National Suicide Prevention Week is an annual prevention campaign which takes place from Monday through Sunday surrounding World Suicide Prevention Day on September 10th.
Quiet date leaves participants searching for a spark
1. Ice: For reasons unbeknownst to me, Italians seem to like their water lukewarm. It’s great, but it’s also not exactly thrilling when it’s twelve million degrees and you’ve just hiked two miles in the wrong direction and no one within those two miles speaks any English.
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.
Have I ever seen the movie? No. Have I ever been on a surfboard? No. So why, you might ask, did I ever take interest in the advertisement for a 1966 movie about two California surfers travelling around the world’s warmer waters, searching for the perfect crest? The reason is simple.
There exists a breaking point, though. At said point — no matter how much a club or leadership position or even an extra class can provide pleasure or a better perspective on life in isolation — the benefits of an activity, when thrown into an insanely life-loaded schedule, may dissipate.
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.
The University has a way of sucking me in and keeping me so occupied that I forget to communicate with the outside world.
After a long day of my summer internship at Georgetown University Hospital – my mind rubbed raw with stories of chemotherapy regimens and grave prognoses – I was in desperate need of a caffeine boost.
Concerns about the forced relocation of Rotunda Sing due to construction were quelled with melodious tunes Wednesday night, as a capella groups serenaded the audience on the South Lawn.
Newly-founded student organization, the Shooting Star Foundation, has jumped into the school year eager to begin promoting awareness of the consequences of various party drugs.
Last Friday, first years dispersed to sites around Charlottesville to participate in Project SERVE, a once-yearly event in the University’s Orientation and New Students Program.
First-year twins make new friends on their blind date
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 am a strong supporter of our nation’s law enforcement workers. I say this because when it comes to me personally, they often decide not to enforce the nation’s laws.
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.
Usually, I like to look at the world with a glass-half-full outlook — but in this one instance, viewing my time at college as half-empty is actually the more inspiring route.
