By Li Yin
In this moment, all I feel is joy.
Music that Lin curated for me in my ears, the sun casting nothing but a golden glow and gentle warmth, enveloping my silhouette like my mother’s hands. The waves underneath this aircraft resemble silk, slowly but surely ebbing and flowing, reaching every part of the Earth.
Read MoreBy Anonymous
Thoughts on Valentine’s Eve, sparked by The New York Times “Modern Love” section.
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By Parker Piscitello-Fay ‘22
No Really, Where Am I? (a case for more signage on Wellesley College’s campus and admitting you don’t have everything figured out)
An Ode to the Compassion and Honesty with which Esteemed Poetry Professor Dan Chiasson Approaches Discussions of Odes
It’s Tuesday, November, 2018 at 3:29 pm and the Idea of Shadow Grading is the Only Thing Holding Me Together (why we need to talk about first years when we talk about Wellesley’s stress culture)
Read MoreBy Zaria George ‘22
As I’m writing this, you are two days short of turning 22.
You will develop a love for art that you never knew had been there.
You will lose a lot of people who you loved. Don’t let that harden you.
Read MoreBy Zaria George ‘22
Although I’ve become more comfortable with being called Zaria, there is still the internal dilemma that I have about its origins. In a community where I’m surrounded by friends and family with culturally significant names that reflect their heritage, I grapple with being “Zaria.”
Read MoreBy Lizette Mier ‘22
This past spring break, I sat in the recording room of Washington D.C.’s newest language museum, Planet Word. I glossed over the themes of what to talk about. Planet Word had a recording studio where anyone could share a story for their archives, and I knew I had been waiting so long to come to this museum that I couldn’t leave without leaving a mark behind. Breadcrumbs of my existence.
Read MoreBy Lizette Mier ‘22
You’ve followed me everywhere I’ve gone since I left your beaches and your Athenian streets. I saw your ghost in the palm trees and dry lands of my home in Phoenix. I felt your spirit, as I navigated language barriers in Denmark, however brief it was with Danish.
Read Moreby Rachel Desmond' ‘22
CW: Graphic descriptions
I think my fifteen-year-old self getting a black belt says a lot about who I am as a twenty-two-year-old. That black belt says that right as I was hitting puberty—a time when many girls have to relinquish the safety of a prepubescent body—I was learning how to take a punch.
Read Moreby Lauren Witt ‘24
Strolling through campus brings up a strange, subtle feeling, like stumbling upon a place you once visited in a dream. On the surface, nothing has really changed, but everything has a distinct, vibrant hue.
Read MoreBy Nabeela Zoss ‘23
CW: Unspecified student death
I wonder what happens to the students who die at Wellesley College.
Read Moreby Corinne Muller ‘21
Several years ago, I happened upon a website entitled “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.” Compiled in this dictionary are words mostly derived from the Romance languages, German, and Japanese that somehow encapsulate those feelings that always seem impossible to adequately identify, those feelings whose pulse the English vernacular never satisfactorily touches.
by Mar Barrera ‘20
Content warnings: gender dysphoria, mentions of transphobia
My body feels like a political statement, even though it never asked to be one. Wherever it exists (or doesn’t, according to the Wellesley College administration), it must be prepared to justify and explain its existence.
by Delaney Robertson ’21
Content warning: family death
You used to stay until the end of the credits after every movie you saw, and boy, it drove me crazy. Now I can’t seem to leave the theatre until the lights come all the way up. Someone needs to continue your tradition. It feels like the least I can do.
Read Moreby Gus Agyemang '22
Content warning: gender dysphoria
What I have now come to understand as “gender dysphoria” became my problem around the time of puberty. Like most teenagers, I noticed the changes my body was going through, but what really bothered me was how different it was from my friends’. My voice didn’t drop, and I didn’t grow tall, and people were now referring to me as she. I felt disgusted by my budding breasts and hips and enraged that I was to feel proud of them.
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