In my experience, some of the best insights in recent memory were gained from late-night chats on a dorm room floor or drunken philosophizing at a friend’s apartment.
The kind of fear “The Conjuring” struck in me was different. It prompted me to strengthen my faith and believe in something greater than myself.
My role is to serve as a voice for the readers of this paper, website and increasingly, Twitter feed and other outlets. I am charged with publicly critiquing and commenting on the work presented in all of these means of publication. I will look for honesty, rigor and fairness in reporting and writing. I will look for both the good and the places where work falls short of the high standards The Cavalier Daily has set over the decades.
Jefferson the man was more complex. Sandy-haired and gangly, fearful of public speaking, Jefferson was, like many gifted people, consistently inconsistent. Pick a quote from his voluminous correspondence. What he says in one letter he will contradict in another.
But despite the allure of social media, we still feel the need to meet up one last time—one last day at the beach, one last lunch, one last night out, all for the purpose of saying farewell to a friend, a family member, a summer romance. We get together again. We brace ourselves. We cry. We call out and say “I love you” as the car is driving away.
Going to college is a period in your life unlike any other. At no other point will you have such freedom to set your schedule, pursue your passions and educate yourself as a human being. That last bit is important, not because majoring in chemistry and taking all the pre-med requirements makes you an uneducated blockhead, but because if you leave U.Va having never considered J.S. Mill’s political philosophy, having never tried out a new language, having never Aristotle or Shakespeare or even the Bible, how can you call yourself an “educated” person?
Newcomb Hall and O-Hill may not serve pumpkin juice, but students from first to fourth year will soon be packing into these buildings for feasts aplenty. New students will have a few days to get themselves situated, and then they—and all of us returners—will be heading to class. And while the University does not feature the winding staircases and secret passageways that crisscross Hogwarts, first years will still take a wrong turn here and there. I remember trying to figure out the numbering system for rooms in New Cabell my first year and thinking frantically that I could not be late for my first class in college.
“Can” (pronounced “jahn”) has no direct English equivalent. It’s one of the several Turkish words for “life,” intended to describe “life” as the thing that distinguishes organisms from inorganic matter. It’s more associated, however, with the soul and compassion independent of the conscious mind. In Turkey, it’s understood that there is “can” in every living thing—my grandmother once told me not to eat food while walking outside because “If even a bird saw it out of the corner of his eye, his ‘can’ could want it.”
If you spend your time in college looking for the best four years of your life, you will not find them.
Many students make the same mistake of committing themselves to a course of study before they’ve given themselves time to change and grow. This early and unyielding decision makes a change of heart more challenging to deal with.
Sometimes, too many interesting outlets can cause students to lose sight of their initial goals.
At a time when college costs are rising and economic uncertainty poses additional challenges to already low-income families, the Board of Visitors’ decision to scale back AccessUVA for the University’s most needy students is—at best—a step in the wrong direction. At worst, it threatens to put an end to the program’s loftiest goals, as envisioned by the late Dean of Admissions John Blackburn and former University President John T. Casteen III.
The madcap mailing mishap has all the elements of farce.
Because Jones’ views do not equal the University’s views, and Jones has issued a public apology of his own, the administration is not committing a grave error by considering the matter settled. But by opting to remain silent, the administration missed an opportunity to do two things: first, affirm its commitment to fostering women’s potential in a range of fields; and second, show that the school is not unduly beholden to donors.
Four years ago the Class of 2013 Came to Grounds bright-eyed and green. They learned to question and think And to mix a strong drink. At reunions they’ll all reconvene. Many students think of graduation As an intellectual emancipation. No more blue books or notes Time to sow some wild oats And eventually find a vocation. Congratulations, graduates!
I was always black. My grandparents told me about Angela, Muhammad Ali, Spike, etc. at an early age. There was never any doubt before that I was black. But when I came to U.Va., my experiential blackness became something I even now have trouble explaining.
I must admit that during my stay at one of the nation’s most prestigious universities, my “blackness” never went unnoticed.
Divestment means, first, eliminating U.Va.’s investments and ties to these corporations in order to start a movement against these immoral corporate actions, and furthermore reinvesting in responsible companies, such as local sustainable farms or wind and solar power.
On my seventh birthday, I received a birthday present from my parents that I will always cherish. This birthday gift was not a toy, a doll, or an awesome Game Boy that most “90s kids” asked for. It was a book of Aesop’s fables.
By virtue of my position on the staff, I conducted research for The New York Times Magazine, stayed in the Rotunda until 2 a.m. waiting for the Board of Visitors to emerge with a decision that failed to reunite the University community, and sat in a courthouse listening to a video recording of George Huguely recounting how he killed Yeardley Love, while the real Huguely wept into a tissue 30 feet in front of me. I also spent far too much time in Newcomb basement with some of the people who are my best friends. I can’t find a single theme that threads through this rollercoaster of experiences, but each was exciting in its own way and each helped to cushion the other blows of these past few years, like the morning I awoke, dazed, to find my foot broken and my friend hospitalized. I would hardly be arrogant enough to call myself an “adult,” but I am no longer a child.
