I knew it would be a rough night when I decided to get down to business and start my midterm essay — which I had told myself I would do all week — the night before it was due.
Sitting down for coffee with a friend this past Sunday afternoon, our topic of conversation briefly turned to class registration for next semester.
I love making jokes. Humor is an invaluable tool in life, helping to melt away suspicions, forge new friendships and inject otherwise arid conversations with brilliant flashes of energy.
Distance, homesickness and unfamiliarity are some of the words that can exist in the vocabulary of U.Va. students, especially during first year.
There are few things that seem more unproductive than one-hour class gaps, but if you’re like any other student here, you’ve probably had to endure quite a few of them.
“Hurry up- it’s 7:00!” I told my mom and brother, rushing to join the crowd of people surrounding the stage.
Charlottesville is known for many things, but unlimited access to Asian food is not one of them.
The Downtown Mall is so accessible to U.Va. students that we decided to go places we’d never been before. That meant no Citizen Burger Bar, no The Nook and no Chaps.
We found ourselves high and dry on a mud bank in Charleston harbor. Anyone boating around an unfamiliar area will realize the importance of knowing depth.
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.
Before I left for college, I received my fill of well-meaning adages. People told me to work hard, play hard; stay up on schoolwork; prepare for the underwhelming dining hall food.
I was reading a book this summer and from all of it, one line stuck clearly with me: “Yes, everyone else thinks they are just as special as you do.”
Nearing finals week last spring, I was chugging three to four cups of coffee every few hours to function each day and stay awake until the birds began to chirp as I waked from Clemons to my dorm.
If someone were to say to you, “I’m disturbed, I’m depressed, I’m inadequate, I got it all”, your first inclination would certainly not be to laugh.
The deafening silence of Alderman Library was only momentarily interrupted by the ruffle of pages or a singular cough people let out here and there.
Last Monday, I found myself once again in tears, standing in a driveway, unable to take back the damage my 2000 Chevy Suburban had caused.
“Athena, come on, we’re at the front of the line,” my friends complained while I was scrambling to find the nearest exit.
“Hey girl! How was your French test?” I greeted my friend, running into her on Central Grounds.
A warm breeze blew across the mountain top, as college students and families sat on picnic blankets, laughing in the sunset with wine glasses in hand.
A great friend of mine from high school recently set off to spend two years overseas serving in London as a Mormon missionary.
