Behind the column “The Call of the Void” was inspired by the imperfect English translation of the French phrase L’Appel du vide. In short, L’Appel du vide is that tiny voice in your head that gives you the inclination or urge you might feel to,
Sweet Dreams One of the rare treasures that has preceded even my time in The Sentry office is the red couch. Describing it as “the red couch” sounds a bit ominous, but it is the exact opposite actually. Everyone who has been a part of
14e Arrondissement If you’ve ever taken the time to notice, parks are places that are inter-generational. Looking around, you can see elderly couples talking among themselves on the benches, feeding the ducks, or walking around in their cute little jumpsuits; young adults are sprawled across
I See You You know that feeling you get where despite doing something every day, you don’t really pay attention to how natural and routine it is, until you do pay attention, then it feels…weird? Let me give you an example. Recently at Campus Village,
Into the mind of Erebus The mind is a weird place. Inside there is a little voice that lurks in the deepest parts of your brain sabotaging and invading your most private thoughts, casting doubt on how you feel about yourself, a situation, the people
Mr. Blue Sky I love my life. I have never felt such an overwhelming power of optimism and joy in the 19 years I’ve been alive. Matter of fact, I feel alive. First, I’m considering changing my major. Really, if you look at it, change
Charity Case I’d like people to think of me as a clothing drive. No, this isn’t my usual self-deprecating column but rather me encouraging you all to give me all of your flannels and coats. Mostly, because I find a sense of comfort drowning myself
Work in progress I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf and try to be non-judgmental. This isn’t a delayed New Year’s resolution but rather an awakening I had (last night) in an altercation with my roommate. While I won’t disclose her name, the event
All in a day’s work There’s no clock in my room, and yet I hear the ticking with every breath. My backpack rests on the floor next to a stain that waxes and wanes throughout the day. I sit at my desk in my orange-lit
No Regerts I think I’ve made a grave mistake and, quite frankly, I’m stuck. Kind of like that feeling you get when you’re sick and you feel like you’re dying, and you can’t even help yourself. Hopeless is the word I’m looking for. I have developed