Today’s column is a love letter to avoidance. Today, we are here to talk about “ghosting.” To quote Google, ghosting is “the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.” I would like to note that this definition refers not just to romantic relationships, but all personal relationships, and that the definition could lend itself to mutual detachment.
Year after year stories reach the news about sexual assault on college campuses across the US. Yet my response remains different than the narratives I see presented by the media.
GROUP THINK is The DP’s round table section, where we throw a question at the columnists and see what answers stick.
To all my black queer students at Penn, I just wanted to say: I love you. And that's it. This is not a piece proposing solutions.
As a member of the track team, my first experience with the Penn track team was outside on a brisk sunny day in late August.
For the last month, whenever someone has asked me, “What are you up to?” I’ve always given them the same reply: “I’m studying for the MCAT.” God only knows how many conversations I’ve defaulted to that lazy small talk. Sitting for the MCAT is a notable event that many students study several months for.
For the last month, whenever someone has asked me, “What are you up to?” I’ve always given them the same reply: “I’m studying for the MCAT.” God only knows how many conversations I’ve defaulted to that lazy small talk. Sitting for the MCAT is a notable event that many students study several months for.
Year after year stories reach the news about sexual assault on college campuses across the US. Yet my response remains different than the narratives I see presented by the media.
GROUP THINK is The DP’s round table section, where we throw a question at the columnists and see what answers stick.
Few focal points of the Republican presidential cycle stood out with as much singularity and clarity as the promise to “repeal and replace” Obamacare, a rallying cry for many of the Trump electorate, regardless of class, race, gender.
Tomorrow, at around noon, Donald Trump will become the President of the United States. The bombastic billionaire, whose improbable promotion to power shattered every political norm from fundraising to gaffe-making, will assume the most important political office on earth.
I once wrote an article in which I refused to give up red lipstick despite surrendering eye makeup, and, with all the misogyny to which Trump's election has set us back, I think it's about time I explained why. What got me started thinking about it was a statement my friend made to me.
Have you ever bitten into a piece of pizza in a Dining Hall that you knew was too hot and burned your tongue?
Our country faces a crisis that begins with the letter “D.” No, it is not our President-elect Donald Trump.
This semester will be my last one at Penn. I recently discovered that I have accumulated enough credits to graduate a year in advance.
Tuition at the University of Pennsylvania for the 2016-2017 academic year is $45,556. If you assume a course load of 4.0 credits, you’re spending over $100 per hour of class time.
Last semester was honestly the worst semester I’ve had at Penn so far. And all because of one thing: the white professors I’ve had at Penn.
The shirt read “THE PUSSY GRABS BACK,” accompanied by a drawing of a kitten attacking Donald Trump’s face.
The scourge of "hands-off antagonism" has plagued Penn, where people are more likely to discuss explicit racism rather than the implicit racism that allows the former to thrive.
When I finish my last day of classes each semester, feelings of happiness and relief sweep through me when I think about how I no longer have to wake up early, no longer have to speed-walk to class and come close to twisting my ankle on the Locust cobblestones.
I wish I could say that 53 were some significant number in my life — my home address, my lucky number, something like that — because that would be one hell of a lede.
There are many ways to be end up at a place like Penn, but I suspect that my own path was not a particularly original one.
Back when I was in middle school and I hadn’t even heard of the name Donald Trump, my science teacher gave the class a lesson on how to search the internet — specifically, how to tell the good sites from the bad.
Solutions by The State News
