My best friend sealed his death sentence with a swift manipulation of his fingers. He thrusted his sign unnaturally at the camera with the confidence of Los Colonia Chiques- one of the oldest and most notorious gangs in all of greater Los Angeles. As I processed the image, my gaze wandered towards the faintly visible scar above his left elbow. The nostalgic smell of antiseptic wipes flooded my nose as I re imagined his six year old self wailing -...

I apathetically watched my mother’s face twist first in horror, and then pain as she processed that I had just told her I wanted to kill myself. At the start of my 8th grade year, my mother and stepfather separated after nine years. What I perceived to be the demise of my family was ultimately the catalyst for the development of my severe depression and anxiety.My anxiety was visualized in the raw patches of skin where my eyebrows...

The woman bearing a light blue admissions pin’s voice booms over the wooden pews of Low Library. She begins with,“What defines a Columbia student is an insatiable hunger for knowledge,” and I know in that moment I have decided where I want to spend the next four years. As I walk underneath the chiseled names of fathers of timeless thought like Sophocles and Virgil, I realize the sheer importance of the Common Core. Columbia University chooses to provide...

I highly attribute my desire to pursue a career in human rights to my upbringing. My father left my mother and I when I was three years old - leaving our small barrio north of Los Angeles to travel throughout Argentina, Mexico, and eventually settling in Berkeley, California. My souvenirs from his travels consisted of Manu Chao CD’s, outings to premieres of feminist documentaries, and children’s books titled A is For Activist. With the stubbornness of a child,...