CHARGED-UP RESULTS

University was a fresh start, a world full of opportunity just waiting for me to dive in. I stepped onto campus bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was going into STEM, positive that I had the map to navigate adulthood and confident that equations, formulas and discoveries would define me. I was eager to live life as a young adult, free of boundaries and ready to leave the safe cocoon of my childhood behind. I couldn’t wait to find my place in the world. But life, as it often does, had other plans. Now, I’m running across the University of New Haven campus, Jazzman’s coffee in hand, rushing to make it to my 12:30 poetry class. My backpack slaps against my back as I weave through students, dodging groups lingering by the lawn. My morning — if noon even counts as morning — started like it always does: caffeine first, then everything else. If someone had told my 18-year-old self that I would be an English student, running late to class, I would have laughed. But my journey to this moment was anything but ordinary. In week one of university, it was just a discomfort in my chest. I thought it was the stress and pressure of being a first-year student. Soon, it became something bigger, something I couldn’t ignore. My body began to betray me. I felt weaker, I could barely eat and I couldn’t keep water down. I would fall asleep at my desk, unable to focus as my body spiraled into a slow collapse. I went from one doctor to another, in and out of hospital rooms, each time hoping some professional would have an answer — only to be sent home with empty diagnoses. I was repeatedly told it was just stress or that I was a mystery case. No one could explain what was happening to me. No one could provide a name for the illness that was stealing my strength. I couldn’t feel my legs. I tripped and I fell, gravity no longer obeying me. I broke a bone in my foot — not from an accident, but from weakness. I couldn’t understand it, and neither could they. I dropped out of university. Everything I had worked for — the dream of becoming someone renowned in the world of science — crumbled. My world was confined to hospital rooms, the sterile white walls closing in on me as my body continued to fail me. I went to more than 20 hospitals, and still, no one had an answer. The darkness came like a heavy fog, the fear of the unknown creeping in every day. I spent sleepless nights lying awake, my mind racing, trying to figure out why my body was doing this to me. I wondered if I would ever walk again, if I would ever feel like myself again. The fear of becoming a shell of the person I had once been overwhelmed me. I sank into depression; I couldn’t trust my body anymore. Each day felt like a battle with my mind, my body and the world around me. There were nights I cried myself to sleep and other nights I simply couldn’t sleep. The pain in my legs felt like a thousand needles persistently piercing my skin. But it wasn’t just the physical pain that hurt — it was the mental anguish that gnawed at me. The isolation, the loneliness, the fear that I would never be able to return to the life I had envisioned for myself. Finally, in the quiet darkness where everything seemed impossible, something unexpected happened. I found solace in words. I went to my pediatrician — the last person I thought would understand. I remember telling her everything: how I had fallen down the stairs, how I couldn’t feel anything from the hips down, how my legs felt like they were made of jelly. I was terrified and angry because no one believed me. They all dismissed my pain and told me it was in my head. But she looked at me with such compassion, and for the first time in months, someone listened. She made a call. A bed was prepared, and I was sent to a hospital for more tests. In that cold, sterile room, I underwent a series of procedures that felt like the slow unwinding of my existence. Spinal taps, blood work, MRIs from my skull to my feet. Days turned to weeks of testing. The doctors pumped me full of medications, but nothing seemed to help. I was paralyzed. I was told I might never walk again. The diagnosis came eventually — Guillain-Barré syndrome — a rare, devastating condition where your immune system attacks your nerves like an enemy inside your body. Your ability to walk, move and feel disappears. The doctors had been telling me I was a medical mystery all this time, but there it was: a name for my suffering, a label for my pain. I was sent to an inpatient rehabilitation facility, where I had to learn how to use a wheelchair and navigate a world that no longer felt like mine. It was terrifying. Every day was a struggle. The pain was constantly sharp and burning, like tiny daggers piercing my skin. Despite this, I fought — not because I was strong, but because there was no other choice. The shame of being weak and needing help clawed at my sense of self. I used to be independent, a person who did things on their own. But now, I had to rely on others for everything. I felt like I had lost my identity, like the girl I used to be was slipping through my fingers. I was lost in a sea of needles, tears and fear. The darkness in my mind was relentless. Reading and writing became my escape. I didn’t have the strength to run away from the hospital room, but I could run through the pages of books. I could lose myself in stories, in poems, in the words I scribbled in my journal. It wasn’t a cure, but it was a lifeline. Through words, I was able to feel human again, like I could reclaim a part of myself that had been stolen. Slowly, the impossible began to happen. I moved my toes, I lifted my ankle, stood and walked with a walker. It wasn’t much at first, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn’t completely broken. I could still rebuild, even if the road was long and filled with pain. I’m back on campus now, weaving through crowds, Jazzman’s coffee warming my hands against the crisp West Haven air. I’m running late to poetry class — again — but I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve regained full motor function, yet the feeling in my legs is still gone. It’s a constant tingling, like the sensation of a limb falling asleep — but persistent. It’s a sharp electric current, always burning. The numbness is my companion, and the neuropathy is my shadow, stabbing me with every step. It isn’t the pain that defines me, nor is it the illness, the hospital visits or the uncertainty of my future. What defines me now is what kept me going when everything else seemed impossible: literature. When I was trapped in that hospital bed and the walls were closing in, I had nothing but my imagination to keep me company. I traveled through the world of novels. I wrote, even when I had no energy to do anything else. I created stories in the margins of my notebooks, filled with characters and places that gave me hope, even when I was alone in that white-walled room. Literature became my lifeline. I began to heal when I started to find my way back to my body. I found my way back to words. That’s why I’m studying English now. I found strength in stories and in poems. Writing saved me, giving me a reason to keep going when all I wanted to do was give up. It gave me a place to heal, a place to belong and a way to feel whole again. I still live with the pain. The numbness is a constant reminder of what I’ve been through. But I’m here. And I have books to thank for that. The worlds I’ve traveled through in literature and the stories I’ve written have given me the courage to continue. They’ve given me the strength to keep going when every step feels like a battle. I’m not the person I was when I entered university, ready to conquer the world of STEM. I’m someone different now — someone stronger. No matter how much pain I endure, I have the power to create, to write and to live.

