Chairlifts have always scared me. I remember when I had to board one for the first time, swiveling my skis atop the faded red line dyed into the ice below me as I waited for the seat. I looked back over my right shoulder, anxious to get the timing right. The chair was coming—my chance. I was ready. ...
Stepping into a wide square room, I am immediately struck by the monochrome adorning the walls. The room is white, and the air conditioning blasts from the ceiling, sending a preliminary chill down my spine. Then a second, and third, on and on, cascading—reverberating—through my body. Around the ...
An old scar is suddenly itchy, forcing me to remember a time of which I have no recollection. It’s a penny-sized crater, puckered on my right side, kissing my rib cage. My body’s permanent dimple. I mindlessly sweep my fingertips over its edges, wondering if it’ll hurt. It never has. If it ever ...
I dream of dance. Behind my closed lids, loose limbs and flashes of color swirl into a black vortex.
A little kindness can go a long way: A compliment here, a favor there, and you brighten someone’s day. Kindness is easy, and below, you’ll find some simple ways to spread it here at Brown.
If you are an avid reader of post-, you may have seen my entry a few weeks ago where I proclaimed a gaping dog-shaped hole in my life. It exists because I miss my pup from home, Sara (who is, unequivocally, the best dog, like all dogs). In an attempt to fill this hole in my heart, I’ve reached out ...
It was February of freshman year and the novelty of New England winter was starting to wear off. My fantasies of a winter wonderland were met with bare trees and blotches of yellow snow, bleak reminders of my tendency to over-romanticize. The snowflakes that once gently graced my face now fell repeatedly ...
Mother believes that a young girl’s upbringing is not complete without witnessing a butterfly’s life cycle. To be raised as a girl in our home is an act of shedding skin, growing a pair, and embracing change. If your wings get stuck, you wiggle about. If the chrysalis is tough, you punch its walls. ...
If you’re like me, Halloween is the time for last-minute panic and candy indulgence, a time for throwing together the shittiest costume the world’s ever seen and going, “No, you just don’t get the reference,” to people who see right through your Spooky Season laziness. But, as the old adage ...
Please hand-write a one page essay about yourself. Due tomorrow.
I first felt certainty at my masaní’s (grandmother’s) farm. I felt safe in her hogan, curled up with blankets, the stove fire hot on my cheeks, side-by-side with my younger siblings. I’d listen to their breathing, a steady rhythm accompanied by soft crackles from the burning wood. Through her ...
My oldest sister, Nikila, brought Radish home as a party favor when I was in the third grade. He was a purple betta fish, our family’s first pet, and the first animal I would ever form a bond with. I would crawl into my sister’s room every day after school to catch a glimpse of Radish swimming in ...
In kindergarten, our class read the story of the Gingerbread Girl, who comes alive after she is baked and runs away to escape being eaten. We had parents come into class and help us build gingerbread people, and then set them in the oven to bake during recess, only to find them missing when we returned. ...
“Robin-Robin-Robin—after this, you’re gonna be a man!”
I am a gentle giant on stilts as I stumble in my heels across the wooden floors of my kitchen. He’s already in the car, as he always is. I shove a Ziploc pouch of apple wedges into my oversized and overstuffed tote bag and flounder out the garage door.
Since around summer 2020, “casual Instagram” and other “casual” forms of social media have taken over celebrity profiles—not to mention those of the general public. Despite conflicting opinions on the trend, casual Instagram has many abandoning highly edited posts in favor of blurry mirror ...
When I was in the fifth grade, I was given an assignment to write a poem about “who I am.” A big task, really, for a fifth grader with naive brown eyes and puffy cheeks and very little concept of what it meant to be something or someone. In a font meant to imitate handwriting, centered on a page, ...
As I walk into my living room, my dog Sammie lifts her head at the sound of my approaching footsteps. My eyes meet her sleepy round ones, full of—as I believe—the secrets to world peace and of the universe. As I gaze into her sweet chocolate eyes, I notice the slight wag of her perfectly curly pug ...
I’ve always known that if you really try to stare into space long enough, you can pry open the screen of reality and reveal a sliver of what is behind. Growing up, it was like a game, to lie awake during naptime and stare until I could see the frames of the world shifting off-kilter the slightest ...
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”
Solutions by The State News
