As a child, I loved having my friends explain math to me. It was never really about the content, but rather about how the pen traced geometric shapes and scribbled equations, how my friend would look up from time to time to ask if I understood. I liked to focus on the tip of the pen leaving a trace ...
If you were to go through my search history right now, you would find the following question, posed on a Tuesday night at 8:36 p.m.: How do you write a good eulogy?
A tea bag in black ink winds its way up my upper arm, lavender and carnations blooming inside of it. The winter chill means it’s mostly hidden from the world. Sometimes I forget it exists. But in the back of my mind, I know it’s there: an amulet I carry with me, a reminder that I exist in the world ...
After skipping breakfast as usual, you stride into the Sharpe Refectory for lunch, stand in line with a heavy backpack (because there are inevitably no seats), get ignored by a few passing acquaintances you tried to make eye contact with, retreat to refreshing your Instagram homepage, and finally get ...
But first, I wish I knew where to begin. It is midnight again, and I am sitting at my computer, hoping this keyboard-clacking will somehow transfigure into the wisdom I need for tomorrow. The people I walked past today, avoiding puddles just like me, were hoping for wisdom too. I could simply be projecting, ...
Growing up, my father had a common saying. “Work before you play,” he would tell me at every waking moment: when I was caught lounging on the couch watching TV, sitting at the dining table eating a snack, or just doing the normal, trivial activities a pent-up, boisterous kid does. The idea behind ...
Maybe I started loving you in the kitchen. I remember one late Sunday morning in fall: I could smell something cooking, cinnamon-sweet, wafting down my hallway. I looked in to find a group of my friends huddled around the stovetop, French toast a-sizzling in the pan and dinner-party jazz ("Happy ...
It’s early November, and I’m bored. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. A sigh escapes from me, unintentional. I reach for my phone and mindlessly open TikTok, my short attention span appreciating the immediate satisfaction each video gives me. I pause on a video of someone recommending My ...
My mom shook me awake. Taking a nap outside my bedroom door had seemed like a good idea to me at the time until my mom said she hadn’t been able to wake me up for several minutes. Because I wasn’t just napping—I had passed out. She plopped me down on the couch and force-fed me a cookie until I ...
Bouncing vivaciously around the stage in athletic track pants, a purple t-shirt, and pink mini Ugg boots, Remi Wolf is electric and eclectic. And so is her audience: The Boston Royale is packed with flamboyant fans of all ages, many sporting merchandise from her official collection. Some wear neon hats ...
As I’m driving in from Providence and the buildings roll past my window, I crack open the glass and let the wind wash away all of the ink that paints me as a little city girl. With the skyline in my billowing hair and the unbreakable musical tradition of Frank Sinatra bursting through the radio, I ...
What does this mean? 18 likes… Who is liking what? My dad’s voice buzzes through my phone speaker, my dog’s howling and the distant chirping of birds coiling into the spaces between his words.
My desk is overwhelmed by tidy stacks of newspapers. Every crossword puzzle is solved, while every article is unread. An optimist beyond reason, it’s natural for me to abstain from the news. I’ll thumb through it every now and again, only to graze upon more of the same: new government policy perturbing ...
I’ve only written one love letter in my entire life. And honestly, it wasn’t as much of a love letter as it was a handwritten apology.
A few weeks ago, on a grocery run, I came across bunches of daffodils—the first sign of spring. I bought a bunch and brought them home, cradling them gently; I put them in an empty pasta jar and propped them up against the windowsill. Daffodils always remind me of home—my mother loves them and buys ...
In my dreams, I wake up in my childhood bed. I make my way through the house that is no longer my own and find my mother sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window. The sky is a sheet of gray, a blank face. I cannot even see Diamond Head. My mother cradles a black and white portrait of an old woman ...
At YogaSix, the breath is our Bible. Follow it, and you will find your way. Interestingly enough, though, my body doesn't like to exhale fully. There’s comfort in the tiny reservoir of air I stow away in my lungs—always there, just in case. Yet I exhale slightly and surrender a bit more to ...
Stepping into Spring
Solutions by The State News