Written by Managing Editor Haiden Leach. Graphics and photography also by Leach.

Contributing Writer Maria Jensen   Round and round and round I go,.  Where is a spot? Nobody knows!  From the library, to Dunham, to Cel and Gerber,  This endless search is going no further.  How excited I am to waltz in late,  What a start to my day, I’m feeling great!  Silly pedestrians in front of my car,  Maybe I should just -- no  that’s going too far.  5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20, 30 and 40,  But there it is! In all its glory.  The sunlight hits that space just right,  Just as a Prius rolls in with all its might.  A girl sits on her phone with her car on,  And she’ll probably be there until the next dawn.  I follow this guy with pathetic desperation,  And he’s beginning to think it's flirtation.   I begin to give up and think “Oh my God,  We really don’t need another damn quad." sayingimages.com on Pinterest

College is a time for self-discovery, academic growth, and, apparently, repeatedly swiping past the same five people on Tinder. At the University of New Haven, dating apps aren’t just a casual pastime; they’re a chaotic social experiment where the odds of matching with your ex’s roommate are higher than getting a parking spot in the Library Lot at noon. With a five-mile radius that keeps things nice and awkward, students are forced to navigate the same familiar faces, questionable bios, and the occasional sighting of a professor’s profile (we don’t have time to unpack all of that). The campus dating pool is a self-contained ecosystem where everyone somehow already knows each other. You can match with someone today, and by tomorrow, your entire friend group will have their Instagram, Snapchat, and embarrassing high school prom photos. Want to avoid matching with classmates? Too bad. By mid-semester, your options are a guy from your 8 a.m. lecture, a former group project partner who ghosted you after the final, and someone who still owes your roommate $20 from freshman year. Expanding the radius might help, but let’s be honest—no one is driving to Yale just for a first date. Then there’s the profile lineup, a curated selection of gym selfies, hiking photos (from that one time they went outside), and bios that range from “Looking for my Player 2” to “Not here for hookups, unless you’re down.” The athletic department’s finest make sure to include their height (for the record, no one believes you’re actually 6’2”), while business majors flex LinkedIn-style with “Entrepreneur | Hustler | DM for stock tips.” Meanwhile, the music kids hold out hope that someone will be impressed by their ability to play Wonderwall  on guitar. The horror doesn’t stop there. Thanks to the magic of campus Wi-Fi, you can match with someone at 10 p.m., make small talk for an hour, and then, like clockwork, run into them the next morning in line for Dunkin’. There’s no greater test of emotional resilience than making eye contact with someone who just hit you with the “lol wyd” text at 2 a.m. Should you say hi? Pretend you don’t recognize them? Transfer schools? These are the real questions Tinder doesn’t prepare you for. Then there’s the infamous Post-Match Ghosting Ritual. You know the one—where you and your match exchange a few lines of small talk before one of you inevitably disappears like a freshman during an 8 a.m. class. Maybe they saw you in broad daylight and got a sudden case of selective amnesia. Perhaps they got distracted by midterms, an existential crisis, or another match who promised them they “totally look like young Leonardo DiCaprio.” Whatever the reason, expect at least one person per semester to resurface in your messages with a casual “Hey, sorry I disappeared lol” six months later. Some brave souls do attempt actual campus dates, which, given the limited venue options, means you’re either grabbing a $9 coffee, sitting in complete silence, or awkwardly walking circles around the Bixler Quad while pretending you’re totally not out of things to talk about. Bonus points if your RA sees you mid-date and immediately texts the group chat with “Guess who I just saw holding hands outside of Cel?” Dating apps at UNH are less about romance and more about rolling the dice on social discomfort. Whether you find love, a decent study buddy, or just another reason to stay single, one thing’s for sure—you’re never really swiping on a stranger. You’re just one match away from realizing that your “new potential soulmate” was in Principles of Communication all along. Image by amrothman from Pixabay

DISCLAIMER: These are jokes. Go away if you’re a snowflake. In the grand tradition of higher education, choosing a college major is an opportunity to decide which type of disappointing career you’ll share at the yearly family dinner. Will you take the road to the prestigious world of finance? Perhaps embark on a noble quest to become a professional artist, doomed to a life of “passion projects” and unpaid internships? Let’s break down some of the most popular college majors at UNH and the truth behind each one. 1. Business: The Path to Power, Profit, and Panic Attacks If you’re a business major, chances are you think you're a future leader of the world — assuming you don’t spend the next decade locked in a basement, binge-watching Shark Tank  reruns. These students are generally driven by one clear goal: making money. Lots of it. They’ll boast about their internship at Goldman Sachs or Bank of America and use phrases such as “synergy,” “disruption,” and “let's circle back” to make sure everyone knows they have what it takes to climb the corporate ladder. Of course, your actual job title post-graduation is likely “Assistant to the Regional Manager” at a mid-level corporation, but the dream is still alive. And let’s not forget the consistent dressing in a suit and tie, regardless of the season, weather, or occasion because it makes you better than the rest of those “normies” who wear regular clothes. Gotta get comfortable being uncomfortable… plebs. 