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My parents gave me my first cellphone when I entered the sixth grade.
Signing up for an article for this magazine on our idea spreadsheet, one title jumped out at me. “No Phone Day.” I told my roommates about it, and they just didn’t believe I would go through with doing it. Honestly, I almost didn’t.
As Thanksgiving break included what were probably the last stress-free days before the end of the semester, I decided to honor the occasion by putting off all of the work that I had to complete and chose to indulge in the food of the holiday instead. But I suppose I must have missed learning, because I couldn’t just eat the food, I wanted to know more about what I was eating. At least I got some research done during the break.
Yes, struggling. We’d be in the kitchen from noon to late at night, but at these cookouts, we only get four dishes done — tops. Usually, we’d have three or even less, if you don’t count desserts or any meals with pre-made ingredients. This is all despite the fact that the recipes we used were all supposed to be simple.
It seems to be the favorite holiday of the vast majority of Americans (I apologize if you are reading this as an American and wholeheartedly disagree with me, but just go with it). I had numerous people tell me that Thanksgiving would be my new favorite holiday once I had experienced it for the first time. Spoiler alert: Christmas is still my favorite holiday, but that’s not really important.
Though such poems may appear on paper as blocks of text reminiscent of paragraphs, in no way do they lose any elements of poetry due to their format. Although prose poets are not able to take the same liberties with line breaks and punctuation as verse poets are, they are nonetheless still able to use the same vivid images and language as they would otherwise with verse.
The transition from radical college independence to the security of my parents’ house is an odd reminder of how far I’ve come since high school. For instance: How crazy is it that I call that place “my parents’ house?” Suddenly, Baltimore feels just as much (if not more) like home as Wilmington, Delaware, despite only having spent 3.5 years here.
Once, mad at my sister on the way to the grocery store, I bought the sugariest, most fattening snack I could find so that she would gain weight. Another time, mad at a friend for a reason I can’t even recall, I deleted Facebook for three days so that I could pretend not to have seen their messages.
Eating a home-cooked meal
It would be easy to blame my self-imposed separation from art on the trials and tribulations of college life, but that would be dishonest. Quite frankly, aside from the initial adjustment period during my freshman year, college had little to no effect on my desire or ability (time-wise) to draw.
Soon after I was born — one month premature, weighing under five pounds and yellowed with jaundice — my dad held my whole body in one hand and instantly felt a strong bond between us. He told me that he felt a profound desire to care for his newborn son. There might come a time, however, when you need to take care of your own parent.
Lena and Kara’s relationship became an instant hit among fans, with some interpreting their relationship as sisterly and others as romantic, inspiring the ship “Supercorp.” Either way, Lena and Kara are undeniably close, except in one critical aspect. Lena still has no idea that Kara is Supergirl.
Seventeenth-century British poet and political writer John Milton looked at these same questions that our student body debated. Does tolerating backward religious views promote free speech or suppress it? Who should get an education? To what extent is free speech limited? Milton examines all these questions, and we should listen to his answers. They might add something to the conversations we’re having.
The first page of results that comes up when you type “instant mac and cheese” into google consists almost entirely of recipes. It’s almost as though some people don’t understand the concept of “instant.”
Of course, in anticipation of the upcoming Thanksgiving Break, Hopkins has also decided to make the beginning of November one of the most stressful times of the year by piling on the assignments and meetings.
Not long ago, I found myself facing the unpleasant reality that my dating preferences may reflect racial prejudices.
As I write this column, I have my Union Jack cushion behind my back, a cup of tea on my desk and a packet of bourbon biscuits open next to me. My desktop wallpaper is set to a watercolour picture of the London skyline.
In an attempt to be funny, I told her I’d only ever been on the receiving end of rejections before, albeit only from literary journals. She asked me a little bit about why I liked writing and what my plans were for it in the future. I gave her the same speech I would later give in all my college applications, about how I wanted to go into science but didn’t ever want to stop writing and how I loved weaving science and poetry together.
I haven’t always been as well-practiced of a listener as I am now (shout out to A Place to Talk!), but ever since my childhood, I have been sensitive and caring. Empathy came naturally to me. Part of this stems from my family’s history with mental illness. My sister, who is now diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, began exhibiting symptoms of autism and bipolar disorder when she was 13. I was eight at the time.
My mom would pour me the milk first and then dump in whatever particular cereal brand I happened to be obsessing over that month.