I think we are the first generation where sex is less awkward to talk about than dating. In order to not further risk my chances of getting into heaven, I’ll be talking about the latter—I’m told BC priests read these articles every now and then. Strap in! In case you didn’t know, Merriam-Webster defines date as “the brown, oblong edible fruit of a palm (Phoenix dactylifera).”
About a month ago, I turned 20. This wasn’t sudden—I knew it was coming. It didn’t sneak up from behind or jump out from under my bed. In the back of my mind, there had been a slow countdown to the date that had been in my calendar since Jan. 11, 2005. Still, I wasn’t ready for how weird it would feel to no longer be a teenager.
My best childhood memories are a patchwork of my time spent in Otis Wood Lands, a small community exploding with my family’s history. Over forty years ago, my grandfather and his brother each bought small cabins in Otis, a tiny town in rural Massachusetts.
The Morrissey College of Arts and Sciences falls short on transparency by failing to clearly disclose when graduate teaching assistants are teaching courses and leaving students in the dark about who is actually behind the lectern.
I’m terrified of losing my memory. Genetically, it feels almost inevitable. My mom’s family has a history of Alzheimer’s disease, while my dad’s family has a history of brain tumors. Both sides also had members who struggled with alcoholism—another indicator of poor brain health in old age.
“He felt that Boston College was a gated community for white people.” Those words, casually mentioned by the nurse to explain why her son did not attend Boston College, hit me like a brick wall. As a nursing student in my population health clinical, I was placed at an elementary school in Lower Roxbury.
It’s been a winter wonderland lately. It seems like every day we are getting winter storm warnings and waking up to snow covering the ground. Stokes and Gasson are looking as beautiful as ever coated in white. This also means many fun winter activities: sledding, building snowmen, and snowball fights.
Nick Voll’s recent op-ed, “BC Alum and U.S. Senator Ed Markey’s Inauguration Absence Was Undemocratic,” makes a number of disingenuous comparisons that merit correction.
Mr. Voll begins by acknowledging the January 6th riots as “attacks, which directly threatened the lives of several Capitol police officers and members of Congress.” He cites the “left-leaning” arguments that Donald Trump “questioned” the fair election (a generous term for the concerted campaign of proven falsehoods to undermine it) and leveraged his political office for personal gain.
I am not a chef. Not even a cook. I fall into the category of people who scrounge together meals, occasionally and eagerly resorting to Lower Live. I treat cooking as a necessary but unfortunate chore. No one is to blame but myself.
London has been a dream of mine since childhood. It was a place I saw in storybooks and movies, dotted with grand palaces and cherry red double-decker buses. Hollywood’s version convinced me that it was the pinnacle of perfection, at least in the eyes of my younger self.
Standing in Maloney Hall on that dull February day, I was overcome with excitement, knowing I would finally get to live out the life 11-year-old Makayla had always dreamed of.
