Category: Reflections

Tons-of-Sex

My last name is Sexton. I started Kindergarten a year early, so I was always younger than my classmates. With an extra year on their side, most of my classmates towered over me. In fourth grade, we played kickball in gym class, and whenever I would sock the ball real well and it would soar far, my stubby nine-year old legs worked their way around the diamond fast, while a group of my classmates would begin to chant, tons-of-sex, tons-of-sex.

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On Trains

A Nass writer tackles trains, Monet, and a haunting feeling of passivity.

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40.36° South 105.3° East

You have walked through FitzRandolph Gate, and you will never graduate. You keep walking until you hit the shore.

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Burning

“The need to keep on reading was an unyielding wildfire.”

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The Virtues of Friction

A visit to a meeting of the Anscombe Society, a conservative student group at Princeton.

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Family Stickers

“I have never been able to understand why Americans need to make sure trailing traffic knows that they voted for Clinton, alternatively want to put Clinton in jail, or just really want to highlight the difference between heritage and racism.”

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A Bug’s Death

I am nine years old, give or take a couple years, and I have learned rage. Like a clumsy Hulk, I crush and I smash and I murder what must be dozens, if not billions, of ants.

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Peer Review

Since the beginning of time, editors at The Nassau Weekly have taken their pens to each other’s Common Application essays…

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Flying Standby

She said that if she happened to miss her plane, she would be comforted to know that
at least someone else would be able to fly in her place. She would love for her misfortune to become another’s relief. Her space was not wasted.

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Crazy

I decide that if only girls are crazy, I will be a boy—

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I Got a Peanut Allergy for My 19th Birthday

Two nights before my nineteenth birthday, I was studying for my last final exam, which was supposed to take place the following evening, spooning peanut butter into my mouth. Suddenly my tongue started to tingle and swell, my chest and neck began to itch, and my throat started to close. I soon found myself at the University Medical Center of Princeton at Plainsboro (PMC) with an epi-pen in my arm.

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One of the first Nass writers, on the importance of the paper and its unique vision at Princeton

“We wanted to practice a different kind of journalism—more feature-driven, accommodating to individual voices, and reflective of the campus experience.”

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