A few days ago, I knocked on my friend’s door in the middle of the afternoon to use her printer.
After years of being immersed in this seemingly bottomless pool of awe-inspiring brilliance that is the University, I've developed a tendency to romanticize strangers whom I find fascinating.
When I tell people I’m from New York, they assume I mean Manhattan. Actually, I think some of them picture me rocking an edgy outfit in Time Square, hailing a taxi whilst yelling into my cell phone.
Although race has long been on people’s radars, it has been a hushed topic of conversation at the University for several years.
I spent spring break working on a Habitat for Humanity house in Ohio through a program called Catholic Student Ministry.
Although I’m my own harshest critic, I’m encouraged by the knowledge that I’ll probably turn out quite like my mom. Her simple mom-isms are generally enough to talk me down from any self-constructed catastrophe.
Whenever the weather warms in Charlottesville, a mysterious positive energy seems to radiate from Grounds and hum within the veins of University students. Hibernation has come to an end and sunshine marks a new chapter in our vaguely repetitive student lives.
Although spring break just ended, allow me to time travel momentarily back into the cold, merciless weeks that were winter break.
I average four to five cups of coffee a day. I drink it with almost every meal, and I can usually be found in line at Starbucks — or Greenberry’s, if I’m really pressed for time — at least once a day.
I’d always thought that the truest sign of intellect was to understand references to renowned films or pieces of literature — to be able to bask in the glory of saying “I’ve seen that” or “I’ve read that” when faced with a literary allusion.
1) Green M&M’s I know what you’re thinking: don’t all M&M’s taste exactly the same?
In recent weeks there has been a quiz circulating my Facebook news feed. While only a handful of “Facebook-but-not-real-life-friends,” as I like to call them, took the quiz, it nonetheless caught my attention.
My childhood was full of oft-repeated clichés. This may explain my overly optimistic spirit and tendency to end advice-filled monologues to friends with uplifting aphorisms.
I am proud to announce since my arrival on Grounds, I’ve become bilingual. And while I would never want to detract from the strength of the language program here at the University, I feel like I should clarify that this development has nothing to do with my enrollment in Accelerated Introductory French this semester.
As much as I’ve matured since beginning my journey at the University — especially in recognizing my own worth — I still struggle to forgive myself for the times I’ve hopelessly failed.
Tinder: It’s eerily reminiscent of your grandma wagging her finger back and forth at you, telling you, “We weren’t so superficial in my age!” — back and forth — swipe right, swipe left.
Call me my father’s daughter, but I’ll be damned if I don’t love nachos. Yet never had I thought my love of chips and cheese would be correlated with the success of my, erm, love life.
While several people are panicking over the unforgivable sacrilege of being single on Valentine’s Day, I am panicking over turning 21 shortly thereafter.
Valentine’s Day in elementary school is blissfully simple. You spend one afternoon covering a shoebox you brought from home with lopsided red and pink construction paper hearts, then circle around the classroom stuffing one Peanut’s themed slip of paper — with a Hershey’s Kiss taped to the bottom if your mom was feeling really generous — into each classmate’s box, no questions asked.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when I began to singlehandedly dismantle my own self-confidence. Beginning somewhere near the beginning of fall semester, I fell into a debilitating routine of insecurity and systematic self-doubt—triggered by no one specific event, I somehow convinced myself I was failing as a student, as a friend, as a writer and person. It’s strange how no one really talks how transitioning into your second year at the University can be hard.
