A bit of sunlight streams through a partially covered window, revealing just how empty the bookshelves have become. The mahogany seems smaller, faker than when I was younger. What was once a large collection of children’s books has dwindled to no more than a dozen. I close my eyes and picture my childhood self in this library: bright eyes, knee socks, arms shaking under the weight of one book too many. But that girl is gone, and as the...

Words matter in the artistic sense, in the civic sense, and in the intimate conversations shared with those closest to us. Yet language's evolution is inherently political: throughout history, it has been used as a tool of power, enfranchising and disenfranchising millions. In Peru, for instance, most reporting is done in Spanish, not native Quechua. Though the media's rejection of this aboriginal language is subtle, it is nevertheless an attempt to erase the indigenous people's identities. Language carries both the...

At Yale, the phenomenal Rosenkranz Writers-in-Residence poetry workshops would inspire my creative growth—and with Louise Glück on campus, I would carry a copy of "The Empty Glass" with me at all times, just in case. The Yale Daily News and Yale Historical Review embody Yale’s incredible literary tradition, and I crave the opportunity to join two publications that have nurtured my love for writing, literature, and history. I intend to debate Machiavelli and dissect Aristotle through the...

I am inspired by the subway's New York sense of possibility; the cacophony of tourists speaking their native languages; and the enormous diversity of those around me, each with their own unique story.

I'd ask Virginia Woolf if she believes that modern women now need more than "money and a room of her own" in order to create art freely in today's society.

The Personal is Political: Analyzing Second-Wave Feminist Influences on Contemporary Literary Activism

I have the best 2000's Pop playlist, which somehow brightens the most stressful days. I'd make my suitemates smile with my silly music taste, political comedy marathons, and my own constant laughter.

“Esta bala es antigua,” my AP Spanish teacher said, then paused. In a momentary lapse from routine, he continued, “This bullet is old.” For the rest of the class, he broke tradition, speaking only in English to define the poetics of Borges' "In Memoriam J. F. K." His arms waving, he explained that time was not something that marched on, holding history's hand. Violence is inseparable from the human condition. There is no new bullet in the world. While my...

My art is mediocre at best. It always has been. As a child, I frequented city museums, daring to imagine myself as the most talented artist who ever lived. But on paper, my own wrists fell limp and useless; passion crumbled at my fingertips. Years later, even though I’ve spent countless weekends crafting in the Guggenheim's basement, I still have the same artless touch. It is here that I am finding the box for an abandoned crayon when a...

Political apathy makes democracies unrepresentative of its people; when citizens refuse to vote, society can radically transform in ways entirely undesired by the majority. Today, on the precipice of great social change, it is disheartening how many people remain detached, and how gravely we underestimate the power of civic activism.

I learned how to digitize antique typewriters, got mosquito bites writing poetry outdoors with seven-year-olds, and Skyped with other young artists from all over the world. I wrote stories under summer foliage at Skidmore College, then coached debate and explored Washington Heights as a campaign intern after I returned home.

I would witness the 1848 Seneca Falls Convention, where incredibly progressive American voices passed the Declaration of Sentiments, an anti-traditional call for total social and political gender equality. As a modern feminist, the evolution of the movement fascinates me. I would love to go back to the very beginning.

Writing nerd laughs too much

I am obsessed with political comedy, from Saturday Night Live's cold opens to Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. The modern political landscape can be overwhelming, but watching these shows makes it feel less catastrophic — if humor can help us find common ground, maybe not all hope is lost.

Going to a science high school, I crave a collegiate atmosphere that invites genuine discussion of the arts and humanities, in and out of the classroom. Stanford's Structured Liberal Education enthralls me, and I cannot wait to explore iconic cultural works with peers who are deeply engaged in these conversations.

My favorite teacher, who nurtured my passion for history and made me laugh constantly, retired in June. As a parting gift, she gave me a list of her thirty favorite classic comedies. With more time, I could finally become culturally literate in film, starting with a title from her collection.

“Esta bala es antigua,” my AP Spanish teacher said, then paused for a moment. In a momentary lapse from routine, he continued, “This bullet is old.” For the rest of the class, he broke tradition, speaking only in English to explain the poetics of Borges' "In Memoriam J. F. K." With his arms waving, he explained that time was not something that marched on, holding history's hand. Violence is inseparable from the human condition. There is no new bullet in...

Dear roommate, There is a constant pile of crumpled papers on my nightstand. Sure, some of them might be discarded poetry — I'm a sucker for a good cliché — but most are unexceptional doodles, terrible sketches, and uneven drawings. My art is mediocre at best. It always has been, and even after months spent working at the Guggenheim, it always will be. When I was younger, I frequented city museums, daring to imagine myself as the most talented artist who had...

“The old man the boat.” The sentence leaves you disoriented and flustered, staring at the text before you. You furrow your eyebrows and examine the words once more, trying desperately to see all that you first missed. Garden-path sentences like these are grammatically correct, but are formatted to reverse your initial interpretation. These puzzles combine linguistics and psychology to question the true purpose of language, then nihilistically assert that all meaning is circumstantial. They carve ice sculptures in your mind...

My art is mediocre at best. It always has been, and even after working at the Guggenheim for over a year, it always will be. As a child, I went to museums on school trips, trying to imagine who the artist was when a piece was made. I pictured them in an apartment cluttered with portraits, creating masterpieces with ease. I envisioned a hand floating in space, then curving against a blank canvas. In my head, I was the most...

In the picture, she was wearing a gray sweater and holding yellow balloons. The Brown Instagram featured her research on the politics of joy, exploring both political science and happiness. Her obvious excitement about her work fascinated me, but as someone known for my constant smile, it was also intimately familiar. What is learning if it is devoid of joy, stripped of the elation from discovering something new? Brown understands that academia in a vacuum is meaningless, but that the...

In my family, we don't speak Yiddish in full sentences. My aunt tells me to “grab a tchatchke,” holding out a brown bag with small accessories. We use Yiddish's guttural, instinctive phrases, expressing things English cannot quite convey—“oy gevalt.” As reform Jews, our relationship to the religious community is tenuous. Yet, growing up in a polarized neighborhood hostile to cultural outsiders, where I never wore my Star of David necklace openly or used Yiddish vernacular in public, I hold...

Sitting on a leather couch in late February, I stared at the brightly colored Post-Its lining the walls. One read “east coast, mountain west, in between;” another repeated “memes” five times. Unlike other school visits, my experience in the Kelly Writers House was distinctly, immediately personal. As I looked around, a fellow NYC Poetry Ambassador from my freshman year ate a bagel from the kitchen counter, while a poetry reader for one of the literary journals I write for walked...