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My morning routine includes one of those UV sun lamps that helps with seasonal depression and, in my case, sleep drunkenness from my Delayed Circadian Rhythm sleep-wake cycle. It’s called a Happy Lamp, and it has 4.5 stars on Amazon based on reviews from 7,545 people. I also have a small whiteboard on the left side of my bathroom with a list of get-ready items: put on clothes, take meds, contacts, deodorant, Oh my god please brush your teeth, Lily pack your damn lunch. I set ten alarms, each for fifteen-second increments; my contacts and medication are in a neat pile next to my outfit on my bedside table.
On January 14, a Duke University (DUPD) Police Officer killed a patient at Duke University Hospital. The civilian had gained control of a Durham police officer’s firearm and fired multiple shots in the emergency room. A DUPD officer, after seeing the patient’s gun raised toward the Durham Officer, responded by shooting the patient, who later died from bullet injuries.
As a white Jewish woman, I credit the voices of Palestinian, Black and Indigenous activists in inspiring my movement toward the fight for Palestinian liberation. In my support of Students for Justice in Palestine’s Letter to the Editor, I was hesitant to publish anything that might detract from Palestinian voices or center myself within a narrative of oppressorship and settler-colonialism.
***This is a compilation of tributes from the Edens Staff.***
For years, my life has been dictated by a resounding sleepiness. I’ll peel away my covers while fighting morning headaches and crushing fatigue. Afternoon brings sleep attacks, absentmindedness, cloudiness; I chug cup after cup of coffee to wash away the fog that has obstructed my vision. Evening is a bit better, although I’ll probably need another shot of espresso.
I entered Duke wanting to study Public Policy. I dreamed big, with admittedly girlboss energy, of briefcases and government and suits and promotions. However, within my first semester at Duke, the image I’d constructed for myself peeled away, revealing a person who was deeply flawed, filled with anxiety and yearning for more.
This is a totally real ad paid for by Duke Student Government.
Since I can first remember, I’ve been fascinated with water. At age four, I was briefly obsessed with the sinking of the Titanic; I’d recall the temperature of the ocean during the sinking while voraciously chewing my pizza lunch in preschool. I loved the way my arms and legs felt in the pool or the lake or the sea. This intrigue led to joining a summer swim team, which, in turn, led to competitive year-round swimming at age eight.
On June 17, 2020, President Vincent Price published a statement addressed to the Duke community regarding anti-racist initiatives, claiming that the University would “resolutely turn our attention toward the mission of anti-racism.” In its December issue, the Duke Alumni Magazine published “It’s Not All Racism,” a letter to the editor that gaslighted anti-Black oppression, shamed BIPOC for their marginalization, and demonstrated overt racism. The author of this letter, Charles Clutts, Trinity, ‘61, argued that “some of it [the plight of minority victims] falls on the victims themselves.” The two messages espoused by Duke appear contradictory—how, even, could they exist within the breadth of a single institution?
One night, in the midst of a late-night Hollows study room cram session, my friend, entirely unprompted, proceeded to crawl on the floor and hide underneath the table. Moments later, my two other friends and I had joined her (masks on, of course), marvelling at the absurdity of our lives and the mustachioed loaf of bread artfully illustrated on the wall-length whiteboard.
When I was a wee elementary-schooler, I was obsessed with National Geographic’s Weird but True fact books. Naturally, I learned many niche scientific and sociopolitical facts that would never, ever be relevant to my life. For example, consider the following:
Most days of the week, people come into my dad’s office and tell him about their lungs. I’m having trouble breathing, one might say. Or, I’m dizzy. My chest hurts. I’m feeling sick. My father will prescribe medication, run tests, scribble a quick note. This method of care works—even conditions with a historically extremely high mortality rate have become treatable.
Most Duke students have been spoon-fed an easy narrative—good grades equals good job equals good life—for our entire existence. We attend 8:30 a.m. lectures on three hours of sleep and four cups of coffee, hoping our sleep deprivation will magically subside with an extra shot of espresso. So Duke’s transition to Satisfactory/Unsatisfactory and opt-in letter grades was designated a win by countless in my social and academic circles. However, as time passed, opinions began to change; a mandatory Universal Pass change.org petition circulated, garnering almost 300 signatures.
My first ‘big quarantine cry’ occurred during a late-night Modern Love TV show binge, which seems pretty on-par given my previous columns. It was one of those ugly, red-faced, snot-running cries; it was relentless, continuing for hours on end.
A little over a week ago, a swastika was spray-painted onto Duke’s East Campus Bridge. Hopefully you’re already aware of this incident. After the hate crime occurred, I attempted to process via Gen Z’s unhealthy coping mechanism—online.
John Bolton has yet to open his box of secrets surrounding what he knows about Trump’s collaboration with Ukraine, but he is still slated to speak at Page Auditorium on February 17. Despite declining to testify before the House in Trump’s impeachment inquiry, he still will address eager Duke students, per the invitation of the American Grand Strategy program.
In the spirit of Monday Monday’s most recent column about rush, which reported that the CAPS system crashed due to first-years attempting to schedule appointments with a psychologist, I’ve realized a fundamental truth: we, Duke students, do not need rush; we, Duke students, need therapy.
Whether it manifests in the hate-filled rhetoric around the border crisis or the too-loud chatter of a neighboring dorm room or the emotional boundaries we all hide behind sometimes, we’re all pretty well-acquainted with walls.
Picture this: it’s 2 a.m. on a Saturday and you’re chest-deep in the rabbit hole of Modern Love. You’re a little upset because, yes, it’s cuffing season, and no, you’re not cuffed. So you’re living vicariously through the stories of other people… but sometimes it hurts to be reading these beautiful love fragments and knowing that they cannot and will not and do not apply to you. And then you stumble upon another tidbit of romantic news: an engagement! Between a woman named Katie Waldman and none other than Stephen Miller.
“Challenge yourself. Change your world.”