Wednesday, August 12, 2020 - 9:08pm
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The first time I was ever drunk was my first night at the University of Michigan in August of 2016. I wasn’t “cool” in high school. I was the lead in the school musical, the yearbook Editor-in-Chief and on the cross country team. I was well-liked and happy, but I wasn’t popular, and I definitely wasn’t out every weekend drinking. When I committed to the University of Michigan, I promised myself I would take advantage of opportunities to get out of my comfort zone when I arrived on campus. My first act of business was to dip a toe in the exciting social life I’d never really had.

Wednesday, June 17, 2020 - 3:51pm
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I grew up in a suburban New Jersey town that consists of 6.24k white residents and 81 Black residents. As a child, the stark absence of diversity in my community wasn’t startling— it was a fact of life that I was never taught to second guess or even consider. Reality was whitewashed and white was all I saw: in well funded, top notch classrooms, in sports teams and in neighborhoods.

Wednesday, May 27, 2020 - 1:29pm
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“Dating in quarantine is like window shopping,” my 20-year-old brother said to me. He laughed as I lamented that I was on the verge of downloading dating apps— both to pass the time, and to pull a Carrie Bradshaw by placing myself in the center of the most interesting topic in my young, single life: dating in quarantine. 

Tuesday, May 12, 2020 - 4:41pm
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Being home for the past seven weeks during the COVID-19 crisis and living in my childhood bedroom when I was meant to be graduating college and moving to New York City has taught me a few things. The first — how to smile with eyes at essential workers or strangers in the grocery store under the guise of a homemade mask. I’ve learned how to make peanut butter cookies without a recipe, and how much music and art has an innate capacity to heal. And I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve also learned two TikTok dances. 

Thursday, April 16, 2020 - 4:55pm
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Sometimes, writing pours from me— hours fall from my grip and the practice renders me tranquil by way of its leisurely, meditative nature. Poems fill pages and characters in lengthy plays and short stories begin to write themselves— I can see the whites of their eyes between the lines of a bright document by the time I reach their final words. Other times, writing reminds me of an unending uphill sprint. Lately, I’ve felt winded.

I digress. 

Monday, April 6, 2020 - 3:02pm
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I don’t remember when I fell in love with running. I cannot remember my first run or my first pair of running sneakers. Early on, I recall equating running to a mundanity, something I did to stay in shape and keep active as an incredibly uncoordinated individual who failed when it came to team sports. As a child, I hadn’t discovered the runner’s high or that sweaty addiction. But between cross country camps and routing solo long distance Sunday mornings, running turned into a part of my daily life — a part of who I am. I went from being a person who ran, to a runner.

Tuesday, March 31, 2020 - 12:46pm
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In March of 2019, my younger brother Jack and I found ourselves shoulder to shoulder on an itchy cot in the lemon-scented, linoleum-tiled hallway of the University of Michigan emergency room. He assured me for the umpteenth time that I was fine, but the sharp pain in my chest told me otherwise. Jack’s pragmatic mind knew enough about my history of anxiety and hypochondria to know that I was suffering from a panic attack, and not heart failure, but he sat patiently beside me for the five enduring hours.

Monday, March 16, 2020 - 2:52pm
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In October 2019, I deleted my Instagram for a month. There was no dark downfall into obsession or an utter collapse of self-worth that prompted this decision, but I had been experiencing a plateau in my mental well-being at the time and had recognized social media wasn’t helping the problem. 

Tuesday, March 10, 2020 - 3:07pm
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In 2016, I voted for President of the United States for the first time. I remember walking to my polling place in Ann Arbor, Michigan as a freshman in college, and waiting in line with a feeling of thrill in my chest. As I walked toward the booth I felt a bit of hesitance — almost as though I didn’t have the agency to cast my own vote, and thought back to the times my brothers and I would file in after my mother to watch her vote in the town hall in our hometown of Fair Haven, New Jersey.

Monday, February 10, 2020 - 11:28pm
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Over Winter Break, my mother and I drove 90 minutes to visit the gravesite of my paternal grandmother Gail, a place neither of us had seen. We drove around the cemetery in dizzy circles and traversed plots of well-kept grass to find it, searching the site with only a rough draft of a map found online. I’d always wanted to visit the site and finally my mother decided she would be the one to take me, driven by her desire to share this moment with me and her personal curiosity.