2. Psychology: I’m Here to Analyze You, Not Myself If you’re a psychology major, you will most likely spend four years studying the human mind and learning how to psychoanalyze everyone you meet. Let’s be honest though, you probably chose the major because it seemed like an easier option than math, not because you REALLY want to solve the mysteries of the brain. With a degree in psychology, you’ll graduate thinking you can diagnose your friends' emotional issues and traumas, but you’ll probably just end up working at a call center because “helping people” doesn’t come with a salary unless you’re a licensed therapist. That said, you’ll still have a superior understanding of why people enjoy posting vague, cryptic Instagram reels or Bible quotes on their Snap stories. And yes, you’ve probably heard the “if you’re depressed, just study your notes” joke too many times now. 3. English: The Starving Artist’s Starter Pack If you’re an English major, you definitely have a deep connection with words, most of the time at the expense of money in the bank account. You’ll probably be found absolutely springing at the opportunity to quote Shakespeare, Aristotle, or Socrates — not because you actually care about what some old guys from eons ago have to say, but because it’s the only thing you actually understand. Most of their essays usually involve over-analyzing a character’s shoes in Moby-Dick , convinced that they're about to unlock the secrets of the universe with their 20-page paper on the existential implications of a whale, with 10 of those pages turning words like “because” into “owing to the circumstance that” just to fill those word counts. Post-graduation, you’ll probably be either struggling to write for a magazine that hasn’t paid anyone since 2014 or you’ll live in a coffee shop, crafting a biography you started freshman year that you’ll swear up and down is "almost done." 4. Engineering: The Art of Pretending You Understand Calculus If you’re an engineering major, you’re definitely the first to tell anyone who cares enough to listen that you’re working on "big projects" and “solving global problems.” Let’s be real here — most of your time is spent Googling “How to fix a broken calculator” or crying into your pillow because of the amount of number and letter-crunching you have to do to barely solve an equation by 11:59. You chose this major because you think it’ll make you rich, but also because you think you’ll suddenly gain the ability to build a working robot out of an old toaster and a handful of rubber bands. You graduate with the ability to calculate the force required to launch a car into space but still can't figure out how to park one. Post-graduation, you are likely solving important problems at some tech company... until you inevitably end up getting distracted by your fifth “side project” that will “totally change the world… trust me, bro.” 5. Political Science: Preparing for a Lifetime of Disillusionment If your blissfully unaware past self chose political science as your major, you totally started your college journey believing you’ll change the world. By graduation, you’ll be full of existential dread, too disillusioned to ever run for office but just political enough to argue with everyone at Thanksgiving over what Republican and Democrat breathed funny in the other’s direction. You’ll spend hours analyzing voting patterns, reading up on international relations, and volunteering for campaigns, only to find out that your best job option after graduation is becoming an unpaid intern at some unnamable congressman’s office. But don’t worry — you’ll definitely be fine... as long as you can land a job as a political consultant, which you’ll explain time and time again in a series of LinkedIn posts to your two followers from university with whom you have an unspoken rivalry. 6. Art History: The Degree That’s Worth More If You Don’t Use It You art history majors are the brave souls who dedicate your lives to studying paintings and analyzing the brushstrokes of the Renaissance, looking for some hidden meaning behind a tree being skinny. Your main job after graduation? Explaining to mom and dad why a degree that costs $200,000 will result in you working as an “art consultant” at a gallery that has an annual budget smaller than the costs of your student loans. You’ll tell others all about the genius of Michelangelo while quietly panicking about how you’re going to eat that night. That said, your understanding of ancient sculptures will absolutely make you the most interesting guest at any dinner party… if they care to listen to your educated interpretations. 7. Philosophy: For Those Who Want to Think About Thinking (and literally nothing else) If you’re a philosophy major, you KNOW that you’re the true intellectual, sitting at the crossroads of existential questions like “What is the meaning of life?” and “How did I get into so much debt with this degree?” You’ll spend hours debating the finer points of Descartes while secretly wondering if a career in retail is more practical for your brain and wallet. Chances are, you’re so sure that you can solve the world’s problems — that is, until you realize that the world would prefer that you get a job at McDonald's, putting the fries in the bag, where you can talk about Kant while making Happy Meals. A philosophy degree makes you an expert in questioning everything, including whether it was a good idea to get a philosophy degree (it wasn’t). 8. Biology: The Real Reason You’re Avoiding Chemistry I’m willing to bet that you biology majors are obsessed with living things because you simply don’t want to deal with atoms. You spend hours memorizing cell structures, DNA replication, and the life cycle of an amphibian, but when it comes to applying math to science, your timbers are shivered. Biology is the major for the ones who want to help save the planet by becoming medical researchers, wildlife conservationists, or, at worst, biology teachers — just as long as no one asks them to do any advanced equations. After all, they're too busy learning about how to properly cut open frogs and newborn pigs to care about numbers. 9. Communication: Because Your Biggest Talent is Talking. I’ll give props to you communication majors, because you usually tend to be the life of the party. You chose this major because you love to talk and are convinced that the world needs more of your (not so) insightful commentary. You’re the ones who can’t help but deliver a TED Talk on why Twitter and “them liberals” are ruining society, but struggle to figure out how to send an email without accidentally 360 body-slamming that “reply all” button. After graduation, you’ll likely land a job in marketing, PR, or “social media strategy,” which basically means posting “inspirational” Andrew Tate and “The Grind Never Stops” quotes on Instagram and pretending you have your life together, the whole time munching on chips on the couch in your mother’s basement, which you never ended up moving out of because you’re “waiting for the right moment.” 