Personal essay

Strength can mean more than muscles

IT’S RECESS; every kid’s favorite time during school.

The sun beats down on all of us as we scrape our knees and ruin our clothes. I’m 6 years old, my velcro shoes are covered in mud and grime, and my school uniform is untucked and disheveled.

I run over to my group of friends organizing a game of tag. The instant I get to the group, I hear, “Ooh, Lucas is here!” Initially, I’m excited with the response, eager to spend time with my friends. But what follows is a comment I have never forgotten.

Wrestling with womanhood

Alexis ReavesMY FRIEND AND I were walking the streets of southern France with an almost unbearable heat seeping in from all directions. We were making our way to the beach, burning up, yet still happy to have each other’s company.

A loud honk startled us, and we turned to see an orange-looking old man smiling at us in his car. He began shouting a slew of vulgar things he wanted to do to us, or rather, to our bodies.

Lessons from a broken Venezuelan toilet seat

Sebestian Alfonzo

THE ONLY THING MORE embarrassing than breaking a toilet seat, is breaking a toilet seat in a country where it costs several times more than it does in the U.S.

Take it from a guilty party.

Our flight from the decaying Valencia airport was set to leave in a few hours. My mom had packed for my careless 12-year-old self in exchange for a 

Remembering my aunt Maria

Chad FaustPHYSICALLY AND emotionally rocked from the ride down the apple orchard’s hill, I turned around on my sled to look at my aunt, who had been seemingly close behind me the entire time.

Aunt Maria was sprawled out across the snow, bundled in a puffy jacket with her New Balance running shoes facing up and her sled slowly sliding away from her grasp.

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