The large oak that had shaded my neighbor’s home had split in half, its miraculous fall having, somehow, completely avoided the house.
Trip, fall, stumble, I did them all. My legs moved in opposite directions, as though rebelling against my body. My family—myself included—all laughed at the incredible lack of coordination gifted to me.
While I may not have won the Powerball, I did end up winning the lottery.
The physical scars of crumbling ruins from the old city dot the rapidly industrializing seaside as a constant reminder of the pain of the past.
The cold is a feature of national identity, and cold immunity is a point of national pride.
I once saw a meme on Tumblr that showed someone texting a friend that they would be late because of who they are as a person; I put the “me” in that meme.
When I was 5 years old, my parents took me to a Fourth of July fireworks show, and I asked whether every third explosion was the grand finale. I wanted to show off my new vocabulary words, but I didn’t realize that it would mean the end of the show. As we stood in a field in upstate New York, necks straining backwards to watch the colored explosions, vibrations travelled from my feet to my eardrums. They lingered there in the car on the way home.
CORDELIA F. MENDEZ ’16 , Chair I’m not going to say Cordelia F. Mendez ’16 could run the world, but I’m confident that she could at least run the country. That’s because Cordelia is easily one of the most competent people you will ever meet. And if you haven’t met her yet, then you should, because she is as smiley and friendly as she is capable.
Early Wednesday afternoon, I trudged wearily from Sever Hall to Radcliffe Yard. I did not make this journey voluntarily—if it were up to me, I’d spend my afternoon napping. But FM sent me out to investigate this mysterious site, and I took up the gauntlet.
Sometimes, I’ll switch the order to “Korean and Lebanese” if I get an inkling of a certain fever. Or I’ll just say half-Korean, all depending on the read. This isn’t my first time at the ethnically ambiguous rodeo.
My family had recently moved to the United States. We lived in a beige condominium in Bergen County, the most mundanely bourgeois county in New Jersey. It was surrounded by nothing but stretches of concrete. My parents, not too familiar with English themselves, wondered how they were supposed to immerse me in the English language.
When was the last time you danced? Like, really danced—none of that timid head-bobbing or casual side-stepping that people do these days. That shit reeks of non-commitment. I know it can be hard to put yourself out there when everyone’s playing it cool, trying to look composed in front of the cute girl with the done-up hair. But there’s something electric about a humming dance floor packed just tightly enough with bodies, human limbs let fully loose, motions dictated purely by the pulsating vibrations of the music.