Download the October 2009 issue of NU Magazine as a PDF document.
This past summer, two women with overstuffed suitcases and plenty of college books piled into a big red minivan for a weeklong college road trip.
I hadn’t really thought about what would happen once I actually got into college. For nearly two years, it had only been about that — making it to the day where I’d have my “Congratulations!” letter in my hands.
I have a kvutza — an age group — a group of people out there who care about me and for me, 12 individuals, a secret all to myself, a little piece of my heart and soul.
Last summer, many incoming seniors immersed themselves in college visits, attempting to search for their “perfect fit.” And as if the agenda isn’t already bustling, there’s also the looming challenge of college applications.
I always wonder what people see when they look in the mirror. Do they see their true reflections? Or, more frequently, is it the blemishes and imperfections from their head down?
The rooftop is flat and covered in stone. I walk up two flights of stairs from my grandmother LaliKoch’s apartment. A group of people are gathered there, a special place that looks upon Bangalore, India
July 23, 2009 — a date which will live in infamy. Forty-four politicians and rabbis were arrested on bribery, money laundering, and corruption charges on that one day.
You stare at the LCD screen of your computer, making sure to update your Facebook page at least once every five minutes. Tick Tock Tick Tock.
The wind howls and whistles as she moves,
No stopping is permitted,
All the noise,
Yelling and screaming,
She gasps for air
Flowing like a wave from a beautiful sea
Toward the ground they fly and sit calm, steady
Glowing in a mound of red and yellow.
two windows draped with gossamer curtains,
letting in muted light that
brushes the silhouette of the girl;
the top of her calf illuminated,
while the rest falls into shadow.
Black fades into navy
You see the outline of the outline of the fields
Azure into turquoise
Now the dew glistens in the growing patches of light
We were in Lauren’s house -
the area of the lakefront shaded by tall oaks.
The flat rocks that hugged the sand
were Lauren’s furniture.
My song is a soft hum.
A hum a mother would sing
as she dusts the counter tops,
or sings her youngest one to sleep.
The idiosyncratic ideals are buried within the human brain,
Heaved away from the obscurities of this convoluted world.
With mixed emotions of trepidation and thrill,
We encounter the next phase of life.