I love words. I like how they taste, how you can roll them around in your mouth or snap them between your teeth or melt them on your tongue when you write. I can feel them, the outline of them and the shape; I can feel their weight and their give. I know their nooks
Category: Voices
Walking into the bright orange-walled NOLOP makerspace, you’d expect to find mostly mechanical engineers making chairs (or whatever it is that mechanical engineers do). However, as soon as I stepped in, I realized that the makers in this space hail from a variety of majors, from studio art kids making sculptures to a sociology major
The shorts fit terribly, but they would have to do. I stuffed my white blouse into my too-tight waistband and forced the clasp shut. The itchy, navy cardigan restricted my arms if I ever needed to raise them above my head, and the gold and red crest was always visible from across the room. My
Content warning: sexual violence, victim-blaming language Note: This is a follow-up to a Tufts Daily op-ed published in December 2019, which can be read at bit.ly/tiertown. I’ve written before about my experiences with sexual violence in Tufts student-activism, focusing on how I was raped in Tier Town. But activists have done more harm than just
Step One: Fill the Kettle Gently flowing upwards, with no sense of direction, toward the light of the world above, I slowly search. A whistle sings. The seeping steam prevents me from seeing myself and the passage ahead, but I persist. Bursting out of the pressure-filled kettle, I strive to control my identity. Boiling in
Content warning: Descriptions of an anxiety disorder By March of my first year at Tufts, I was convinced I had sustained a total of 12 concussions and at least a little bit of irreversible brain damage. I had gotten the first concussion in early November when I sat up in the middle of the night
“Why are you wearing flowers?” my mother asks in Urdu. I freeze, kicking myself for not de-gaying my appearance before visiting her at work. “And is that henna? What’s with all of this?” Before I give her even one more second to notice, I thrust my wrists under the desk and twist off both of
Dear members of the Tufts community, About a month ago, we left a little note for you in the Campus Center gender-neutral bathroom. We know you saw it, but just for a little refresher, it said: “If you only use this bathroom to shit in private, don’t use this bathroom.” In response to this,
I believe in aromatherapy. I believe that when I light incense and mix the ashes with jasmine oil, smearing the paste in a streak over the tops of window panes, the sandalwood scent of my ancestors settles into my hair and my space is cleansed. I believe in acupuncture. I believe that when a dozen
Pleasure (n.) – the illusion of power Before that moment on the T, the illusion was mostly in place—or at least in place enough for you to ignore the cracks. You felt the pleasure from being in good company, which made you feel powerful and present. All it took was a few seconds on
My sister and I were sitting at the dining room table having lunch after a long day at middle school. My mom sat at the far end of the table between us. She said something about procreation, love, and marriage. The one thing my prepubescent mind got out of that conversation was that according to
There is a scene in Hasan Minhaj’s popular comedy special “Homecoming King,” in which he pauses to ask the audience the same question that every Indian parent has repeated incessantly: “Log kya kahenge?” It’s a timeless phrase that roughly translates to “what will people think?” and it’s usually accompanied by wide eyes and a disapproving