If you hear cackling on the “million-dollar stairs” every Thursday at 1:15 p.m, I apologize for the inconvenience my friends and I may be causing. In a rare occurrence, all our schedules have aligned, affording us the opportunity to all walk to class hand in hand. These walks are quite hilarious—for us, anyway. My friends tend to say the most outrageous things at the most inappropriate times, and this walk is no exception.
Germany’s economy has faced stagnation over the past three years, following two years of economic downturn. In response, the newly elected chancellor, Friedrich Merz, has introduced an ambitious plan to revitalize the economy through increased defense and infrastructure spending.
When my parents reminisce over moments long, long ago, they always mention how they feel it had happened just the day before. I’d always assumed that was a hyperbole. But now, I think back to one of the final days of 10th grade, and it truly feels like yesterday.
We are watching, in real time, the undoing of a century’s worth of progress. Nowadays, I stew over the continuous affronts on women, executive order after executive order. In a reflection of these changes, the contents of the annual Human Rights Report have slimmed this year, no longer covering the vast sub-categories on rape and domestic violence, reproductive rights, female genital mutilation, and discrimination against women.
My playlists are time capsules. Each one, chronologically sorted, takes me back to a specific moment in my life. Every song brings a flood of emotions and memories—an almost indescribable feeling of nostalgia mixed with deja vu. When I miss a person, place, or time of my life, all I have to do is find that one corresponding playlist and press play.
What did you give up for Lent? If you’re not Catholic, what would you sacrifice for a brief period of time? And why isn’t it technology? This Lent, I decided to give up—at least to some extent—my technology usage.
“I love talking to second-semester seniors because it’s the equivalent of talking to senior citizens in hospice. You guys will say anything that’s on your mind.” These were the words my Love and Indoctrination Capstone professor, Thomas Kaplan-Maxfield (or TKM if you’re pals), told my class. We were preparing for a discussion on how the world indoctrinates us into thinking a certain way.
Like many Boston College students, I am a creature of habit. I blast music in the communal showers, always reach for the same pair of jeans, and drink my coffee with a splash of milk and one Splenda. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on habits—specifically, my bad ones.
I have tried to conceal my political opinions in my columns, but not anymore. It’s time to talk Wu-Tang. No, I’m not referring to some extremist group that takes its name from the iconic 1990s hip-hop group. I’m talking about how the rise of ironic political disengagement—embodied in a $35 Wu-Tang lawn sign—is killing America.
I’m a better person in New York City—more optimistic, kinder, and more relaxed. These qualities are probably the exact opposite of how the average person would describe NYC. The city’s constant, insatiable noise and energy are stressful for most, but, for me, they absorb my worries right up.
