The Best Part  

By JASPER FU    I always loved the best part of travelling to San Francisco  of bouncing impatiently in a rattling SUV   down a rattling highway  a child eager and in search of the pastel houses and twisting streets  are we there yet, Dad  that mark the City.    Perhaps it has not the cobblestone gravitas of the Old World  the spiraling modernity of Tokyo  the cozy warmth of brick buildings blanketed in Northeastern snow  the storied glory of Rome or Greece  still, it has its own charm.    Here the fog rolls in to make day brisk  for all the …

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A Fearless Female and Fragments on the Fringes of Language 

A short feature on America’s first National Youth Poet Laureate and Harvard sophomore, Amanda Gorman.  By CLAIRE PARK    Speaking with exuberant energy and a measured musicality, Amanda Gorman rifles through her latest journal, a treasure trove of what she considers “delicious” words. It’s one among the others she has collected for each year since the second grade, that detail both “the pettiness and the poetry” of her life. Angulate, veins, sprawl, thighs, droop, inches, and drag are among the words Gorman limns in her “word boxes,” selections from poems she reads that eventually serve as fodder for her own.   …

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Caffeinate Me Crazy 

By ABIGAIL KOERNER    In my favorite room of every house My friend often stays Filling up empty cups on horrible empty days! He is so kind, my friend… His duty well known He brews and coos ‘til he isn’t needed any more Water flows into the perfect spot Where it bubbles and broils and trickles down into the pot Flip that switch, baby Turn him on Let my old friend eliminate that yawn He can be sweet Bitter or foamy He will warm you right up If you’re feeling lonely My friend, my flavor My only vice He succeeds in keeping me up nights Helping me to act …

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Thanking You 

By ABIGAIL KOERNER    Thankful for the laughing, the smiling  Making me crazy  Setting me free  A girl being a girl  A girl being me  Thankful for your smile  How it makes me want to smile back  How you grin from ear to ear  Smiling worth a thousand words  Words I seem to lack  Thankful that you’re gorgeous  That you’re always on my mind  Pleasant thoughts of fleeting moments   Realizing you’re one of a kind  Thankful to greet you now and then  But never all the time  I have my fleeting moments  But not you  And I’m “fine”    Abigail …

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To Be a Pioneer 

Next Customer Please, a Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club play, premieres and invites you to be a member of its first audience.  By MARISSA GARCIA  There is something inexplicable about witnessing a show that is on the precipice of premiere. There is no plot line with which we are familiar… no preconceived notions or expectations about when we think we should laugh or when we think we should cry. There is no vague impression of how we think the story goes, so much so that we begin structuring and pacing everything we see… as what may be the case with the quintessential showing of a Shakespearean …

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HAPPY DEATH—NAY, YOU’LL PASS 

A review of Happy Death Day.  By CLAIRE PARK    The Brattle Theater and the Harvard College Film Festival generously held a free showing of Universal’s soon to be released movie Happy Death Day for college students looking to enjoy a new horror movie in a classic Cambridge venue. The movie is out in theaters on Friday, the 13th of October, and centers on the repeated bad luck of the main character.   The premise of Christopher Landon’s Happy Death Day is that Tree, a vapid sorority girl, wakes up on her birthday only to live her murder over and over again until she divines her killer and escapes death. …

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All American Madness 

By ABIGAIL KOERNER    I woke up Sunday morning with a smile on my face. Sweet sounds of sweet music that reminded me of home twinkled past my ears. I hoped for time to shower and have a meal. I got in my car and drove towards daily activities- a normal day in my normal life. Driving felt cathartic. I had one foot on the gas and one to do nothing but balance my body on the seat as I turned the wheel, hit reverse, parked the car, stopped.   I swung the door open and got myself up. I was at the grocery store buying milk, cheese, eggs, necessities. I felt like buying beer for the evening: a case for friends. It rolled down …

