When I think of Athens I can’t help but think of my mother’s instructions on how to navigate its seemingly impossible traffic. “Look for the mountains” she’d tell me, “If your sense of direction fails, the mountains will always be at the exact same place.” Perhaps that’s why, of all my early memories, these scenes of her driving down small, winding roads, an almost invincible woman, have stayed with me the longest. At that time, I...

My personal sanctuary takes the form of a slightly bruised, unassuming beige notebook. It isn’t prettier on the inside, either: pages are dotted with scrunched up sticky notes containing “to read lists”, autobiographical diary entries, cut and pasted images, arguments I wish I’d made in my last debate round, stanzas from new poets, and my favourite rap lyrics. Rather, the notebook’s beauty stems from the fact that it is the object I return to when I have...

Whenever I don’t know what to say, I start with a question. It’s part personal quirk, part true-and-tested method: questions expose you to a variety of answers -- some right, others interesting. At the very least, they give you something to chew on. Some of the questions we ask lend themselves to easy answers. “What does consent mean?”, I ask the sea of round-eyed sophomores below me. Here’s some context: I am standing inside the second floor...