Lee Xuan

Every year, one more poem in free verse— / Still frames of silent tears and raucous nights / Snapshots documenting my best and worst / An artist’s impression of maturity and moonlight

As campus sinks into the lull of finals season and winter break, the Weekender wishes you a month of warmth, rest and time with the ones you love.

Market, First, Second, Third; San Fernando, Santa Clara, St John, St James. I soak in the sounds of the city. I turn my face to the sun. I put Google Maps away and listen to my boots crunching against the leaves on the ground.

“It’s the kind of thing where I think if I get too far into either one of them, I’d feel a little uncomfortable.”

About 48,000 graduate student researchers, graduate student instructors, academic researchers and postdoctoral scholars have walked off their jobs demanding, among other things, an end to the rent burden they currently face.

While we love it, we also love to hate it. There exists, for some nebulous reason, a sense of disdain when it comes to depictions of love in the art we consume.

probe the depths of my psyche. place your lips on my ear and enunciate.

Whether you’re going out or staying in — be safe and responsible, Bears, and remember not to look through your cute neighbor’s windows too many times.

This essay has laid out every WarnMe message sent over the course of the semester up to that Friday night. Every one of these cases is worth acknowledging.

Some days of the year are for dark / Colors. Mahogany pillars / And emerald green turtlenecks.