The idea behind writing the honor pledge is fairly simple; it both affirms the student has not somehow failed to notice the concept of honor during his time at the University and requires the student to explicitly give his word. To me, however, the pledge is a ceremonial act.
Coming to college, I had no idea how much I would miss being around real people. Now, we are all, of course, very real and I don’t mean to depreciate our value as University students, but I mean real people as in mothers and fathers, babies and grandparents, little sisters and big brothers.
There are several narratives of my experiences I could use to preface a column that attempts to explain my feelings about the rampant presence of sexual objectification on U.Va.
We sweat in lines of backpacks — sweat under arms and in places I didn’t know held pores. The trees of the Lawn don’t move in salute because the air holds them heavy and slow, their leaves still in oppressive late August heat.
Coming back to the University was a serious culture shock for me. I was unprepared for the pack of skinny, tan people who popped out of every corner.
In recent years, critics of social networking have said the millennial generation’s desire to constantly capture, share and post photos devalues experiences, hampers memory and keeps us from truly engaging with our surroundings. There seems to be a consensus that using technology and being present are mutually exclusive.
Last Spring, I decided to spend the second half of my summer studying abroad in the University’s Oxford Summer Program.
What makes you a first-year is how you’re connected with 10,000 other young adults who, if not in the same boat, are at least in the same naval fleet.
I grew up going to an all-girls, six-week summer camp nestled in the mountains of Virginia. Year after year, my friends would pester me, questioning why in the world I would want to spend my entire summer away from home without a phone, a computer or — gasp — boys. Every summer, I would go back for reasons I couldn’t fully explain.
I’m up at the crack of dawn this morning and weirdly happy about it. Actually, dawn is a stretch — the sky’s still purple and I can see all three stars visible from light-polluted Houston. My alarm went off at 2:50 a.m. On purpose.
At last, my three-month journey to Japan has come to a close. Last week, my plane touched down in America, and I am finally back in the warm, snug arms of Springfield, Virginia.
The most essential tips for getting through the most exciting yet overwhelming time in your college career.
“That is quite the bike girls” was the only warning my friends and I received before we departed on a bike ride through the Irish countryside to arrive at Mount Errigal — the highest peak in Ireland.
By one statistic, one in every 100 babies born in Japan today is considered “mixed race” — or “haafu,” which natives presumably take to mean half Japanese and half foreign. While this number may not sound staggering, it is telling that in Japan, the mixed race demographic can no longer be ignored.
As a part of my Erasmus — what they call study abroad over here in Ireland — I am interning at a magazine.
In Japan, there is a famous saying: “Mottainai,” which effectively means “don’t be wasteful.” It is used in a variety of settings, but largely in terms of garbage and food, in a spirit comparable to the “go green” movement in America.
On Monday I arrived in Dublin, Ireland—my home for the next two months. As my flight was landing, I looked out the window to see countless blades of very green grass as the Irish lady sitting next to me tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Welcome to Ireland.” In many ways, Ireland is a lot like the United States.
As a philosophy major, East Asian Studies minor and resident of the Japanese floor of the Shea House, I have dedicated a good amount of time to studying Japan and its culture.
The other day, I was sitting at a restaurant with someone else — who for the sake of this article I will call Bob — and our waitress came over to greet us.
My parents often remind me of an annoying stage I went through as a child — one I think is common to all children just beginning to explore the world.