10. Forensic Science: The Ultimate 'CSI' Fantasy Forensic science majors, you guys are the true crime fanatics who believe that watching 16 seasons of CSI  and Law and Order  qualifies you to solve actual crimes. Chances are, you’re in it for the glamour of crime scenes, DNA analysis, and the thrill of cracking cold cases. That is, until you come to the realization that most of your time will be spent running tests on hair samples and telling people that no, they cannot just “analyze a body on the spot” like they do in the TV shows. After four years of studying blood-spatter patterns, toxicology reports, and years-old solved cases, you’ll land a job as a lab technician, where you spend 90% of your day analyzing strange liquids with names you can’t pronounce without feeling like your furniture is gonna start floating, waiting for your “big break” in the field. When you finally get your moment of fame, it’s likely to involve filling out witness paperwork instead of solving murders Sherlock Holmes-style with crappy one-liners. 11. Fire Science: Fighting Fire with… Fire? Ahh… fire science majors. You guys are the brave souls who are convinced you can save the world one blaze at a time. You’ll likely spend four years learning the intricacies of fire safety, emergency response, and how not to burn your eyebrows off while doing it. Despite the flashy career you’re probably envisioning — running into burning buildings while looking heroic in firefighter gear — only to find out that most of your job will involve making sure fire extinguishers are in the right place and checking fire alarms in empty office buildings. But the real payoff comes when you finally join a fire department and get to slide down poles in between catching up on paperwork. (Spoiler: There are no pole slides in reality — it's all about safety checks.) After graduation, you feel like absolute heroes when they’re not sifting through fire incident reports explaining to the public that the fire truck siren is NOT fun to listen to or taking orders from someone your age or younger who jumped the gun on their high school graduation instead of strolling around campus wearing their signature fire science jackets. Campus mythology says that the minute you commit as a fire science major, you gain a jacket with the curse to never be able to take it off. Conclusion: Pick a Major, Any Major At the end of the day, the major you choose is less about what you're actually going to do in life and more about what kind of pretentious elevator pitch you want to give at every networking event and high school reunion for the next 20 years. Choose wisely, or, you know, just pick something that makes your parents happy and hope you can figure something out later. After all, you have four years to pretend to be an expert in something (other than the constant abuse of drugs and caffeine), which is the true purpose of higher education. Disclaimer:  No actual career guidance was provided in the making of this article. LinkedIn Sales Navigator: https://www.pexels.com/es-es/foto/hombre-mirando-fuera-de-la-ventana-con-mochila-negra-y-marron-mientras-sostiene-su-mano-en-la-ventana-1251861/

“Check this out, Senni! I learned this during my time on the frontier.” My father wildly spun his obsidian blade, chopping into the truffles with fierce fervor. Bits and pieces flew from the plate as I watched in pure awe. With a clean sweeping motion, he scooped up the truffles, placing them into the bowl in front of me. “Pretty impressive, right?” he asked, clearly looking for praise. I nodded. His displays were always so fun to watch, though the floor often was caught in the crossfire. However, his smile quickly disappeared as the palm of my mother’s hand found its rightful place on the back of his head. A loud whack echoed across the room. “Ay! Dorian, stop messing around before you end up cutting our daughter!” she scoffed, her eyes widening as she saw the mess on the floor. “Ayha — look at what you did to our floor! Meluika grant me strength in dealing with two children…” “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll make sure to clean this up,” he chuckled. “Oh, so you think you had a choice in the first place? Give me the flaming blade. I’ll handle the rest.” She slid her fingers through my father’s hold, deftly taking the blade. “Let me show you how to do it properly. With a quick flick of the wrist, she brought down the blade with impeccable speed, the cutting board vibrating with fierce intensity. Her cuts were measured, not a single piece escaping the board unlike Father. With every blink, I missed three pristine cuts; another blink, and I missed six more. “See?” she said with a proud grin. “Now that’s how you cut like a real frontier woman.” “Show-off,” he responded, rolling his eyes. I couldn’t believe how elegant and graceful she looked, wielding that worn-out blade like both a weapon and a brush. “That was amazing!” I exulted, barely able to stay in my seat. “When are you going to teach me something like that?” Her eyes grew narrow, hovering over the instrument as she let out an awkward chuckle. “Well, hopefully never,” she stated, tucking her silky hair behind her pointy ear. I cocked my head. She wanted me to learn how to cook on my own one day, so why was she being so hesitant? I shot my dad a glance, but he had already moved to grab the broom near the end of the hallway, almost tripping on the floor cracks as he did. “Um? Why?” I asked hesitantly. “Trust me, daughter, you don’t want a life where these skills are necessary.” “But you always say I should know how to cook, no?” She let out a sigh and put down the blade abruptly. “Yes, but that is different.” Her gaze lingered on the worn handle a moment longer than I expected. “I would much rather you learn just the basics and devote more of your time to learning how to immolate.” My stomach twisted as she brought up that terrifying act — immolation, as the Ashilyr proclaimed it. The thought of letting my own flesh burn, letting those whispers of the heat invade my mind? The Ihpi boy upstairs had recently started experiencing involuntary bouts of immolation. It was a common experience for boys around that age, the heat desiring to escape. Sometimes I could hear him crying through the floorboards, his voice cracked and raw. If that was my future… I wasn’t sure I wanted it. “You’ll need it one day,” she added softly, almost like she