In the world after affirmative action what are young people finding to be the major sources of inequity in their personal lives and how are they overcoming them? Caille Millner, an 18-year-old African American from San Jose, Ca., is keeping a journal on her experiences as she navigates her way through Harvard University where she is completing her first semester. Here are the third entry in her journal. Millner writes for YO! (Youth Outlook), a newspaper by and about young people published by Pacific News Service.

CAMPUS LIFE -- FEELING MORE DEAD THAN ALIVE

CAMBRIDGE, MASS. -- Harvard students are dropping like flies.

Suicides are one way of leaving the campus -- just this semester, a sophomore threw herself in front of a train. A large number of students go on extended leave, or study abroad, or find some way to leave campus every year. Those who stay can often be found engaged in lengthy discussions about how they can't wait to leave.

Being your own person is exceptionally difficult here, and people often don't react well to those who try. There are clear expectations of what a Harvard student should be, and people who don't fulfill them -- or have a difficult time trying -- are often shut out. Those who are shut out respond by shutting down (a friend describes the alienated masses as "Harvard zombies.")

I'd been experiencing a lot of isolation on campus before I went home for Christmas. It was frustrating, but I didn't think much of it -- I'd gotten used to isolation at my college preparatory high school. It wasn't until I returned after the holidays that I realized how damaging this isolation was.

First I asked my boyfriend (who also goes to Harvard) why people didn't like me. He didn't even have to think about his answer. "You have a personality different from everyone else," he told me. "I like that, but a lot of people don't know how to deal with it."

Then, this weekend, a friend gave me his opinion on my status at Harvard. "Everyone here wanders around like they're in a trance," he said. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like they're afraid to make connections with other people. You're not afraid to feel alive, and they don't know how to deal with that."

That may be true, but the lack of human contact has made me feel more dead than alive lately. Sometimes I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me, but when I talk to my classmates I realize many of them are feeling the same way. We're all feeling around in the dark for connections with other people, just to know that we can still relate to something other than our books and our papers.

The culmination of these frustrations is "Primal Scream," a tradition in which Harvard undergraduates gather in the Yard the midnight before finals start and let out one huge, collective scream of exhaustion and terror. It's one of the few times I truly do feel connected to the rest of the campus.

Regardless of what the brochures might advertise, I know that this is a competitive environment. Everyone here wants to rule the world. The only way they see to do that is by destroying the competition -- in other words, each other.

It's pretty easy to wipe out the competition -- just pretend they don't exist. Soon, people who are being ignored don't believe in their own existence either.

RAP RIVALRY HITS CAMPUS

"If I have to choose a coast, I'll have to choose the East. I live out there so don't go there." -- Going Back to Cali, by the Notorious B.I.G.

The rap rift has infiltrated my college campus.

The same people who can't muster the slightest interest in world events let alone philosophical questions, become passionate when discussing which coast is better -- East or West. Since 15 percent of Harvard undergraduates are from New York and 10 percent are from California, this makes for a lot of heated arguments.

Often, the argument pivots on something a rapper said, or the question of which coast has the best hip-hop. When that goes nowhere, the participants start trading stereotypes -- West Coasters are flaky, weed-smoking, tree-hugging hippies or gangstas who shoot at the sight of blue or red, while East Coasters are rude, arrogant, materialistic junkies or snotty J. Crew preppies.

We Harvard students are proof there's a grain of truth in all stereotypes. But the amusement factor in these exchanges has worn thin for me. I'm tired of defending the West Coast, and I'm tired of hearing why New York is "the bomb" and why California is "mad wack."

We're all here to learn (including from each other), to get a degree and to do something that matters in the world. At least, that's why I'm here. If you have to spend all your time talking about why your coast is best and why someone else's coast is inferior, there's obviously a problem with you that goes beyond coastal pride.

I feel like I'm losing out on something important about my college experience because of this silly rivalry. The other day I asked a certain student from New York City to explain it. He looked at me, an arrogant glitter to his eye, and smirked, "I guess they don't teach y'all correctly in California."

"That's not why I don't understand," I snapped, and walked away.

We each had a chance to learn something from each other -- to open up lines of communication, start a debate about life, love, the world, something bigger than ourselves. Instead, it got blown away by coastal arrogance.

A lot of people from the East Coast come here with their social circles already well defined. They barely extend themselves beyond those circles. That leaves West Coasters out in the cold. This is hardly fair.

After two of the bloodiest deaths in hip-hop history -- Tupac and the Notorious B.I.G. -- you'd think rap fans would have second thoughts about carrying on the coastal rivalry. Instead, people are clinging to it like their very identities are at stake.