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Speech Therapy 

A Harvard poet’s process and passions.  By CAROLINE CRONIN    Mo K ’18 is a senior at Harvard this year. While working on a thesis in History and Literature and exploring options for possible post-graduate endeavors, Mo is also publishing a book – a book of poetry that is. This project, which entails much more than the complex adventure that is writing itself, has taken Mo on a journey of realizing, struggling, and healing.  Mo stated that, “I have been writing poetry since maybe my senior year of high school. And it sort of began out of a desire and a need to …

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Symposium of Culture

Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble. By MARISSA GARCIA I, nine-years a cellist, met and hugged Yo-Yo Ma, Harvard Alumnus Class of ‘73, after his concert with the Silk Road Ensemble Tuesday, September 26th at the Oberon. I was hugging the Redefiner of chamber music. It is not certain what now is the modern purpose of the Symphony. We for some reason are allured by the culture of symphony-going and all of its black tie. Perhaps it humbles us, giving us that elusive flavour of only a few decades earlier, when having a digital wealth of varying performances of …

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How to Come out as a Bisexual Lizard Person

By JESSICA JIN You’re a straight human. Straight-A, straight Asian, straight hair. You hear people talk about the lesbian in your high school class like they’re whispering through a mosquito screen. “I saw her with her girlfriend at Starbucks,” someone on the other side of the bathroom stall says. “You know she doesn’t even tuck her tail into her skirt? It’s like she wants other people to see.” You are uncomfortable, but only in the way that you feel when you can’t remember something that hasn’t happened yet. You know you like some things about high school—first period Lit class, …

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In the Rain

By ABIGAIL KOERNER When we were on our way home it started to rain. I ran off in my direction and you in yours while it started to pour. And, oh, did it pour! It rained like crazy and I was drenched. My glasses were impossible to see through; clothes were plastered to my skin; hair wet and wild and hitting me in the face and splattering me with water when I turned my head too fast. I could have gone home with you. We could have gone in and changed clothes and had a coffee together in newly found …

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The Watch

By JASPER FU It wasn’t very important, I suppose. A two-dollar watch probably worth half that; an impulse purchase as I waited and wondered for the hundredth time how much time I had spent waiting and wondering. Besides, it matched my jacket: an ugly, bright red gift from a well-meaning cousin. I put it on as the cashier was ringing it up, staring at the chrome-ish bezel. It felt comfortable, at least. By the time I lost it, the rubber was worn, the strap too loose, the face stained and almost opaque with scratches. I was playing with the ragged …

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Sleepy Poem

Tired eyes and tired faces Walk along to tired places Early yet, we shuffle and sway It’s only the beginning of a boring day But moments ago, or so it seems We were all alone in dreams Weightlessness and breathy breaths Something close to bliss and death Each night we lay our heads to rest Or morning, noon, our eyes would suggest “A nap” we’d say, and lay bodies down “A nap” would end in yawns and frowns For when you let sleep creep in He’ll consume you from within Suddenly you’re paralyzed No alarm, sound, or push could revive …

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An Author in Adams

The Indy sat down with student author Briuana Green to talk about her new book, The Fall, and what’s going to happen next. By EMILY HALL If five years ago, you’d told Briuana Green ’18 that she’d be a published author before graduating college, she might not have believed you. But today, she’s exactly that. Originally from Arkansas, Briuana came to Harvard without any concrete plan of how she’d write a book, but she had known for a while that she wanted to eventually. What she didn’t realize was that during her sophomore year of college, her sister’s new high …

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This Time Next Year 

I will snap my driver’s license in two and try to forget  where it came from. I won’t smile in my next photo.  I will stop being palatable to the apparatus of the state   and adopt a new state to tell myself I’m safe   in this body. My hands are still sticky with honey   drawn in the shape of the Battle of San Jacinto  on a biscuit in 2005. I will wash them off   in the Rio Grande and leave my footprints   among the ancient snakes and fossils   and someone might remember I was never   supposed to be here in the first place.   This time next year I will head …

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