On the first day of fall break, I found myself on a stuffy, cramped MegaBus to New York City. My poor mother helped me drag my suitcase to the bus station, and after I waved goodbye out the window, an old lady who reeked of soap and apples plopped herself down next to me.
I am sorry to have to write this article. I want so badly to instead pen my full-throated support for the grassroots movement for equality that is long overdue.
My preschool class used to pray before our daily snack of graham crackers and lemonade: “God is great.
On my desk shelf, wedged between an assortment of books I have not touched since syllabus week and a massive salt rock I impulsively bought at the National Aquarium, I keep a glass box crammed full of love letters.
“I mean, it’s not like I care,” she said to me as we walked down Rugby Road one Friday night, headed home in the chapped fall air.
A while ago, I went on a day-long trip to the Eastern Shore. I woke up early, got in the car, and drove east until I hit the James River, three hours later.
It has been six weeks — six weeks of aftercare and maintenance, six weeks since I got my first tattoo.
By now, if you haven’t heard Adele’s new song, it’s safe to assume you live under a rock.
My eyes widened in horror as I heard myself say it out loud. Sure, I’ve chided myself for thinking it before, but I never thought I would say these words in front of other people: “We should totally do it; we’ll get such awesome pictures out of it!”
One day during October of my second year, I was sitting in my bed, struggling to breathe. I had lined my wall with sticky notes in an attempt to organize my thoughts on God.
As some of you may remember, I wrote a column a few weeks ago criticizing what I see as the corporatization of higher education, specifically at our University.
Fall at the University is striking. On Tuesday mornings, I walk through the Lawn archway on the West side of the Rotunda heading toward the Music Library.
U.Va. Halloween is a measure of strength, endurance, creativity and wit. To help you get ready for what is to come, especially if you are a first year and have never done this before, here are some tips on how to prepare.
I didn’t want to call October “hump month,” but this is exactly what it feels like.
When I marked my calendar at the beginning of the semester, I placed a special star next to this coming weekend and wrote, “Fall Convocation... and FAMILY WEEKEND!!!!!” Yes — that’s five exclamation points.
Christian houses are a popular living option at U.Va., perhaps more so than on other college campuses.
I don’t know if a lot of people watch baseball anymore, but they should. Not because I love baseball, but because I think it’s part of cultural literacy.
It’s 1:25 a.m. and I am moderately overcome with self-loathing. I’m just starting this article — technically due a few hours ago —because, despite staring at a blank Microsoft document for two hours tonight, I couldn’t come up with a paper topic.
A month ago, I felt the now-familiar tightness, the now-routine clenching of my throat. Another wave of hushed conversations, another empty space in a familiar, yellow house.
The other day, my friends and I decided to make fun of different majors and the fools who pursue them.
