We’ve arrived, inevitably, at the end of things. Three years and thousands of words have all been building to this moment: my final column. There are a few dozen versions of this where I rehash the past, settling scores or changing endings or vying for redemption. I don’t want to do that, though. I want…
Last August, exactly two years after my parents moved to Texas, my boyfriend, Jack, held my hand while I wept outside of my childhood home and wiped snot on my sleeve. I grew up in a small colonial house on a sleepy suburban street in Maryland. A huge oak tree blanketed the front yard in…
“On a scale of one (completely doable) to 10 (doing that would be worse than going to the seventh circle of hell), what are your thoughts on walking a marathon distance in one day? Be honest.” This is what I texted my boyfriend, Jack, three days after he graduated from college. “Like a 7. Maybe…
I never thought this column would break a scandal—let alone resolve one—but today it will do both. Steel yourself for some wholly insignificant, but wildly upsetting news. Are you sitting down? Are you ready? No one—not The Heights, not your friends, not even your mother—knows how to properly abbreviate the name of Rubenstein Hall. Equally…
When I got home for Winter Break, I was coming down from the finals high. Hard. I fell into the kind of caffeine-crash-induced stupor that can only follow spending every day slumped in the same couch cushion crater, being blinded by the blue light of your computer, and working the interlibrary loan system like it’s…
You may now refrain from sending me drunk texts/photos/dms/videos about/of the skunks you see. You’ve collectively sent enough content for a medium-length documentary. I’m good, guys.
Columnist Grace Christenson asks a question that high school seniors across the country are asking themselves right now: Is Boston College a good school? Well, that depends on what you mean by good. But if we’re using the University’s coronavirus response as a measuring stick, the answer is no.
This summer, abandoned by all of my friends for beaches and internships, I found myself alone, lying face-up on the kitchen floor eating Oreos and thinking about the butter wrappers on the ceiling of McElroy Commons. C-SPAN blared while I squinted, trying to see how far I would have to close my eyes before I…
Beatrix Hoffman came to Boston College to discuss the intersectionality of immigration and health care on Thursday, particularly regarding unauthorized immigration within the United States
