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“Your mom told me to pray for you when you went to Turkey,” said my dental hygienist when I walked into the office. This was the morning after a 13-hour flight home from a service trip with UC Berkeley Hillel. Turkey isn’t exactly the type of place one might assume
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No guilt, no questions about when we’re going to get serious about our lives. Just a group of friends and a few bottles of wine and enough time to tell stories.
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It’s finally here — my senior year. As I waited in line for L&S advising in Evans Hall to triple-check my graduation requirements, I came into a conversation with a freshman girl from Vietnam. “Do you have a green card?“ she asked. The question took me back for a minute
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As the new school year begins, so does the onslaught of freshmen with the complex mixture of emotions so many of us may recall — a mixture of idealistic hope for success-filled college years and agonizing terror of getting lost in the crowd. Just a few years ago, I remember
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I’m sitting in a restaurant in Lisbon waiting for lunch. I’m weary from wandering the city with a friend, and a Fado band is playing on the television by the door. In the corner of the screen, I notice a woman translating every lyric into sign language. Her hands move
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When I first told my family that I would be double majoring in rhetoric and French, I faced confused and baffled responses. My parents expected me to follow my childhood passion for mathematics while in college, but sometimes, things just don’t work out. Throughout my academic career, I have been
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Sometimes I am realistic to a fault. That’s not to say I never daydream or that I’m not adventurous, but I never seem to allow myself to make serious plans for the future, to avoid disappointment. Much of what I do is basically a last-minute decision — a combination of
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I have always been enamored of the human body and all that makes us human. It’s the variation in the human experience that intrigues me. It’s the stories we yearn to tell, the values we have fought to keep or learned to let go and the insights we have gained from
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That I’ve never outright failed a class must be some kind of minor miracle. However, that statement should be accompanied by a footnote indicating that while I’ve never failed a class, I have indeed received a “no pass” in three. To not pass a class is a gray area of
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“The miraculous is everywhere … in our homes, in our minds,” a recent Sprint commercial circling the airwaves begins. The statement is made in a tone of awe by a deep-voiced male narrator while a series of images cut in after each other in rapid succession: hugely magnified blood cells rushing
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