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It didn’t concern me much to be having a second pandemic birthday, but the realization that a full, quantifiable year of my life had passed and I could account for so little of it did not sit well.
Being hot is not correlated with a size or measurement or price tag — it is about self-assurance.
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But as it is, I am grateful that this unfavourable situation has regaled me with a new form of travel
So this week has been particularly jarring.
I like my life better now, I think — and yet, sometimes I feel like I could spend hours lying in bed, listening to music, scrolling through photos, drilling deeper into some unreachable past.
I feel like I should know Earl Grey.
Clearly, there is a lot wrong with Western classical music.
Why do we watch movies?
Maybe she just loved herself too much. Maybe she was just not brave enough. Maybe she was afraid to find out that no relationship could ever live up to her expectations, not even her parents’.
Unfortunately for my young nerves, the entire “Final Destination” franchise hinges on the premise that no matter how closely you examine the world for signs, no matter how many premonitions you experience, no matter how tightly you hold onto your loved one, you and everyone you know will eventually die.
Still, if I was the star of a TV show, I wonder how low its ratings would have plummeted during the past eight months of the pandemic.
Not only was exploring nature one of the few activities approved of in my state during quarantine, it also seemed like a great reprieve from the insane amount of time I had spent cooped up in my house.
This summer I haven’t gone outside much, which makes me sad, but only when I think about it.
Everything you’ve heard about California is true.
Despite my intention to toughen up at the onset of adulthood, I remained an oyster without a shell, soft and yielding.
Although we are committed to the practices of good journalism, Recess cannot address anti-Blackness with the distance and superficiality that often diminishes the intention of allies.
On May 24, The New York Times printed on its front page the names of 1,000 victims, just 1% of the over 100,000 people who have lost their lives to COVID-19. Among them, a newlywed, a jazz pianist, an educator and a portraitist — all members of a greater community.
When I was younger and everything seemed possible, I wanted to be a comedian.
Why would a student at Duke choose to spend four years dedicating himself to a field whose prospects are seemingly so dim?
