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So, this is my last editor's note ever. I've reported for The Chronicle since the first month of my freshman year, and have thought about what I'd write in this specific piece since then. During the last few years, I'd occasionally wonder: What infinite wisdom will I be able to impart in my last words as a graduating senior?
When I began questioning my sexuality as 13 or 14 year-old, the imperative question was “Why am I the way I am?”
I finally bought myself a drawing tablet this past week. I’ve started using a tablet at work — at the Duke Innovative Design Agency — but outside of that, I’ve been using a mouse or my trackpad to do digital art. That works pretty well for infographics, but it’s definitely difficult to replicate the same effects I would have on paper or canvas.
I used to be that obnoxious girl who always “unintentionally” reminded her friends that her birthday is in a month, discreetly inserting an advertisement into a conversation that had been about something totally different.
When it comes time to assemble Valentine’s Day-themed playlists every year, I’m often struck at just how easy it is to ascribe “love song” status to nearly any piece of pop music: Love, heartbreak and all their variations probably account for a good 50 percent of pop — from “Be My Baby” all the way down to “thank u, next” — and for the rest, it isn’t too difficult to draw the line.
I wouldn’t say I’m a hoarder. I’m a big proponent of tidiness (though perhaps not to Marie Kondo’s level), and I’ll clean my room well before turning to homework, or perhaps a pressing editor’s note I have to publish in a few hours. But over the last three years, I’ve made more and more room in my dorm to house smaller objects on desks and dressers, all meant to capture some snapshot of the college years.
Our childhoods are ruled by borderline obsessions. At least, mine was. Often still indicative of my personality is my all-or-nothing approach to my interests. Either I loved something and would express that love at every opportunity, or I had no interest in it at all.
The year 2018 was a year that rocked both our greater culture and our individual self-conceptions as consumers of and contributors to that very culture. Accountability is the mainstay, and self-reflection has become a daily requisite for even the most privileged. I think it is time to ask whether we want the media we consume to be held accountable, too, and inquire as to what we might want that accountability to look like.
During most major holidays, my family either hosts or attends a dinner party. The host family spends the afternoon creating a wide and varied dinner spread. Guests arrive around 5 p.m., each also bringing a dish or two with them. Once everyone arrives, we load up our plates and head to the tables. One table is reserved for the adults and one for the kids.
At the end of each year going back at least to early high school, I’ve compiled a master playlist of my favorite songs of the year. Early on, as the aspiring music critic I was (at least in my head), these tended to be attempts at the definitive “best-of” list, the rankings dictated as much by what I felt I should enjoy as by what I actually did.
There are 10 most commonly celebrated holidays in the United States — among those are of course Thanksgiving, Valentine’s Day and Christmas. They all boast their customary frivolities: turkeys, trees, chocolates — but never have I been excited by these marked dates.