Thoughts for Kaila Brown
Kaila Brown cared deeply for me at two and a half crucial moments in my life.
The first was in my sophomore Fall when a “B-” on a paper sent me into a tailspin of questioning my decision to major in English. Over coffee in Vondy, Kaila listened patiently as I voiced my insecurities—was I even a good writer? How could I, from my insular, Christian corner of Texas, compete with the genuine intellectuals in English? Kaila responded with her characteristic compassion and vulnerability—she shared her own story with me, speaking about her journey from childhood in a Mormon community to undergrad at Brigham Young University and a PhD at Duke. She spoke of the richness of incorporating these traditions with her scholarship, encouraging me to see my experience as strength.
The candor of that conversation was made possible by another moment when Kaila quite bodily rescued me, the summer I first met her. She was the teaching assistant for Sarah Beckwith’s Duke in London: Drama study abroad program. It was 2012, the year of the Olympics, and Kaila was full of life—running the class, doing her own research at the British Library and still making time to hang out with us.
I was struggling. Before London, I was struck by a car while walking—I suffered a fractured skull and a concussion. I was on heavy pain medication and spent a lot of time in my room. Kaila was supportive, checking in periodically, modifying assignments as needed.
One day I was having Internet problems in my dorm and climbed under my desk to unplug the Ethernet cable. As I yanked the cord with unwarranted force, I catapulted backward and smacked my tender head. I immediately felt ill and laid down, delirious. Some hours later, my friend Elizabeth called Kaila and she appeared at my door.
“I’m fine,” I said, embarrassed that I was lying in my bed in pajamas.
"You’re not fine, you need to go to the emergency room, and I’m going with you,” Kaila told me. She called an ambulance and waited with me until it arrived. She brought me a glass of water, helped me dress. She rode with me, filled out the forms the ambulance attendants forced into my weak hands. At A&E, the Royal London Hospital, she sat by my bedside and chatted with me, keeping me awake. Kaila sent me a card the next day.
Now, on the verge of graduation, I look to Kaila again. Through some bittersweet serendipity, I emailed her on Saturday night asking to get coffee. I was searching for wisdom as I apply to English graduate programs and craved Kaila’s honesty and listening ear.
That conversation dangling in cyberspace is the beautiful “half-moment.” In it, Kaila is still there—a model of passionate ambition and open friendship, uncontrived intellect and intentional mentorship. She will be present with me as I pursue the degree she was working to fulfill, always cherishing her example.
—Bailey Sincox, Trinity senior
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She made you cry. She made you laugh. She made you feel such immense joy that seemed unimaginable before you met her. Her love for others was beyond compare. There wasn't a single person that she didn't care for. When you were around her you could feel her love and because of that love, you wanted to be better in order to feel like you deserved it. No matter who you were she gave it anyways. She was the most amazing person I have ever met and was perfectly imperfect. She meant the world to me and changed me for the better and I will always thank her for that.
With much love,
—Spencer Jasper, Trinity '10
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Dear Kaila,
I am absolutely sure that you were able to recite excerpts by Stanley Cavell and J. L. Austin by heart—Philosophy of Language was one of your passions.
We took a class together in Spring 2011, our first year at Duke, with Professor Sarah Beckwith—a graduate seminar about Shakespearean tragedies and Philosophy of Language. My first year at Duke was rough. I came from Peru in 2010 to start my PhD in Spanish. Adapting to a new language, a new culture and a new educational system was as puzzling as many of the books I had to read for my classes. Frequently, I felt lost in the middle of a classroom, barely understanding what both students and professors were saying. From time to time I even wondered whether abandoning the comfort zone my homeland offered was the right decision. However, every time you and our classmates shared your thoughts about Othello, Cleopatra and Coriolanus in class, I had the impression that everything was going to be alright, that everything was alright indeed and that instead of feeling overwhelmed by the challenges that my new life in the States presented, I should be grateful for the privilege of interacting with such smart people like you.
You were fully committed to your research and participated in diverse activities related to the Center for Philosophy, Arts, and Literature at Duke so we didn’t see each other very frequently after that graduate seminar. However, I still remember a brief conversation we had on Feb. 24, 2012 vividly. We attended a party a common friend of us threw at her place. I arrived a bit late because I had been at the Duke Libraries’ annual party. The house was packed with graduate students from different departments. At some moment, you said that you needed a bit of the cool night breeze of North Carolina’s February so we went out to the porch to continue a conversation about Martin McDonagh we had just started. You smiled when I said that McDonagh was my favorite contemporary playwright and that I had seen three or four of his plays on stage in Lima. Then you made a couple of thought-provoking comments about The Pillowman and added that you were still debating whether to include it in your dissertation project. After that, you took a deep breath and went back to the party.
I would like to think that this brief conversation demonstrates the power that literature and arts still possess to connect people from different cultures, with different languages, with different beliefs. In strict terms, we were acquaintances rather than friends—however, in every interaction we had, you embodied the warm kindness of a cultivated soul. And I wanted to thank you for that.
Rest in peace, Kaila. “All that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.”
—Jesus Hidalgo, Ph.D student in Romance Studies department, photography special projects editor for The Chronicle
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The passing of Kaila Brown has been painful for all who knew her, and it is with deep regret that we bid her farewell. It is, however, with gratitude that we reflect on her bright presence in our lives, and on the priceless opportunity to know a warm, compassionate, fiercely intelligent scholar. Kaila pursued the life of both mind and heart, and those who knew her were struck by her conspicuous selflessness, her constant readiness to help those in need. I write this on a day in which the cold and gray skies seem a fitting reflection of our sorrow, but my heart is and always will be warmed and brightened by memories of Kaila's radiant soul.
—Basil Williams, graduate student in the Fuqua School of Business
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I met Kaila only a handful of times. I am no scholar. But Kaila was. A beautiful, intelligent, brilliant conversationalist, never ostentatious and never condescending. The moment I met her I knew I would not forget her.
Kaila stayed at our house in Toronto for about four days. She was on her way to California to visit her parents. I remember her smile, her thoughtfulness. Kaila knew when to laugh, when to share a story and when to just sit back and listen. Back in Durham, she took me shopping. When Kaila was with you, that was where her mind and attention was and you instantly felt a kinship with her.
I do not know why such a sad end to a life that was just beginning. Why she left us with wanting more and then leave without saying goodbye.
She will be missed and remembered.
—Sally Pawlowski
This article was updated October 14 to reflect an additional remembrance of Kaila.
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