The coronavirus has unexpectedly interrupted all of our lives. All of us at UNH were obviously saddened and sullen to hear from our administration that our temporary two-week absence from campus would be extended for the rest of the semester. It was an unfortunate yet necessary precaution to take as we heard from the news about developing cases across the country. Words never heard before like “social-distancing” and “self-quarantine” were adopted into the public lexicon seemingly overnight, and we braced ourselves for a moment truly unprecedented in our personal experience as Americans.

My greatest hurdle through the first weeks of the shelter-in-place mandate was the incredible task of staying home all the while maintaining my sanity. I was almost never home during high school. After school, I’d work. And after work, I’d be with my friends. I spent more weekends at my best friend’s house than my own during high schoo...

Firm flower, new attitude

What a winter

What a good time to

Dare to lay down when magic is found

And a cute little world for us to see

- New Attitude, Babe Rainbow

~

“You’re just living, man... you’re... just there in that moment, in that special place in time. Maybe when I get back, I can write a book about my travels, you know, about getting out of this sick society. SOCIETY! SOCIETY, MAN! SOCIETY! SOCIETY! You know, SOCIETY! Cause you know what I don’t understand, I don’t understand why people, why every fucking person is so bad to one each other, so fucking often. It doesn’t make sense to me. Judgement, control, all that the whole spectrum…”

– Alexander Supertramp, Into the Wild

~

 “The Buddha walked away, and his look and half-smile imprinted on Siddhartha’s memory forever. I have never seen a man look and smile, sit and walk like that, he thought. I, also, would like to look and smile, sit and walk like that, so free, so...

Don’t be afraid. Because tomorrow’s not promised. Do you. That’s all we can do. Listen; learn how to cope with reality. You only get one, so live life. Be safe. Watch who you call your homie. They come and go. Don’t gotta be gangsta all the time. Believe me; it can be so nice. Make use of the time. Make it live forever. A woman’s life is love. A man’s love is life. Keep on minding my business.

- Knxwledge

We have to believe in the miraculous. The unattainable. The surreal serendipity dripping from visions of tomorrow like gold-spun strands of honeycomb honey. If we don’t, if we let this beautiful butterfly tomorrow dance away with its rainbow stained-glass wings flapping like dual kites in the soft breeze above our dirt-buried heads, then we’ve let happiness escape. This isn’t to say the sparkling, stunning landscape of the now, which is full of enchantment in every whiff, isn’t paramount; it’s actually to reinforce thi...

I like lists. Some would call me type A; however, the relative messiness of my life would beg to differ. My best friend would probably analyze it as my minor OCD coming out (she’s a psych major by the way). Honestly, I always thought I liked lists because every time I got to cross something off I felt like I just won a freaking Oscar. Even if the thing being crossed off was “1. Get out of bed you lazy bum.” A few years ago I started keeping lists of all the good things in life. The little or big things that brought me joy and happiness. My lists typically housed things that I had encountered or noticed that day or during a recent experience. I now have years worth of entries, all full of random scents, sounds, objects, tastes, people, and feelings that make me smile. During this time when everything is going to shit, I have been leaning on these little journal entries as a crutch. I mean it literally feels like everyt...

My mind is as coiled as my hair, rebelling against elastics that stretch and snap in efforts to contain it. 

For a long time, I felt like a walking contradiction, like being more than one thing divulged a complex otherness that was not compatible with a homogenous world. I sliced open all my parts and made them new. I took to this task with a vengeance, seeking to manufacture comfort in a body and brain that knew none. 

I was deeply conflicted by the simultaneous existence of opposing traits: synonym versus antonym. I was both feminine and crude. I was both loud and quiet. I was open-minded and hard- headed, serious and goofy, intelligent and clueless, abrasive and soft. I was the kind of person who wanted an object to hold, just to have something to do with my hands. I wanted to be categorized because I wanted to have a place to be. 

I filed away my edges, reducing my personality to make it more digestible and readily c...

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter is, essentially, a story of a woman being cancelled—poor Hester Prynne was subjected to endless suffering by her Puritan neighbors. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, really; Puritans aren’t exactly remembered for their ability to move on. These days, however, it would generally be frowned upon to force someone to wear a bright red “A” for “Adulterer” on all their outfits.

That’s not to say our urge to label people has gone away. Think about it—if a person transgresses in some way, mightn’t you want an easy way for everyone to know to shun them? In place of a scarlet letter, mightn’t you reply to one of their tweets with a little red “x” emoji? Mightn’t you send them a flurry of insults, asking why they are so intent on depriving the world of joy? Honestly, if someone is responsible for a really heinous crime – for example, getting Baby Yoda suspended from Twitter – what else wo...

This is only my second semester at the University of New Hampshire. That would be fine and dandy if I was 18 years old and fresh out of the public high school meat grinder, but unfortunately for me, that’s not the case. I graduated in 2016 and turned 22 last week. So the question arises, “Um... what the fuck are you doin here bud?”

My academic experience is much different from what most students at UNH probably share. I didn’t live in a dorm with a stranger when I was a freshman. I don’t have an embarrassing college romance story. I never joined a shitty fraternity. For the first three years after I graduated high school, I went to a community college.

Community college is a vast hellscape with dim lighting and a shitty vending machine. It’s also anything but a community. My senior year of high school, there was a sentence I constantly heard as loud as police sirens coming from the mouths of my teachers,guidance counsel...

Lately, I’ve been having a difficult relationship with time. It feels as if time is some foreign czar with an iron fist and an oddly-attentively-groomed moustache who’s brought along his whole regime with him. Not only that (although his moustache is exponentially important), but he’s changing and restructuring everything. Putting everything into

a box. A square peg in a round hole. All that. And the clock is his empty-minded muscle. Think the enforcer in any mob movie: the big guy with the block body and an unchanging expression. Clocks have this pragmatic blank face—a death march of austere fist sandwiches. And the thing is, all they want to do is tell you how to live. I wish I never had to look at those two clenched hands and that paper face again, but everything I do throughout the day is dictated by exactly that. I have to be here, then. I have to be there, when? I have to do this, now. It’s frustratingly silly th...

Please reload

  • Black Instagram Icon
  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Twitter Icon