This stress is different from academic stress. This one is personal.
All my clothes are queer because they are my clothes. All my clothes are queer because I make them queer.
My future is still uncertain as I feel the pressures around me to have a plan for what to do after I graduate. Time is ticking for seniors everywhere, but the anxiety about the future hits differently for us.
We all made it to Harvard. We all worked hard to get here. But I wonder how many of us feel like we have to over-perform how well we are handling things and how much work we are able to get done.
We must recognize our worth, give ourselves time to rest and heal, and get back out there when we know we can give the world our best selves. With radical resistance comes radical self-love.
I have been a student at Harvard for 958 days, and I have seen the silencing of marginalized students far too many times. Bacow has made it abundantly clear that the voices of students don’t matter.
As much as we want to say there’s beauty in how we get up and thank our families for teaching us to be strong like them, I wonder what it’d be like to not constantly be trying to survive.
Our passions motivate us to get involved, but it becomes harder and harder to stay motivated as the stress increases and our efforts are met with administrative inaction.
That’s when you notice that it is not only us who grow numb to our own pain, but also people looking in.
Writing is scary, but it has also become a form of resistance. Spots at the table are not handed to me. I must keep pushing for my voice to be heard.
We believe the tax on Harvard’s endowment could be put to use by giving money back to the community that Harvard has been taking from for centuries.
Having my principal deny my request to read my speech in English and Spanish helped me realize I took my parents for granted way more than I’m proud of.
We are still just guests—living out of a suitcase, careful not to pick up too many souvenirs from a country that could decide we have overstayed our welcome at any point.
I am trying to decolonize my mind. I am trying to reclaim my Latinidad. I am trying to take myself out of this white mold into which I have tried to force myself.