Introspection
Patron Saint 1
Fabian Fall, former president of The Harvard Crimson whose bust is displayed in the newspaper's building, alongside Meimei Xu, a current Crimson editor.
Molting Season
It was the ease with which the guy had done it. How simple it was for him to care for this animal, and even then, how unexpected it was that he would.
Marooned in Mayfield
My brother picked me up off the ground and kept me from crying on the painstakingly long walk home, distracting my mind with made-up lyrics to a generic tune. I stayed strong because I knew if I broke down crying, he might cry too.
A Summer Soaked in Nostalgia
I always loved who I was in LA; the city seemed to mark clear periods of growth, the backdrop of the coming-of-age movie that I believed to structure my life. But this time around, endless days alone replaced collective effervescence.
Rest: Shabbat and the Sake of the Week
No phone, no laptop. No writing, no electricity. According to the Torah, these activities do not qualify as rest.
Where the Body Meets the Mind
Then, the horizon glows a pale yellow just before it burns red, or maybe calms with orange and pink. The industrial architecture is first unveiled by a pale light, and the distance afforded to me, on the river, allows for the fleeting feeling that nothing is complicated and moments can just be appreciated as aesthetic experiences.
Learning to Love a Language
Here I am at Harvard, every Habesha parent’s dream, but my lack of connection to my language is every Habesha parent’s nightmare.
Patron Saint 2
Fabian Fall, a former President of the Harvard Crimson, died by suicide in 1909. His memorial bust stands in the Sanctum of the Crimson's headquarters.
Dear Freshman Year
That was always the comparison: life before you and life after you. I could not fathom how much had changed. I had gone from a year of stillness and solitude to the most socially and intellectually stimulating experience of my life. And that was only the beginning.
The Patron Saint of The Harvard Crimson
Fabian Fall’s bronze bust overlooks the Sanctum, the large, wood-paneled room on the second floor of The Crimson. It’s the only such figure in the room. The plaque underneath makes no mention of the fact that he took his own life.
Sleepless in Istanbul
It’s March 12, ten hours after a packed red-eye flight. Wearing wet rain boots soaked in the cold snow, three other Harvard students and I carried our suitcases up the hilly, snowy streets of Bebek. A spring break escape from the Boston snow turned into a deeper dive into even more snow in Istanbul.
Istanbul Introspection 1
The author navigates a bazaar in Istanbul during a spring break trip with the Harvard College in Asia project.
I Didn't Forget My Name
Each first day brings me back to those moments. Each introduction, each icebreaker, each time I have to say my concentration or where I’m from. Each time I order a coffee, or the french fries from the Adams House Grill. Each time I say my name.