Jenny Lee

It’s been more than a year since I became a legal “adult,” and yet, I have not experienced that sense of clarity toward life that adulthood supposedly brings.

Since I began working at The Daily Californian as an editor five semesters ago, I’ve come to redefine the meaning of that fateful book as characterizing my love for stories — and for finding the right words to tell mine in.

As a Korean American woman, it feels as though every decision I make about my appearance is intertwined with my race, gender, identity and cultural history.

For my part, on some days all I can manage to do is exist. And I’m trying to learn that this is enough.

Gae na ri symbolize the coming of a long-anticipated spring and the end of a long winter. My mom and her stories are my gae na ri.

When everything goes back to “normal,” can we also normalize having nonprofitable hobbies?

I don’t know, when my Mom was my age, what kept her up at night, what her favorite dance moves were, what her pet peeves were, what her worldview was.

To youths in the 20th century, graffiti represented their identities, from the names they used to the artwork that helped them identify with one another.

I don’t know what I expected for my first year of college, but this was definitely not it.