For a long time, I passed my Bachelor obsession off as escapism. I would watch episodes of it on my phone at the gym. It was the digital version of Skinny Pop, a sort of entertainment nothing with just the right coating of ballgowns and beaches to make it go down easy.
There’s a fine line between overstepping a boundary sheathed in judgement and crossing that boundary because you’re concerned for someone’s health. Straddling this line is difficult and confusing, but it begins with a conversation.
As a rule of thumb, one should always avoid saying things they wouldn’t otherwise say to a white person. It’s always those good-natured comments like “I voted for Obama” or “I love Chinese food” that end up being deceptively hurtful.
The opinion pages should help us understand and make sense of the world, and it is my duty to do the investigations so readers don’t have to.
I’m starting to realize that, just as I’ll never find the single interpretation of a poem or novel, I’ll never have “it” quite figured out.
I used to obsess over being remembered. If my name was on enough walls or mastheads, it would prove that all the hours were worth it.
What made my 20-plus hour weeks at the office worth it was seeing people read the paper every morning and knowing I had a role to play in making that happen.
My whole life, I have pictured greatness as Instagram flashes of beautiful girls fisting champagne on boats, people in fine coats promenading down Fifth Avenue.
While we wait for the results of yet another vague, directionless task force, we can be there for our friends, supporting each other through the constant intensity of life on this campus.
I’m still far from the best version of myself … but no matter what, whether my days are productive or failure-ridden, when my head hits the pillow I know that I matter.
Yet, in 20 years from now, I may not be able to recite a single column I worked on, both as a writer and as an editor. I will, however, always remember the impact those people at the DP left on my life.
I loved, and still love, Penn, and I woke up on my plastic twin mattress feeling grateful to be here. But I also saw a campus steeped in classism, bigotry, and sexism.
I understand now the importance of balance and the value of just being present with those you love.
It’s a melancholy, a nostalgia, a longing for something that has happened; yet it is also an assurance, a "knowing" that it will never happen again.
The unequal rules surrounding alcohol possession and consumption in Greek life, which tilt the social power balance in favor of fraternities, are at the heart of some of Greek life’s biggest problems.
A lot of people at Penn don’t like me. That’s the nature of the work I do here. But the gift that is being a student-journalist is 100 percent worth it.
Are our consulting clubs so important that we don’t have time to help a middle-schooler learn how to read?
I personally lost $9.99 and was reported and blocked indefinitely from Tinder. So if you ask me whether it was worth swiping for Cardi, I would certainly say it was not.
Don’t get me wrong, drinking on college campuses is a difficult issue to navigate. No alcohol policy is perfect, but Penn’s doesn’t even try to be.
Did people understand what I was saying? Were they too nice to say if they didn’t? Do they mind how I sound?