I used to think closure could only be achieved through deep conversations and attempts to understand one another, like the dramatic scenes you see in movies. Admittedly, I have seen too many of these examples and may need to touch grass more often. My experiences never go down in the typical Hollywood fashion.
Freshman year, it felt almost impossible not to compare everything about my college life to the college lives of my friends at other schools. From classes to dining halls and dorm decor to social life, I found myself constantly comparing and contrasting my experiences with the experiences of others, trying to anxiously convince myself that I lived a life just as fun and fulfilling as my friends’.
Fire destroys, so why do the Jesuits tell us to go and set the world aflame? Maybe they just want a new world order where Jesuits reign supreme and everyone has a liberal arts education. Reflecting as a BC senior, however, I believe Saint Ignatius had a less dictatorial image in mind.
Time passes even as I type these words. Time passes as I worry about time passing. Time passes as I ponder what to do about time passing.
I find myself starting my final school year and its two remaining semesters. I intend to fully embrace the thirty weeks or 210 days I have left.
In the spring of 2020, a few months before I was an official Boston College student in the Class of 2024, I was a disenchanted high school senior with no idea of what the future might hold. I was perpetually tired, perennially anxious, and in desperate need of direction.
Conventional wisdom suggests that as you progress through your four years of college, you’ll begin to assume increasing levels of responsibility in all aspects of your life. In many ways, this is true, especially for Boston College students.
There are times when change is the best thing for you, whether you think it is or not. Change is life—just look at the trees.
Living off campus in just my second year at BC feels undoubtedly negative to me. It’s difficult to find positives when you are as blatantly rejected as I was.
It was mid-November and I was at the end of my rope. Cards on the table: I’d had a bad six months. I ended the spring with MonoStrep (a simultaneous bout of mononucleosis and strep throat) and started the fall with a cold-turned-lung infection-turned-perforated eardrum. Sexy, I know. Not everything was going wrong—I have a…