didn’t want me to hear. “...But I don’t want to learn immolation.” The words barely escaped my lips. She froze for just a moment. “This again?” she scoffed, her enunciation sharp. “Listen, Seneca, we’ve had this conversation before. I don’t like to repeat myself. Training to become an Ashilyr is only going to help you. Do you want to stay in the lower rings for the rest of your life or worse, get sent to the frontier?” “I…” I should have expected this by now. She wasn’t wrong, of course. I didn’t want to be in the lower rings, and the way my parents spoke about the frontier gave me even less hope on that front. But I didn’t necessarily want to live in the upper rings either, not after seeing the sky at least. “...No,” I grumbled. She smiled after I reluctantly gave in. “I’m glad you understand, Senni. I hope we won’t need to have this discussion again.” We will. “Oh — I have been speaking to Fir. Li about potential teachers, and I think he may have a good connection to—” A loud, deliberate cough cut through her words. My father, broom still in hand, gave her a look. “Maha, you’ve made your point. Maybe let her breathe for five minutes, eh Urii?” Her eyes narrowed slightly at this comment. “Urii” was a term of endearment, though the flattery fell short. Ignoring his comment, she turned her attention back to the bowl of truffles. The small cauldron on the far side of the rustic kitchen had finally started boiling. “I suppose so. I do need to finish up a few things for dinner. We will talk about this later.” She shoved the blade into a drawer and started rummaging through the cabinets — no doubt looking for the last of our spices. “Ah, right.” She stopped for a moment. “How was the art exhibit?” “It was nice,” I said bluntly, still petulant. “Really? That’s all? Dorian, how did you feel about it?” she called out after my dad, barely giving my attitude a second thought. “Oh, brilliant doesn’t even begin to describe it, Maha!” my father beamed, a distinct sparkle in his amber eyes. “I had heard about humans and their paintings, but to see it in person? Meluika, it was a whole different story. Almost put the metallic arts to shame,” he chuckled slightly. “Almost.” “...And they had the sky,” I cut in, the memory flaring bright within me. “An Incrux showed up,” my mother’s ears perked up, “though she kicked us out and stole the art —” I slapped my hand to my mouth in disbelief at the words I just uttered. “I mean — she rightfully reclaimed it for the Ashilyr.” “I see…” Her voice was calm, decisive. “Then it’s a good thing you’re going to be one of them.”

Getting hungry comes with the territory when you’re traveling. After TSA, passengers find themselves with various snack vendors and restaurants in the airline terminal. If you choose not to indulge in a sit-down meal, you embark on a journey in the aircraft and begin a battle with their selection of food. We’ve all heard the joke, “How about that airline food?” Well, how about it? The biggest question we all need an answer to is: Where does it come from? I think the only thing that compares to it is school lunches. Whoever is cooking these pre-loaded meals has never fine-dined. We should not be continuing these recipes, just as the Scream  series should’ve ended in the ’90s. Is it worth the risk to eat on the plane now, knowing you had the choice of Five Guys back on the ground? I bet not. Let’s also address the elephant in the room — those portions feed baby birds. They serve the same portion sizes as Nobu in LA, except Nobu has a reason to charge $60 a plate. Spirit Airlines does not. As you sit down with your meal, let’s survey this plate. We listen, and we don’t judge. Do you have a protein or meat selection on this spread? Does it look like it came from an animal or plant? If not, I hope it tastes like it did. This is a real gamble we’re taking here, friends. I’m wondering if these carrots are Play-Doh that’s a few days old or the orange gem itself. Wait — were those mashed potatoes on the menu, or did they find paper-mâché leftovers? With so many assortments, thankfully, we have seasonings! The tricky part here, folks, is tracking down those flight attendants to give you some love with the salt and pepper packets. Seasoning is not an option; it’s an obligation. If you find paprika, you’re living the high life. No one is judging you while you become an acrobat trying to maneuver the eating tray. That thing takes longer to unfold than it does to let you operate in peace. Your cutlery is also from the Easy-Bake set you had at age 6, so don’t expect a miracle from that. You may find yourself exhibiting primal skills when cutting open that mystery meat you chose. Oh, and that dessert you were questioning? It’s not food. It’s a self-defense mechanism because those Biscoff cookies haven’t been out of those pantries in eons. I think we can all agree this is an adventure on its own. Let yourself sleep well at night knowing the people in first class are eating the same school lunch you’re eating right now. The only difference is they get a fancy tray that’s been washed once every three days — if no spills find their way. You’ve also now touched something that a celebrity has! Wash those paws, though — germs do exist! One thing first class has on you is their selection of all-inclusive drinks. This also means that by the time that fifth glass of rosé comes, they won’t care if it’s carrots or a Lego. Yay for them! And for you, because dinner and a show never hurt anyone! Get those phones ready — you’re either going to be famous or a person of interest. By this point in your flight, hopefully, you’re regretting your choice to eat this food. Five Guys was always the better option. Don’t worry, that “jet lag” is going to kick in soon enough. For the sake of you, your pants, and the whole plane, leaving is usually quick. I would refrain from that turbulent walk of shame to the bathrooms on the plane. This action could be the most fatal flaw. I think airline food is made to set us up for failure. After we leave our flight, those attendants smile, knowing we just had the most nuclear food ever. But now the airports are making a quick dime off your Pepto-Bismol purchase. Yikes! As we return to the land of the sane and reasonable — because you finished that meal — I hope we’ve learned. The only time you need that airline food is when you haven’t seen the bathroom in some time. It’s always a great puzzle to travel, but it’s an even greater one why people still eat airline food.

