As a girl, I feared the merciless spectre of age. I was taught it would tarnish me — crow’s feet, smile lines, stiff limbs and fingers all blemishes in contribution to decay.
But when I am watching friends’ faces stretch into expressions I’m slow to place, my own lips beaming before I know I’m happy; when I notice the creases beneath my mother’s eyes as she greets me, or until I’m opening a jar her arthritis gave up on; I realize this is how the body remembers.
There are things I cherish now that I know I won’t have forever. I’ll lose them to time like a river cuts through stone, and I need not worry. I’m not losing, only changing. I’m curious to see how my face will remember each year, or how my own hands will remember the turning of every jar lid. I wonder if my hair will become more white, grey, or silver, and when I’ll change my mind about styling it next.
To age is to live, and so I refuse to be disappointed by it.
By: Sofia Chassomeris, Opinions Editor this body aches for death, a cure? a resolution, like it longs to rest in the muddy embrace of a grave so that the earth may hold me as gently as my tender flesh allows. she will unbind my muscles from the bone, curl her…
By: Sofia Chassomeris, News Writer A unique fatigue sets in after a long, wet day, dragging the hems of your soggy jeans across a bus floor and nearly getting bowled over by high schoolers on their way home. It’s loud and uncomfortably warm, and the person in front of you…
By: Sofia Chassomeris, Opinions Editor There it is again, that funny feeling. Climate change is causing catastrophic floods, droughts, wildfires, atmospheric rivers, bomb cyclones, and extreme temperatures around the world. In seemingly unrelated news, the US just reported the country’s first death from H5N1 bird flu. While the virus is…
