The independent news organization of Duke University
The notion of “playing hard” every night is perplexing as an outsider: it’s an activity caught in a dissidence of employing and neglecting empathy.
How many more little moments have we all missed when we choose to listen to music instead of interact?
I don’t mean that we should pretend not to know anything about this campus and act surprised every time we encounter it. But in a very real way, this campus remains a total mystery to us.
Once we forget how abnormal our treatment of women is, the less likely we are to change it.
In a place as diverse as Duke, each and every individual is a cultural onion like no other. I cannot wait to uncover the stories they have to tell as I peel the layers of their identities over the next four years.
Now that my tennis days are well behind me, “put the ball in the other person’s court” is not a literal command screeched by an upset tennis coach, but a metaphorical lesson I preach to my friends like a sophomore frat boy preaches the rules of Thursday night partying to first years.
We shouldn't only learn declarative knowledge and how to think about concepts, but also how to think for ourselves—something that, paradoxically, must be learned but cannot be taught.
If you care and your goal is to make the most impact possible, you don’t need Peter Singer telling you what to do. The philosophy that being rich will allow you to help the most people absolutely isn’t true, especially if you hurt a lot of people in the process of accumulating that wealth.
Confronting the fact that I went to Duke for four years and tried very few off-campus restaurants made me feel a little like a fraud.
The built environment generates stories, and the stories attach flesh to stage, script, choreography, actors, performances, and reviews. Three intentions and three actions, three forms and three interactions of content — all six a standard set to understand design at Duke.
Upon taking the first bite of the sandwich, my tongue was assaulted by an acrid tanginess that instantly overwhelmed any other flavor. Worse, the texture was that of wet rubber: chewy and fibrous, yet unnervingly moist and slippery. Another ingredient was present, and there was more of it than even the avocado that was crucial to the name of the sandwich. Once again, Duke Dining had tricked me into eating something with tomato.
Maybe someday I will enter, not as a student seeking help but as a volunteer.
To remember we are dust like the Dukes is healthy and holy. In fact, remembering dying should help us in our living.
Goal-oriented intimacy harms both women and men.
The emergence of elite-driven feminism—the predominance of upper-middle-class feminists—has ruptured feminism's core rapport for women.
The more I think about the phrase now, the more the threat fades, the more hopeful it sounds, and so I say it again, out loud this time. Anything could happen. Anything, if I just make it happen.
Of all the people you know, how many truly know you? My answer: NONE.
Something tells me that I could work every day of the year, and be happy about it, if we stopped treating productivity like a lifestyle which we adopt for the weekday.
I, too, am seeing the city now. I see its wide streets, hear its wild voices, feel its wet heartbeat on a Saturday night. May I recognize the hidden and historical heartaches as well.
What I so desperately wanted to add would have made people more uncomfortable, but it is the plain truth—non-white people’s aversion to tanning and getting darker is rooted in white supremacy.
