Airplane boy. ?My classmates nicknamed me that in third grade when they witnessed my obsession with airplanes. Everything I did in my free time was airplane-related. I even read every single airplane book at my local library, so I had to go to another library to continue satisfying my curiosity. I watched all the informational videos on Boeing’s website and even wrote a letter to the CEO of Boeing at the time, expressing my love for the iconic 747.
Below are your search results. You can also try a Basic Search.
We’ve all been there before: receiving a midterm back with an unsatisfactory score.
In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a new kid on the block in the smoking world.
Advanced registration. It’s that one time of year you can dress up in different class schedules, and no one can say anything about it.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m a masochist. No — not that kind, but the academic kind.
Growing up, I was always told walking away was better than putting up a fight. When I encountered Asian stereotyping — sometimes bordering on racism — I would ignore it, trying to be a model for “words will never hurt me.”
Wharton gets a bad rap.
A comment on one of my first articles during my freshman year almost made me regret ever becoming a columnist.
It seems we’re all getting busier by the day.
Everyone loves to use the c-word today — compromise.
I feel like I have been pre-med forever. Ever since middle school, I’ve answered the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with a definitive answer. “A doctor,” I’d say, and when pushed for a specialty — “a cardiologist.”
I received a text from my friend Josh yesterday, asking me if I was free to have dinner over the weekend. I scrolled up to our last text and was mortified to find that the last time we had talked was well over a month ago.
How do you know you won’t like it until you try it?
What are you? I get that question a lot.
I arrived in Philadelphia a year ago, ready to start my adult life in a city. But really, I was an eager but sheltered child who had a lot of growing up to do.
I’ll never spend summer as a kid again. Those days are over — days I spent going to fun summer camps, staying up late to watch movies with friends, sleeping in every day and thinking about how far away “real life” was.
During my first semester at Penn, the most physically demanding activity I did was either trying to scoop rock-hard ice cream at Hill or sprint from Fisher-Bennett Hall to Claire M. Fagin Hall with a 20-pound backpack.
When I imagined getting my first A-, I wasn’t sure how I would react. Would there be tears, screams or despair?
From a young age, we’re taught to focus on the finish line — getting into college. Often, we only hear about the stories that lead to this event and rarely learn about what comes afterward. We forget to appreciate what it took to get there.