by Roz Rea ‘19

Content warning: suicidal ideation

Senior Spring has culminated in one event after another where I am supposed to wear outfits that make me look “nice.”

Senior Soirée required “cocktail attire” with the caveat of “whatever makes you feel comfortable.” But if everyone else is in cocktail attire and you’re not, you sure won’t feel comfortable anymore. I wore a blue lace cocktail dress. It didn’t zip all the way up.

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What are you going to do with that?

by Lydia MacKay ‘19

When I tell people that I’m majoring in History, their first question is often, “Well, what are you going to do with that?” Is there a good answer to this question? Sometimes I list out some “acceptable” responses—law, business, the usual—but other times I’m just sarcastic. As if their skepticism isn’t bad enough, people often feel compelled to offer their advice that I choose a more profitable major. True story: once I talked with this man for all of five minutes, and he recommended that I switch my major to accounting.

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Thank You, Molly Bloom

by Maggie Roberts ’20

That semester, I was reading Ulysses for an English class. I had been too anxious—for no particular reason, just mentally fried—to commit to the novel. I viewed reading it as a chore instead of as the stimulating, enjoyable challenge it should have been for me. Finally, at the end of April, when I had just about given up on myself intellectually, writing myself off as dumb as well as fat, I was able to fall in love with the novel, its creative language, its self-involved, ever-so-realistic characters. Most of all, I fell in love with Molly Bloom.

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Choosing the Instance of Gender Euphoria

by 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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So I Head You Were Palestinian

By Lanie Najjab '18

Content warning: anti-Palestinian sentiments

One day after school, a boy I’d spoken perhaps three words to cornered me by my band locker. “So I heard you were Palestinian,” he said.

He then proceeded to tell me that I was a liar. “No one is from Palestine,” he said. “It doesn’t exist, and it never existed. No one lived there before the creation of Israel.”

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