Confessions of a graduating digital hoarder. By Erica Lee Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal My google drive is color coded, with the spring months in shades of green, fall months in yellow and orange hues, and one miscellaneous folder in mountain gray. That’s nine folders in total, 23.34 gigabytes carrying the weight of my college career. With my impending graduation, I am confronted with a question all seniors must answer: what will I do when CUIT reduces my Google Driv

On seeing the world through funny glasses. By Rocky Rūb Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal Patty Marx is a writer and humorist at The New Yorker, Adjunct Associate Professor in the undergraduate creative writing department, and most recently, my inspiration for all things humor. I met Professor Marx in her highly waitlisted class, How to Write Funny, in which I’ve cultivated, sustained, and have now attempted to transcend a parasocial relationship with her. She is a forme

Living in 1440 Amsterdam By Audrey Keer Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal Getting into Barnard as a transfer student gave me a month to find housing in New York City, and I was frantic. 1440 Amsterdam appeared in my feed on Xiaohongshu, a Chinese social media akin to Instagram and Pinterest, as a modern building within walking distance of the University. It seemed like the best option available: it was close to campus, rent was reasonable given that the living room would

On college love, temptation, and heartbreak from a Muslim-American perspective . By Sara Omer Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal I exist in a rift between two vastly different worlds, straining to hold them together. The first world was introduced to me by my parents. I can only reach this one through focus and expert dissociation. I awake from my slumber in the middle of a silent night while everyone around me is snoring and dreaming. I splash unnervingly cool water on

On quiet. By Gabriela McBride Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal The sonic experience of New York City is one of constant inundation. Amongst cars honking at freshly green traffic lights, jackhammers clanking, and the bangs of early-morning-scaffolding construction, moments that might begin to resemble silence are few and far between. The bit of me that resents being raised in the relentless cacophony of New York City yearns for the quiet and stillness of wide open outdoor

A drunken ethnography. By Selma White-Pascual Illustration by Kathleen Halley-Segal I clutch the gate next to me for balance as I shove my sweaty feet into a pair of six-inch heels I’ve just pulled out of my now deflated bag, perched atop a little ledge. Also on the ledge: a sultry perfume I’ve chosen for the night, makeup to retouch my face, banana blossom leftovers from Thai Diner on Mott Street, and the loose 20 dollar bill I’ll be using tonight. I’ve exchanged my trusty s