The little red dots in a brown jungle
(04/17/26 6:00pm)
Have you ever noticed the signs that the academic year is coming to an end—the ones the university seems to carry around every April like a seasonal allergy?
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Have you ever noticed the signs that the academic year is coming to an end—the ones the university seems to carry around every April like a seasonal allergy?
It feels so strange to think that nowadays, students walk into class not carrying a huge stainless steel mug of coffee — the kind that could double as a small fish tank — but a colorful mix of energy drink cans. Grape, strawberry, orange, blueberry, blackberry, lemon… I half expect someone to show up with “unicorn-flavored” or “glitter explosion” energy drinks next, even though I wouldn’t be surprised if they already exist. Meanwhile, coffee just sits there, bitter and stubborn, tasting… well, like coffee. Sometimes weak — the dreaded “coffee-tea” — sometimes strong enough to make your soul quiver. No one ever seems to get the flavor just right.
When I think of winter break, I imagine snow, having fun with friends making snow angels (does anyone still do that?), sitting by a window with a cup of hot chocolate, or being emotionally rescued from the cold by a warm chocolate chip cookie. But let’s be honest; is that actually what happens during winter break?
I remember my first time taking the bus in Oxford. It was August 2024, about a week before the semester started. While I was still trying to figure out the area, the bus routes (Oxford used to have buses at 6 p.m., and you didn’t need to wait 86 minutes for a bus) and my new routine, I found myself quietly enjoying the short, random conversations happening around me.
Halloween is one of the most anticipated holidays in America—it’s the one night a year (I’m so Mean Girls today) when kids (or people) go crazy and do exactly what they're told not to do the other 364 days: take candy from complete strangers.
I walk into the classroom wearing my best fake confidence—tailored, ironed, and held together with the same hope that powers birthday candles. Can they tell how nervous I am? Probably. I’m pacing behind the computer like a stressed-out stage mom, trying not to knock anything over while the projector warms up and my dignity cools down. Every move feels like it's broadcasting “Look at me! I have no idea what I’m doing!”