“Digital sonnets and syntax sentiments” Oh yes, dearest reader, the digital courtship in which a modern-day sonnet is composed in the flickering glow and flare of a screen. No need for whale lard candles to burn as the ink bleeds and the quill frays. What are the textual offerings for courtship in the present? The written word is no longer needed to profess love. Wordle word nerds, this is a siren call to those who find solace in the etymological abscess. It is a battlefield, my dear, proving to be harder and harder to decode and dissect these textual offerings. I shall decode some of what truly lurks beneath the veneer of this linguistic camaraderie. Oh, it is a battlefield — ground zero for the intellectually insecure — but don’t worry, I will be your guide to the other side of the emoticon hieroglyphs. “Intellectually stimulating coffee date” They want an intellectually stimulating coffee date. That is a mere pretense, a thinly veiled arena for semantical jousting. The coffee is merely a lubricant in the form of perfectly heated java beans served and plated to be sold for $30.99 without tax because the origins of said beans are digested and then secreted to make the fanciest hipster brew in town. Then you can be asked about the symbolisms of everyday life, which is just a euphemism for the ceaseless dissection of your very being. The casual utterance becomes subject to merciless scrutiny. They claim their heart beats in tune with iambic pentameter. A declaration of romantic intent and courtship? Nay, it is a threat. Prepare for the impromptu recitations and for your every sentiment to be measured against the rhythmical tyranny of poetic meter by those deemed the “greats.” They claim their soul yearns for perfect cadence, which loosely translates to your conversational style being found wanting, and your linguistic rhythm deemed amateur. “Spirit animal: Purdue Owl” A self-proclamation of grammatical correctness, a harbinger of the written. Just so they can deconstruct film tropes and musicals to exercise their intellectual superiority and assert dominance through the dissection of popular culture. The art of passively, aggressively annotating every document they receive, down to the findings on absurdly long CVS receipts. The deeply ingrained need and compulsion to impose meaning upon the mundane cesuras found in the white spaces. The 35-page artistic yet critical piece on the foundations of every inanimate object in their junk drawer: some desperate attempt to imbue the ordinary with some profound significance. “Difference between affect and effect?” Pass this test and you will be deemed worthy of their intellectual and heartfelt affections. On Wednesdays only. The specificity is so chillingly precise for their schedule of eccentric rituals. Truly a testament to the meticulously organized neurosis of the mind. An obsession, a desperate search for chiasmus in crumbled-up napkins, meaning in the monotony of daily life. Finding metaphors in the fragmented nature of modern existence in Ikea furniture guides. One who knows the existential dread within the epigraph written on my eaten-up dollar in the Maxcy vending machine. An invitation to join in the abyss of their own meticulously created self-doom. “Emoji analysis required” The final sense of engagement in this romantic world is a Word document with a bare minimum of 500 words. A task worthy of a doctoral dissertation? MLA citations? A demand for academic rigor, a power play cloaked in word play. A test of your endurance and a measure of your ability to conform to their intellectual standards without breaking the rules. A tough grader, a literary gauntlet, a test of your taste, your brain, your very soul. They promise to judge and critique you extensively. They promise a declaration of their intent to dissect, drain, categorize, and quantify your worth. In essence, the love and romance of emoticons is a declaration of intellectual warfare. A call to arms for those who dare to enter their labyrinth of linguistic pretension. Proceed with caution, for you are not finding love within pixelated exchanges, but you are sparring in a never-ending battle of wits. My feline familiar, Lord Cigglesworth, has been a silent witness to the endless stream of academia’s linguistics in emoticon form, a furry confidant in the loneliness of intellectual isolation. Wallace Chuck: https://www.pexels.com/es-es/foto/hoja-verde-en-pila-de-libros-3704611/

Brace yourselves — April 12 is coming. Board up your dorms, crank up the white noise machine, and prepare for the horror of… school spirit. The University of New Haven jazz band will congregate around the horse statue to perform for incoming students. Students who reside on campus are often startled by the band’s performance during Accepted Students Days, despite the multiple posters, media posts, and website updates about the event. Everyone should have had enough time to prepare for Doomsday with all of the announcements sent out. But don’t worry! Disgruntled students can cope by complaining about the band on the anonymous social app YikYak. “Why do they need the band for the accepted students?” one student inquired with frustration. To be fair, it’s not like any incoming students are looking to join a concert band. Who wants to be known as a band kid on campus? Instead, we should have the football players tackle passing tour guides to show our athleticism. The band director, Jason DeGroff, could act as the cheerleader. Maybe next year, for incoming criminal justice majors, we could offer to tackle Charlie the Charger and then follow the case through the courts. We have to wonder why the campus would even bother having band members perform. Perhaps the university is attempting to use traditions to demonstrate core values and provide a warm welcome to prospective students despite the lack of community and spirit among the student body? Doubt it. The marching band is a reflection of the university for incoming families. Since on-campus students reject the idea of celebrating their university, the band has been asked to play quieter. The pep band must adapt to the circumstances, given how awful it must be to wake up to free music performed by friends and peers within the comfort of your own heated dorm room. The country band will come up with new methods to appeal to the residents. Since band members are immune to the cold, the saxophones and trombones will shove their scarves and hats into their horns to mute themselves. The drums and the electronic instruments, such as the guitars and bassists, will trade out their instruments for Guitar Hero controllers. Trumpets have opted out of performing, per majority vote. They want to attend the event, but there is too much concern over whether Gerber and Bixler residents will start a riot. Additionally, the indie rock band will perform at noon to resolve the serious sleep deprivation it has caused in the past. Until the band attends, they have offered their speakers to play the Just Dance 2021  song playlist on repeat starting at 8 a.m. Remember, next Accepted Students Day is April 12! Make sure to go to bed extra late to wake up all the more angry at the band for simply having fun. Go out there and show us your lack of school spirit! Remember, the best way to prove your indifference to campus traditions is to dedicate your entire day to complaining about them. See you on YikYak! University of New Haven - Alumni Magazine- Fall 2018 "We are Family"

