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(08/31/22 4:20pm)
My parents are sitting in the living room with the 9 p.m. news on, my mom sipping on a cup of tea. College move-in is only a week away and my bags are all over the house, haphazardly overflowing with clothes, bedsheets and books. “I think I want to take a year off,” I tell them. The glow of the TV reflects off the glass coffee table and the reporter rambles on about the economy, the weather, maybe a corrupt politician. Alright, they tell me, okay.
(09/14/22 4:02am)
Not too long ago, I came across an online video about “doing it for the plot.” It was a casual, 15-second clip about how the irrational decisions and impulsive choices we make, despite how bad the short-term consequences may seem, should be seen as contributions to the "plot" of our lives, as opportunities for adaptation and growth. The idea is that we’re in the director’s seat, writing out our own script at all times.
(09/28/22 7:00am)
We’ve all seen Marie Kondo and her organization wizardry on Netflix, preaching her secret key to not being a hot mess: if the object doesn’t “spark joy,” throw it away. I am a hot (arguable) mess, and I hold onto things that spark sadness, frustration, nostalgia and humiliation.
(10/12/22 4:03am)
On the R train from Union Square to Prince Street, I sit across from a girl who seems to radiate the very signification of “cool”. Her red curls fall into place like puzzle pieces, a beguiling smile in her eyes underneath her mask. A seemingly careless outfit, yet its nonchalance manifests itself through all the right pieces: perfectly tattered boots, a vintage-looking leather bag, the rings on her fingers that surely were collected from a plethora of farmers’ markets and local jewelers. But it’s her shirt that catches my eye — a purple long-sleeve with graphics promoting a band I have never heard of.
(11/01/22 1:36pm)
Is it pink? Is it something I can wear? What is it?
(04/20/23 4:02am)
(11/18/22 5:03am)
I have very little idea of what purpose means, but today I’m writing about it anyway. This is how I make sense of things. I’ve addressed it in this column before: purpose, meaning, being 21 and utterly confused. My dedication to seeming continually lost is less of an artistic choice, and more of a direct representation of what takes up the majority of my brainspace lately. Most weeks, when I see my editor’s deadline approaching on my planner, I crack open my journal and scan through my most recent scribbles and streams of consciousness until I find something that might be just substantial enough to lengthen into a readable column. But the whole precedent of my writing, in my head at least, is that it will never be read or given hardly any weight. Yet as these things go, from time to time, an odd column of mine will be discovered by a family member and sent to an aunt in New York, a cousin in Seoul. On a recent phone call with one such family member, I was offered the heartening redundancy of well-meaning assurance: You’re meant to be figuring things out right now. Then, the question: So what do you want to do?
(12/02/22 6:08am)
There are a few words in my lexicon that have snuck their way into my lingo much to my woeful resignation. They say the way a person speaks tells you everything you need to know about them — I like to think that I can play at some meek facade of depth and intellect when needed, with lengthy words I credit to SAT prep and the odd Latin saying that I picked up from movies. But the merciless grip of the stampede that is social media introduces at least a dozen outlandish pieces of vocabulary each month.
(01/25/23 5:01am)
It's that time of year in South Bend where campus freezes over and the permacloud chronically deprives us of sunlight. It’s all about perspective, really, because when the snow on the ground is still white, my morning coffee tastes just bitter enough, and my Spotify shuffles to the right track by The Velvet Underground and I’d waken up on time to put on four or more layers of clothes, I can almost romanticize the cold. Sometimes, at night, when it’s dark, I can even tell myself that South Quad is actually Narnia. But the truth is, most of the time, any 15-minute walk can seem like the last trek of your life when the wind is blowing in your face at infinite miles per hour and you’ve forgotten what your fingers are meant to feel like.
(04/05/23 4:01am)
Love,
(03/22/23 4:03am)
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(01/26/22 5:04am)