, and her intimidating athletic physique, can be chocked up to four years on the women's rugby team. And unlike many of the team's players, Coker doesn't want to break any bones. Consider her Facebook status: "Remi Coker hopes you aren't all scared by the new profile photo!"
Still, I approached our interview with caution. When Coker, who serves as Barnard's senior class president, invited me to meet her in person at an SGA meeting, I decided to bring my Take Back the Night whistle. Just in case.
Coker plays eightman and flanker for the rugby team and describes the sport as a much-needed outlet from the stress of her many extracurriculars. "It's what keeps me sane," she says. "I don't have to be 'Remi Coker, class president,' just 'Remi Coker, girl who hits really hard.'" And how hard does she hit? A teammate explained it this way: "When she tackled the girls from the Women's Army Rugby team, you could hear it...it was a low, heavy sound like... bears."
There is something bear-like about Coker. In fact, she's played one. During her freshman year, she secretly assumed the role of Millie, the Barnard mascot. Her guise was revealed, most unfortunately, during a Midnight Mania basketball contest against Roaree, the Columbia lion.
"I wasn't familiar with being the mascot and how to put on the stuff particularly well, and my head fell off between doing lay-ups in front of I don't know how many people," she remembers. "I still beat the lion."
But off the rugby field, dressed in the brightly-colored, girlish tops she's partial to, Coker's intensity manifests itself in friendliness. "I was always that loud kid that everybody knew," she explains. "Still the same way." Before you have a chance to spot her robust figure and tight black ponytail, Coker will probably have already found you. As a friend explains, "She's very careful to be acquainted with everyone...people are just drawn to Remi."
Born to a father from Nigeria and a mother from Australia, Coker grew up in an international household that was, at times, trying, and inspired her to focus her attentions elsewhere—namely, on other people's problems. This, in turn, sparked a genuine interest in student government and in her current major, psychology.
Coker loves people. She's known for wrapping complete strangers in bear hugs, with mixed results. She knows her friends' and advisor's UNIs by heart. And she is a staple at campus events (she counts Big Sub and the Nexus Topping-Off Ceremony among her favorite memories of college). But her smile grows largest when recalling Sexhibition, the annual sex-positive consent fair. "Last year we had actual pictures of vaginas up on Lehman walk, and these little kids were walking by!" Her laughter subsides as she drops to her power tone. "It's my favorite day."
After graduation, Coker plans to take a year off to apply to forensic psychology programs. Though she still has one pre-graduation goal: "Having more friends!"
—Matthew Shields
Ehizoje Azeke
When Ehizoje Azeke, C '08, enters the room, you can try to miss him. Succeed, and you'll be the first. You might admire the precise control he exerts over his 6'1" model's body. You might wish you had his skill in credibly pulling off a herringbone vest. If neither of those works, his personality will grab your attention. "I guess I would describe myself as fun, outgoing, and ambitious," he says, or guesses. If you're aware of campus or pop culture, you've surely seen him. Azeke has performed in a Carrie Underwood music video, appeared on "The View" and MTV's "Dances from the Hood," is a panelist on mtvU's "The Freshmen," and has been involved with Raw Elementz, CCSC, Glass House Rocks, Earl Jam and Orchesis. And those are just the things he can remember.
Azeke is the golden boy of Columbia dance. His greatest contribution has been the hip-hop dance group Onyx, which he co-founded. "We needed a group for people who wanted to be professional dancers. Other organizations did it from more of a club perspective." Azeke enjoys a cult of celebrity, but he insists that the gaggle of devoted fans that follow him from event to event are more than "groupies" or "hangers-on," as some claim. He says they're just interested in dance. "I think we brought something new to campus," he says. He spends six days a week working on his various dance productions, but he does not obsess too much over each piece — "a lot of times it's best to just have it done and convey what you're dancing." His friends say that he can skip the rehearsals and still nail the performance.
But Azeke, or "Zoje," as he is known, does more than dance. He has run the Lunar Gala fashion show, served as the Black Student Organization's social chair, and volunteered for the "America Reads" program. Born in Philadelphia to Nigerian parents, Zoje moved to Chicago and then Virginia Beach before coming to Columbia. He credits his flamboyant fashion sense to his eclectic background. "I think that, since I've been so many places, I have a wider area to draw from." At first, he wanted to be a doctor, but New York changed his perspective. "My goals were not so much about what I loved, but what was 'success,'" he says while making quotation marks in the air. "Since then, I've learned that if you pursue what you love to do, and you're serious about it, you can and will be successful." When Zoje talks, it's with his full body. He leans slightly forward as he hears the questions, and eagerly launches into each answer with a "Yeah, yeah, absolutely" or "Yeah, definitely."
When Azeke, who is majoring in psychology, graduates, he'll have time to focus on his burgeoning modeling and dancing career. "I have lots of auditions and castings coming up, and I'll be balancing work and school for these final weeks," he said. "It's a notoriously competitive industry, but it's really motivating because you have to stay determined to stay competitive." He has already signed with a modeling agency and two different dance agencies, including the famous Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. "Four years ago, there's no way in hell I would have considered being a professional dancer," he said. "In New York, I've gotten to love what I do."
—James Downie
