The independent news organization of Duke University
I’ve always craved glory. My dream is to become a meme, or, better, to have someone make a hologram of me performing a duet with someone unspeakably famous. Like Tupac.
Sure, there were fleeting moments of personal gratification, but in the Duke environment I was fixated on external indicators of success. I wasn’t asking myself if what I was doing made me fulfilled.
There’s a quote that I like from Luke Farrell’s Department Of Interview last year. Department Of asks him, “Fill in the blank: You know you’re a Duke student if...” He responds, “Uh, um, you pretend to be an extrovert.”
It is easy to treat Duke as a brand, as a soulless entity devoid of any personal touch. But if this crisis has proven anything to us, it is that Duke is made up of individuals–wonderful, supportive, and caring people.
Contrary to popular belief, eating disorders aren’t about vanity—they’re coping mechanisms. And this crisis has stripped us of much of the control we’re used to having.
I’ve found myself feeling unfulfilled due to the fact that I no longer have anything concrete in the near future to look forward to. Now, I’m left to analyze how we, as a generation, think about the future.
One minute we oppose a sexual predator, and the next moment we’re all supposed to direct our Twitter accounts and outrage against a private research university in Durham, North Carolina?
I think that no matter where you come from or are currently quarantined, there is benefit from more love, grace and acceptance. More active recognition of how small we are in an interconnected, beautifully broken world.
It is pretty hard to have sex with someone who's at least six feet away from you.
I haven’t watched her interview, but I know what she said. I believe Tara Reade.
Last week, for the first time in my life, my parents warned me that my identity might put me in danger and urged me to be careful in public.
It feels like the coronavirus is something that we ordinary people can’t do much to impact besides washing our hands diligently and staying home. Passing the days by in quarantine can make us feel like passive, if not powerless, observers—or perhaps hostages.
At first I thought I might use this time to get in shape, maybe pick up running. But it is currently 30 degrees in Vermont and there is still snow on the ground, so that might have to wait a couple weeks.
So you’ve regressed into a vegetative state watching TikTok in bed as you pretend not to hear your mother calling.
Do not forget each other, do not let the bonds of comradery and familiarity wane, do not allow our campus culture to be shattered by this virus.
Look. You live here. You’re breathing.
It’s easy for Duke students to believe that our lives are exceptions from the rest of the population and that our time is the most valuable thing on Earth. But maybe it isn’t.
Perhaps the hardest part of this pandemic is surviving in quarantine. Toilet Paper is at an all-time low. Please consider using both Tar Heel Shirts and your old midterms to wipe your ass.
Although COVID-19 has brought death and exacerbated societal inequities and increased feelings of isolation and loneliness, this virus has united humanity in our shared vulnerability.
Campus is immaculate in a way that is only possible in human places devoid of people.
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