Inspiration
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Don’t read on if you are expecting anything in particular. Don’t read on because you feel obliged to do so as my friend, or as my family, or as anyone who feels like they should do anything for any reason other than wanting to. Because this is very much a post about rejecting the omnipresent…
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James Joyce once described the rolling waves of the Irish sea in such a manner as to completely, unabashedly obliterate any notion of beauty surrounding the thing: “The sea, the snot-green sea, the scrotum-tightening sea.” Someone evidently had several qualms about the sea. Well, he had a dexterity with words, anyway. Though I certainly do…
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“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large; I contain multitudes.” -Walt Whitman As I anticipated the next chapter of my life in Ireland from my remote suburban town north of Chicago, I imagined the world unfolding like a rosebud before me. I imagined my life abroad to resemble the…
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At my high school graduation, on a swelteringly hot day in June, I wore black. The field house where all the graduates-to-be were waiting in lines for the ceremony to commence was a conglomeration of the colour white, speckled with the deep emerald polyester of billowing graduation gowns. Tradition and implicit social norms explicate the…
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“What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?” -John Green. I boarded the final train of the night from Boston to Providence around midnight. In my fingertips I sensed that increasingly familiar purr of midnight, the way it quivered and undulated under the heavy breath of its far-reaching…
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“If I don’t get some fucking sleep, I think I’m going to kill someone.” A deluge of heartwarming sentiments regarding murder, lack of rest, and general airplane-induced discomfort (you know that feeling when your ears don’t pop for several hours following a flight? Yeah, that one) feasibly gave our taxi driver second thoughts about picking…
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A brilliant mind once said, “It’s all about the love.” That brilliant mind was an eight year old version of myself with whom I believe I have very little in common. She liked pink more than purple and was afraid of the dark, thunderstorms, and Harry Potter. She wanted to be a dog groomer. Quite notably, a…
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On an unnervingly warm day in Chicago, the whole of Jackson Boulevard flooded. The tumult of over 150,000 voices overlapped, rose and fell, glazed the thoroughfare in the music of resistance. Chants of opposition, cries for the bodies of women, ownership of the streets, and the righteousness of democracy swelled under the hot sun, a gold dust miracle on…
Eliana Jordan 
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