Introspection
Daye: A Woman Who Untangles Roots
To this day, hearing her switch between languages — her mother tongue, Sorani Kurdish, and Arabic — reminds me of the melding of cultures I’ve always hoped to embody. Yet I find myself replying to her in Arabic. Mama longed for me to learn Kurdish, but I was pressured to embrace my Arab half at the expense of my mother’s tongue.
Good Grief
Some people honor their deceased loved ones with beautiful poetry, speeches of somber remembrance, or quiet moments of reflection. I honored my grandmother with a three minute stand up set.
Asian Non-American?
Categorization can help us feel a sense of belonging to a certain group. But what happens when these categories become exclusive? What happens when these categories instead entrap and ensnare us?
Other People’s Pups
At the end of the day, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking to pet his dog.
To Pay Attention
I never thought I loved Chico. But that December day as I lay curled up in my childhood bed watching the interaction between Christine and Sister Joan on my iPad, I realized that I had paid attention to it. And if I really hated it, why did I spend so much time telling other people about it?
Orders of Magnitude
Right now, I am not a scientist and I am not a poet. I am just a daughter. I have to remember: It’s simple. You just need to keep your eyes open, your hands ready.
brandon endpaper
Other kids studied hard to impress their fathers; I did it so I could get away from mine.
What It Means to Lead The Harvard Crimson
In a way, you take an oath when you are elected to this presidency, even if you don’t realize the depths of its demands at the time.
Trying to Remember Louise Glück
I find myself returning to poems like “The Silver Lily” and “Witchgrass” for their drastic reimaginings of time — the eternal way perennial plants experience the cyclicity of seasons, or the striking temporality of the fragile flower. It is in light of this that her death feels strangely unreal, its finality in tension with the timelessness of her words.
Subway Surfers
I was terrified that the rest of my life would be like high school: I would be forever chasing that next line on my resume, that laureate title or publication — swerving around railcars for one more gold coin — in hopes of one more glimpse into how to understand and describe my human condition.
Tunnel Vision
On my phone, I collected gold coins and hoverboards instead of accolades and exam scores; I traded these tokens for score boosters instead of writing mentorships. Eventually, I realized that I had sworn off one endless run only to replace it with another one.
An Asthmatic Character
“A person should stand up straight, not crooked,” my mother would whisper, referring to both the calligrapher and her creation.
No Country for Harvard Men
I felt like I had entered a thick and strange haze. Daily showers made me feel unnaturally clean, and I missed the smooth arc of the sun across the sky. I felt like a space alien walking down a crowded street and making small talk after class.
Hannah Endpaper Image
This summer, my job title was “Senior Returning Mountain Cowboy” and my life was absurd in the childhood fantasy way.
Goodbye, Beloved
To me, Sethe was the literary embodiment of womanhood — the queenly woman with blood on her hands and a tree scarred into her back. She was the personification of repression and “rememory,” the manifestation of a traumatic past into the present.
crying on a plane
I cry every time I’m on a plane. This is distressing for many: the people in my row, the flight attendant around the corner, and, to some extent, myself.
To Be Tamed
“The Little Prince” makes me homesick for all the places I’ve been and all the places I have yet to see.