UNH, you are so perfect, and I love to wander through your barren pathways. Every day, I fall more and more in love with your potholes and dead grass. But I experience the most peace when I think about the things of the past — like the tree that used to stand proudly in the Maxcy Quad. Maxcy Hall Perhaps my favorite place to be is the area behind Bergami and in front of Kaplan, which has become a wind tunnel. Every time I exit Berg, there’s nothing quite like the taste of my hair flying into my mouth at 10 a.m. Kaplan Hall When I escape the wind and want other ways to reconnect with nature, I find myself going to the green behind Bixler to take in the lush trees of beautiful Connecticut. No matter the season, one tree always remains greener than the rest, and that is proof that things will be OK. Bixler Hall When it’s too cold to bear and I need to quickly get from one side of Bergami to the other, I take the secret passage located in the basement — which has never once made me feel scared! Bergami Hall Bergami Hall Basement And to wind down, I like to take in the art of the campus — specifically that weird metal statue near the shuttle stop, which, for my Pokémon Go enjoyers, is a PokéStop. Shoutout to that! I'm not sure what this is, honestly. Each day, I am astounded by the beautiful campus we are lucky to call home. It is warm and inviting, and I have never once had a complaint about my surroundings. UNH, I love you despite your many, many flaws and cherish every place where water pools when it rains, forcing me to walk through the mud. Thank you for being you.

As many of you know, I'm always rooting for my team. But I also take pride in rooting for this school. This week, we're spotlighting some incredible highlights from the College of Arts and Sciences, particularly the Communications Department. The communications department offers three concentration paths for our students to choose from. First, we have film production and media entrepreneurship. Second, there's multi-platform journalism and media, including television production. Finally, my pick: public relations and Digital Media. A concentration in film production and media shapes communications in many ways. If these topics pique your interest, you could find yourself working on cinematography, screenwriting, playwriting or film editing. You'll learn to harness your creativity and acquire skills actively used in the industry. You'll gain hands-on experience with state-of-the-art studio equipment and editing software. Some of the fantastic instructors guiding you on this journey include Wayne Edwards, Paul Falcone, Nicki Chavoya, Diane Smith, Dean Pagani and Susanne Murphy, along with our department. Have you ever dreamed of becoming a globetrotter? Paul Falcone and Tom Garrett will help you become a star-studded director. In the Film 2 course, you'll have the chance to work with a real crew, go through the casting process and screen an entire student film. You'll pitch and create a movie from scratch, and after the process, you could submit your film for an Emmy and multiple film festivals. Garrett will even encourage you to attend the Cannes Film Festival to walk the red carpet, watch screenings with the stars and live the Interested in student media? Join our live news broadcast, Charger Bulletin News, either as a class or just for fun. Our live broadcast was recently submitted to the New England division of the Emmys. Staying put in the studio? Check out Charger 360, the official video podcast of the University of New Haven. Each episode features guests from across the university with the goal of giving you a 360-degree view of the amazing things happening in Charger Nation. Our department also provides opportunities to intern with organizations such as ESPN, Lionsgate, NBC Sports and Disney. Here, you'll participate in real-world meetings and experiences, especially in sports communication, Wayne Edwards' area of ​​expertise. Interested in pursuing sports management, communications or business? A sports communication minor can complement a sports management or business major, providing skills in media relations, marketing, and broadcasting. This opens opportunities in teams, agencies, media outlets and sports organizations, where communication is key to business success. Edwards also teaches a course titled “Race, Gender, Class in the Media,” exploring the evolving relationship between human relations and equity in the workforce. Not into TV and film? Nicki Chavoya's music video class will capture your attention. In this course, you'll learn how to produce high-quality productions in a short amount of time, sourcing your musicians. In the final project, you'll create a music video that could also win an Emmy. This is not just a far-off dream—just last year, Harley Angelillo's production, Hope You Like Roses  by Powder, won an Emmy. Now, let's shift to multi-platform journalism and media, where you might find yourself writing for The New York Times  or winning a Pulitzer Prize. Look at the dreamer in you! Our department is home to award-winning journalists, including those with Pulitzer-level experience, who mentor students in pursuing authentic media literacy. These are the mentors who will guide you to success. The journalism track at UNH prepares students for careers in top publications, giving them the tools to navigate the fast-paced media industry. Whether you're starting in the widely popular class “Communications and the Law” — which draws the lines between law and morality in the media — or learning AP style writing in our student newspaper or digital (soon-to-be print) magazine, you'll have plenty of opportunities. You can also get involved in Charger Bulletin  live news, where you could become the producer or director of our broadcast. You'll use our media hub to explore journalism and the role of technology in the industry. Our radio studio, WNHU, is right across the street, so if you've ever dreamed of creating your own YouTube show, now's the time to make it happen. Bruce Barber, our radio supervisor and esteemed faculty member with years of experience, will guide you into the world of audio perspectives. Does the idea of ​​slowing things down appeal to you? Consider taking the “Telling Digital Stories” course, which provides students with the foundation to report with integrity and accuracy, taught by Susanne Murphy and Nicki Chavoya. In this class, you'll explore multi-platform journalism, digital media and equality in our community while simultaneously using audio, images and video to tell compelling stories about real-world experiences. Through guest speakers, networking opportunities and hands-on training, students gain real-world experience in journalism and media ethics. The communications department provides