Part of why I proposed this project was because personal narratives, regardless of their subject matter, automatically burst bubbles by demanding vulnerability.

It is as if some force brings people together, time slows down and you can reach out and touch the tiny strings that connect us all.

Here, we are interconnected by our shared enrollment at Emory, but we all have different stories, backgrounds and customs.

A prison is one of those things that, until I saw and felt it, was hard for me to conceptualize its existence in the world where I also live.

The urge to create, shape words like clay leaving behind the contour of my fingerprints, is an insatiable hunger.

Coming to Emory has allowed me to see the detrimental psychosocial effects “be safe” has had on me and my community.

These environments can — and often do — feel suffocating. But at Emory, we do what we can to break the bubbles and make homes where we can breathe.

My unique position as a low-income student has amplified the gratitude I feel for Emory, and I should not discredit my love for the Emory community simply because my experience is not shared with as many people.

In search of a sense of belonging and identity, I fell in love with chasing after a disc as quickly as I got shin splints and with the same passion I once had writing and editing for this paper.

The small surprises are what make my college experience worth it. Maybe I should embrace them.

Existing in our surroundings and pausing our external selves for just 10 minutes is still progress. 

As I reflect on my first six months at Emory, I am struck by the profound impact the school has had on my journey of self-discovery.

A letter she wrote me is the one thing I brought from home to place on my dorm wall.

I no longer feel that I must forget my family history at Emory to make an individual mark on Emory’s campus. Instead, I see it as something that sets me apart.

Write when you feel community, companionship and love.