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I never feel more beautiful and empowered than while wearing clothing my mother had owned since before I was born.

In democracies around the world and especially in the United States, real grassroots movements spark change in Congress — not on the face of the “Mona Lisa.”

Since that night, I would think back to that moment and feel ashamed that I didn’t insist louder or stop sooner, but at the same time, should I have had to? 

Perhaps everyone being home made me realize how lonely growing up can be — how the quest for independence feels a little less daunting when home base is right there.

Because even though we’re all spread across the country for college and the iMessage group chat is slowly dying, we will always have one thing in common: We were girls together.

I am either too “American” when I am trying to fit in with my Latin community at home, or I am too “brown” for the many Americans I encounter at my university.

There are no words to cover the expanse of time that has been lost.

A united Congress does not mean the elimination of dissent; ideally, unity is a product of genuine concern and eventual agreement. 

The idea of going on a walk in something that makes you feel confident is sound enough, but the problem arises when practicing self-care becomes measured by what you’re wearing.

From the actual throngs of people to the reminders that this world is so full and brimming with life, the airport remains a top contender for one of my favorite places ever.