Post- Magazine
Post- Magazine
what guides the geese [feature]
By Michelle Bi | February 12Here is how I discovered the meaning of the word, “sky.”
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why i journal [narrative]
By Jasmine Willoughby | February 12People are hoarders of various things. Some collect antiques, dolls, shoes, or clothes; some dedicate their entire lives to the unfulfilling quest of storing mounds of money. I guess you can call me a hoarder of memories, of experiences. I am a journal enthusiast. Nothing delights me more than using ...
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three hundred and fifty steps to devotion [feature]
By Sydney Pearson | February 12“Instructions for living a life:
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winter's blanket [narrative]
By Gabrielle Yuan | February 12The red bench stands out in the stark whiteness. The tarp above, which sits at a slight tilt from the weight of the fallen snow, protects the bench from icy remnants. The steady shiver of my hands, a few brave fingers dangling out of my parka, is perhaps a sign of the harshness of winter. If I tasted ...
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notes from a week of crying in public [lifestyle]
By Indigo Mudbhary | February 12“Devastating problems in your life can also be interesting, and they can interest you as they’re happening to you and as they’re causing you intense pain,” says Agnes Callard, a controversial professor of philosophy at the University of Chicago. I stumbled across this quote in “Agnes Callard’s ...
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in the first place [lifestyle]
By Elijah Puente, Katheryne Gonzalez, Jessica Lee, Tabitha Lynn, Emilie Guan and Klara Davidson Schmich | February 5in the first place
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maffa way [narrative]
By Joseph Maffa | February 5There is a street in Charlestown that carries my last name. A small bypass that converges Broadway and Mystic Ave into that infamous Sullivan Square rotary, Maffa Way stretches a quarter mile at most. Despite its unassuming length, I would guess that this is one of the most frequently traveled roads ...
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what's considered an elegy? [feature]
By Ivy Rockmore | February 5I am six and decaying. The heat’s out, Toronto’s winter is angry, plum-red in its fury, and my dad knocks; he must hear me shivering. I hear the thud of his boots before I see him, all bald and devoted. He glances at me, mutters “Be right back,” and the wobbly house holds its breath as he sprints. ...
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you know i’d give my life for you [A&C]
By Emily Tom | February 5The photos are, frankly, grotesque. There’s an uncanny valley quality to them: You can tell that this man, based on the lighting and costuming, is performing. And from how thin and dark his eyes are, he must be Asian. But the skin of his eyelids is stiff and artificial. Even if you didn’t know that ...
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there’d better be a mirrorball [POST-POURRI]
By Tarini Malhotra | December 5On page 74 of my Goodnotes notebook for NEUR0010, nestled between noradrenergic and serotonergic system mechanisms, is the line, “there’d better be a mirrorball,” written in eclectic lavender calligraphy and surrounded by tiny, crookedly-drawn stars.
