My playlists are time capsules. Each one, chronologically sorted, takes me back to a specific moment in my life. Every song brings a flood of emotions and memories—an almost indescribable feeling of nostalgia mixed with deja vu. When I miss a person, place, or time of my life, all I have to do is find that one corresponding playlist and press play.
What did you give up for Lent? If you’re not Catholic, what would you sacrifice for a brief period of time? And why isn’t it technology? This Lent, I decided to give up—at least to some extent—my technology usage.
“I love talking to second-semester seniors because it’s the equivalent of talking to senior citizens in hospice. You guys will say anything that’s on your mind.” These were the words my Love and Indoctrination Capstone professor, Thomas Kaplan-Maxfield (or TKM if you’re pals), told my class. We were preparing for a discussion on how the world indoctrinates us into thinking a certain way.
Like many Boston College students, I am a creature of habit. I blast music in the communal showers, always reach for the same pair of jeans, and drink my coffee with a splash of milk and one Splenda. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on habits—specifically, my bad ones.
I have tried to conceal my political opinions in my columns, but not anymore. It’s time to talk Wu-Tang. No, I’m not referring to some extremist group that takes its name from the iconic 1990s hip-hop group. I’m talking about how the rise of ironic political disengagement—embodied in a $35 Wu-Tang lawn sign—is killing America.
I’m a better person in New York City—more optimistic, kinder, and more relaxed. These qualities are probably the exact opposite of how the average person would describe NYC. The city’s constant, insatiable noise and energy are stressful for most, but, for me, they absorb my worries right up.
I’ve always loved bubbles. But maybe my fondness for them isn’t just because of their seemingly magical qualities—it’s because I live in one.
Puerto Rico, the island in the Caribbean I call home, only has a little more than three million inhabitants within its 3,515 square miles. Everyone I know knows each other, looks alike, and holds similar values and beliefs.
In my town specifically, every student goes to one of five schools and will eventually live right next to everyone they have ever known. I loved it, and I still do, but within the beauty of my innocently iridescent bubble, I never saw the world for what it truly was.
When I was in elementary school, I was no stranger to nightmares. Though many of them featured outlandish scenes of giant spiders, one particular nightmare haunted me with its unsettling realism.
For nearly fifteen years, this nightmare remained fictional—until this past weekend.
Editor’s Note: This is the debut edition of Civil Discourse, a new column where Isabella Pieretti and Conor Richards share their perspectives on a political story or event covered by The Heights. This first column is a response to “BC History Professor Denounces Musk’s Actions as “a Coup” to Millions of Social Media Followers.”
Erectile dysfunction affects 19 percent of the male population and receives five times more research funding than premenstrual syndrome (PMS), which 90 percent of women endure each month. In addition, 31 percent of women experience severe reproductive or gynecologic problems, yet a narrow 2 percent of publicly funded research is dedicated to female reproductive biology.
