The past two weeks have solidified what I always thought might be true: I am quite good at relaxing.
Nestled between comparatively behemoth, red-brick academic buildings, on Grounds just north of Jefferson Park Avenue, there sits a collection of four, distinctly older houses.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the word “enough” a lot.
Unlike a large portion of the student population, I decided to stay in Charlottesville over spring break.
The dentist took a swift look at my x-rays and, a little too jovially, said, “Six cavities!"
Life as a student tends to occur in a tiny domain, the boundaries of which are often impermeable.
Last Monday in an eastbound 737, I looked at, rather than through, the multi-paned airplane window.
The summer before first year, when the time came to fill out the on-Grounds housing survey, I opted to go the random roommate route.
This morning, I got a haircut at the first place that showed up on Google when I typed in “haircut.” When I took off my beanie at the salon to reveal unwashed locks, in all of their split-ended glory, the hair stylist furrowed her perfectly-shaped brows.
It’s a question we all get. You’re sure to hear it, whether you hail from Hong Kong, were brought up in Brooklyn or are so thoroughly Charlottesvillian you remember Venable Elementary School on 14th St.
