By 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 Stella Ho ‘22
I was walking back to the French House with my friend Gaya last week when a sentence slipped out of my mouth: “Look, we’re almost home.”
I paused for a second. Before that moment, in my last month of classes, in my senior year at Wellesley, I had never called a dorm here “home” before.
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 Counterpoint Staff
A playlist of 20 songs reflecting Wellesley’s current mental state. Featuring “Ain’t It Fun,” “I Drink Wine,” and “Presumably Dead Arm”.
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 Van An Trinh ‘24
I’ve always felt like I was a first draft of a person. Every environment I’ve been in has highlighted an unbridgeable difference between myself and the richness of others—like I should have contained a self, somewhere, that was lost in the gap between my actions and their bearing on who I was.
Read MoreBy Maggie Erwin ‘23
I have been measuring the surrounding ecosystem of a small oak tree near the lake: the mushrooms that pop up (evidence of the rich underground network of mycelium and roots communicating with one another), the bees that frequent the flowers, the grasses, and the changing leaves.
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 Counterpoint Staff
Which Wellesley bathrooms are lawful good, true neutral, chaotic evil, etc.? Our classifications.
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 Harper Elrod ‘25
CW: Alcohol mention, anti-Latine sentiment discussed, anti-Black racism discussed, classism discussed, depiction of domestic violence, reclamation of the D slur
When I ask the organizer of Dyke Ball if there will be a space for those who struggle with addiction and have trauma around alcohol, I am told that while I won’t be forced to be in a space where alcohol is served, there will be drunk people attending, wherever I choose to be.
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 Riya Balachandran ‘24
Crouched naked on the ground, my hands and knees are digging into the rug I can never clean right. I’m sitting in front of a small fan with tears in my eyes and lingering traces of isopropyl on my fingertips.
Read MoreBy Nabeela Zoss ‘23
CW: Unspecified student death
I wonder what happens to the students who die at Wellesley College.
Read MoreBy Anonymous
CW: death of a parent & mention of suicide
Mother. Wound. Growth. I allow the calm, familiar sound of cicadas to push aside the mess of thoughts that constantly pulses across my brain. The smell of trees and soft soil fill my lungs with every inhale and exhale. I feel the presence of others, the dependence I have on them, slipping away.
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