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I do not see myself in the bullet but I see myself in the gunsmoke. Throughout my life I have had run-ins with gun violence, both direct and indirectly, that shaped who I am today. If nothing else, those run-ins taught me an important lesson: that the public sphere belongs not to humans, but to guns.
“Duke does plan to be around forever, and it has to manage its endowment as if it will be.” This throwaway sentence by Scott Huler, ironically, was the key that locked a Pandora's box of contradictory conundrums and reservations that I had about Duke. How can an organization be the voice of the oppressed, while oppressing the same people? How can an institution be an agent of capitalism while being ground zero for anti-capitalist ideas?
Nowadays, I spend a lot of time on the mobile ordering app and Net Nutrition app. I scroll through different food options, trying to decipher what meal gives me the most amount of protein and calories. Ironically, it always ends up with Panda Express. Nevertheless, I usually continue my search for something at least somewhat healthy. Through my continued search, I usually despair, for every meal now is lavishly priced. Eventually, I just give up and choose something, food points chart be damned. When prices of essential goods rise, the middle class and lower class tend to suffer, and this case is no different.
Content warning: This article contains mentions of suicide.
I am a low income minority student, a label that I am neither proud of or ashamed of. At least, that's what I want to believe, but understandably it’s more complicated than that.
How many words are you willing to read? 500? 700? Maybe 1000 when the topic aligns with your interests. For some of you, you might click on this article but quickly get distracted by your phone notifications or your funny roommate. Nonetheless, this possibility of losing the reader is what writers fear the most: having no readers is interchangeable with shouting into an empty void. Nevertheless, this possibility creates one of the most important characteristics of writing: space.
Red and orange leaves falling from the trees, the sunrise shining through the thin clouds and the gothic architecture standing majestically: a picturesque scene gleams through the uncertainty of death. A scene that serves as a reminder that nothing is permanent. The trees might grow leaves again, but for the leaves this is the end of their storybook. A society, like a tree, might lose its members; nevertheless, it will keep resiliently treading on toward the future. Unlike leaves, humans exist both as a physical being as well as an idea. For all of us, our physical form will pass away but the idea of us will live on, through either our offspring or what we left behind. This is a fact best embodied by the place where we rest after we pass on: graves.
Gazing at the sky, I try reaching out to the stars. But my hands can never reach far enough to touch the stars. Once again, I am reminded of my own powerlessness, and humanity. Nonetheless, I got up from the grass and started walking to my dorm. During the walk back, I pondered about the human ingenuity behind Duke’s gothic architecture. My train of thought didn’t last long, evaporated due the fact that I have an 8:30 in a few hours.
I put my car in park, quickly grabbed my stuff and started speed walking. I was late for my Ethics 215 class. Huffing and puffing, I made it to class on time. I sat down, and while waiting for other people to come, Sara Kate started asking us about our day. A few minutes later, everyone was here, and we got our first task: brainstorm future events for the class.
“Who let the dogs out? Who, who, who, who, who?” They always ask who let the dogs out, but not who takes care of the dogs. Well the answer for both, at least for Durham, is the Animal Protection Society. The APS not only lets dogs out to responsible owners but also cats, bunnies, hamsters, chickens, and many other animals. APS is also our destination for our first Day of Service.
I put my key in the ignition, turned it, and started driving without a destination. I didn’t know where I was going, but I did know that I needed a break from Duke. Every journey is defined by the choices made along the way, and quickly, I met my first choice of the night: should I turn right or left on South Buchanan Blvd? Since I hate making left turns, I turned right. I drove for maybe a half mile before I was met with a familiar building: The Emily K. Center. Even though I have never entered the building before for fear of being judged for my crappy admissions essay, I had friends who sang praises of the Emily K. Center for helping them get into their dream college. Maybe someday I will enter, not as a student seeking help but as a volunteer. However, that train of thought didn’t last long before I met a traffic light.