extensive journalism opportunities, from student-run media to award-winning publications. Finally, wrapping up the list with public relations and digital media. Key classes include “Telling Digital Stories,” “Public Relations Principles & Practices,” “Social Impact of Media” and “Communication in Organizations.” New classes coming in fall 2025 include “Photojournalism History and Practice” and “Writing for Newsletters, Daily Briefings, and News Analysis,” both taught by Dean Pagani. Pagani is a public relations expert who brings years of experience to the classroom. “Photojournalism History and Practice” explores the history of photojournalism, its impact on public affairs and ethics, and its evolution to the present day. The course “Writing for Newsletters, Daily Briefings, and News Analysis” focuses on delivering news, engaging in independent journalism and learning how to communicate internally within businesses and organizations. “Public Relations Principles & Practices” introduces students to the role public relations plays in today's business, social, political and cultural environments. You'll gain real-world experience that you can apply to everyday life. “Social Impact of Media” looks at issues like media regulation, law, ethics and the behavioral aspects of mass and interpersonal communication. You'll also write your own media messages. Lastly, “Communication in Organizations” is an industry-based course that addresses real-world, complex problems and case studies. If you're still not convinced but are lurking in the shadows of switching, maybe the general communications minor is for you. The University of New Haven's communication minor teaches effective communication, media literacy and public speaking. One of your core classes is “Intro to Communications” with professor Diane Smith. Students gain skills in conveying ideas, analyzing media and improving interpersonal interactions, which are valuable across various careers. Please note the following two requirements: You may not declare a major and minor in the same program, and a minimum GPA of 2.0 is required. Wow, we've covered a lot of info here! I do not doubt that if you aren't already captivated by these opportunities, you will be soon. We have a knack for drawing people in—probably because every project we create is, let's be honest, award-winning! With industry-changing faculty, hands-on experiences and endless opportunities, this isn't just a program—it's your launchpad. The world is always yours to explore.

Contributing Writer Patch Bowen "Dear Colleague:" A letter with chilling implications from the U.S. Department of Education's Office for Civil Rights was sent to universities nationwide as Trump's administration ramps up pressure on DEI initiatives. According  to the letter from the Department of Education's  acting assistant secretary, Craig Trainor, all universities that receive federal funds are supposedly mandated to remove diversity, equity, and inclusion programs from their administrative departments. The deadline was Feb. 28, and it now falls on educational institutions to implement what may be sweeping policy changes. The University of New Haven has yet to respond with official statements. Still, the dissonance is apparent in the Myatt Center for Diversity & Inclusion and its retracted DEI office changes. How can changes happen without warning, yet no one claims responsibility in the administration? Just five days after the letter reached campus on February 19, the Myatt Center for Diversity and Inclusion's Diversity Peer Educators were instructed to remove "Diversity and Inclusion" from the office's name, drop programs and meetings related to heritage months, race, or other topics under the diversity umbrella, and refer to the student work-study positions as simply "Peer Educators."  "I think the decision is going to have immediate effects that we can likely predict for certain populations," said Kenneth Notorino-Jeffreys, Myatt assistant director, "but there's going to be many unintended effects that we don't realize we are going to see."  He said, "Not only am I fearful for how our students of underrepresented communities are going to internalize these decisions that are being made, but also the identities that folks oftentimes don't realize fall within this aspect of "DEI.'” Much of what students have heard from staff and faculty has come indirectly, and students say that not much has been made directly clear regarding school DEI policies—students who’ve followed the national media coverage of Pres. Trump's executive orders know that the developing administration is set on dismantling equitable practice under civil rights law despite the blockage of the lower courts and Congress. In late January, some semblance of reassurance came from University President Jens Frederiksen and Darby Brown, president of the Undergraduate Student Government Association (USGA), who said in a recent executive officer report, "The University is committed to its students and, as Jens often quotes, 'the human good.’” Brown also said: "First, many of these directives are regarding corporate businesses, and not much has been explicitly said about higher education. Second, the University is private, so if anything were to come out on the federal level, there is a more substantial possibility it will not affect us because of our status as a private institution. "[Lastly,] we briefly discussed concerns about budget cuts or related items. I still understand what the business and financial terms mean; however, he and I are working on a date in March/April for him to return to the USGA and speak about that and some other University initiatives. All this is to say, your concerns are heard, and so long as we are still here, we will continue to relay and communicate them to the University Administration." As reported by the Guardian, US District Judge Adam Abelson recently blocked the federal DEI bans. Thus, it is impossible to predict how the campus could be legally bound or how the nearly 1,000 BIPOCs in the community will be affected. As of last week, the Myatt returned "for Diversity and Inclusion" to its title, reposted Diversity Peer Educator graphics edited to censor mentions of DEI the previous week, and informed student staff that everything will continue as it has at an administrative level. They're also referencing questions asked to DPEs who requested to remain off-record. Administrators and students expect the enforcement of anti-DEIAB( Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, Accessibility, and Belonging) laws to be strict and, as the letter promises, will impact all corners of education. Invoking the legal precedent set by Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard (SFFA, 2023),  which rescinded affirmative action for higher education admissions, the letter aggressively reasserts the federal government's aims to "eradicate DEI" and so-called "woke ideology" through executive power.  Students should keep up with the latest reporting on federal actions at Charger Bulletin, Charger Bulletin News, and Horseshoe. Photo Credits University of New Haven