“Number 12 Looks Just Like You,” an episode from the fifth season of Rod Serling’s classic show “The Twilight Zone,” tells the story of Marilyn, an 18 year old living in a dystopian future — which Serling refers to as the year 2000.

Society has evolved to the point where plain, ugly faces are considered obsolete and a detriment to development. Therefore, all recent adults are advised, if not pushed, to pick out a different, more attractive appearance from a catalogue.

 Nevertheless, Marilyn refuses to do so, as she argues that people suffer from severe identity loss after their operation.

While this episode also serves as a critique of the emergence of advanced cosmetic surgery, the subject of alienation remained within my thoughts hours after watching it, for it reminded me of the identity issues that plagued me when I returned home following the first arduous semester at WSU.

“You’ve changed,” a friend said to me. “I don’t know how, but you’ve changed.”

I always wondered what he meant. Was it a positive or negative change? How did it affect people around me? Was I the only one who hadn’t noticed it?

All of these questions floated around my head with endless stubbornness, cursed with ignorance and curiosity.

Soon I came to realize Kansas had, indeed, altered my point of view on life.

The college experience had modified my eating and sleeping habits, and improved my social skills. Yet, these were mere superficial adjustments — my brain witnessed a true battle unfold between my Peruvian and Kansan sides.

Even though I would hesitate to call them “polar opposites,” I must note the dissimilarities between Lima and the Sunflower State, as they go beyond the strictly geographical — parents impose varying sets of values upon their children, several of which are not shared between cultures.

When I lived in Fairmount Towers, I noticed some of my fellow residents expected me to act or talk a certain way given my background.

I didn’t foresee, however, that the same phenomenon would apply to my loved ones back home, as well.

Driven by an incessant necessity to question my alleged Americanized lifestyle, they dropped snarky comments about eating at McDonald’s and watching football on ESPN that failed to ignite anger within me, though they did lead me to the conclusion that, wherever I went, society attempted to dictate my actions and feelings.

 My deep admiration for Marilyn, the main character in “Number 12 Looks Just Like You,” originates from this idea — I didn’t want to face the social pressures anymore, or have to withstand my community’s slick efforts to influence my thoughts.

I wanted to be me.