Andrea Hefferan

Enigmatic. Who knew that a word that literally means mysterious would help me solve a mystery I didn't even know existed. March 14, 2019. The hour had arrived to present our imaginary presidential candidate to students and admin in hopes of them electing ours over the other group's. It was the culmination of a month long AP gov project. Our group had scraped together a backstory, political stance, and campaign for this man--an African-American-to-appeal-to-liberals, male-to-appeal-to-conservatives man--Winfield Burnes couldn't fail us now. Our presentation went smoothly, as our group was well rehearsed, until the questions. "How is your candidate different from your opponent's?" Unsurprisingly, our liberal-heavy class had run eerily similar candidates; it seemed as though the only difference between them was their gender and the color of their skin. The opposing group went first. "Our candidate is charismatic, hard working, intelligent, enigma

As a child, a very strict policy on bad words was enforced upon me. I was forbidden from saying words such as stupid, shut up, that sucks, crap. My parents would not tolerate such foul language in our household.  You can imagine my shock when I got to high school, hearing words much worse uttered casually in daily conversation. No repercussions were given to students who said them, and they did not seem to be bound by the rules I had grown up with.  Of course, one gets used to it. We hear profanity on a daily basis, on the bus, in the halls, during lunch. People curse a lot–but it is time for high schoolers to tone down these obscenities. I am not calling for a complete disownment of all curse words. If used correctly, they can alert people of your strong opinions on a subject and intense emotions. They can get people’s attention and draw them into what you are saying. But that is where the problem comes in–we are not using them the right way at all. People swear so much that

When I was six, I moved. Not to a new state. Not to a new city. Not to a new school. No, I simply moved houses. Although I knew I was supposed to feel lucky to be staying in the same community, the move was still terrifying. Our new house was much bigger than our old one. Because of this, I got my own room, as opposed to sharing one with my sister. I loved it. But sometimes, at night, lying there alone in the darkness, I would be scared. Scared that someone would enter my bedroom door and take me away. I spun wild tales of who–or what–could be lurking in the dark, just waiting for a moment of weakness. I felt so far from my parents and thought the worst during those nights. And I admit it, sometimes those irrational fears creep back despite having lived in my new house for almost ten years. Moving away from a place you have always called home is tough. Even a move as small as mine. But imagine if it was not small. Imagine if you were forced to move away from your own country, aw

Every day men are granted overwhelmingly greater benefits compared to their female counterparts. Their masculine privilege extends beyond advancement in the workforce and elections to public office. Women face a monumental injustice every day, one which government leaders and the remainder of society are unwilling to address. Women’s pockets are significantly smaller than men’s. Every day, women must struggle with inadequate pocket sizes. Getting our phones to fit inside these microscopic holes is a mental and physical trial. Even if by the power of a greater being, we do manage to fit an item inside, the pocket is often too shallow to safely contain it, and we are plagued with the fear of the phone falling out with even the slightest movement of our bodies. And forget about a wallet or keys. Chances are, if what you are trying to stow away is wider than your index finger, it will not fit. That is, if there are any pockets at all. Companies love to trick women with fake pockets.

On Friday, April 20, no one came to school. Well, almost no one. A couple of brave souls risked their lives by going, myself included. Thankfully for me, the threats that were graffitied on a high school bathroom never came to be. The person shouting threats on the school bus never came through either. Maybe it was because the people who did it got caught and the only danger was a bunch of empty words. There are two ways to approach a problem like this. One: go about the day as normal with increased security to ease the minds of overly paranoid students. And then there’s the second option: letting two students completely mess with the schedule and learning of countless individuals by cancelling the school day. Now, the second choice is admittedly more cowardly, but as they say, better be safe than sorry. But instead of these perfectly understandable options, the school decided to go halfway, putting the decision into the hands of the parents to avoid responsibility for what happens.

Now that I’m in high school, everyone’s favorite question is, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I’ve answered a million different things: doctor, journalist, lawyer, therapist, PR officer, neuroscientist; the honest answer is, I don’t know. But if I tell people that, they just give me a look of unconcealed disappointment. It’s been drilled into our heads that we need to take the classes that align with our desired career paths in order to be successful. If you want to be a doctor, Biomed and AP Bio is the way to go. Or if being an author has been your dream since you learned how to write, you should take classes like Creative Writing and AP Comp. But what if you don’t know what you want to be? What then? There is so much unnecessary pressure to know exactly who you want to be right now. But the thing is, high school can still be a fruitful experience despite not taking all of the classes that “go with” what you want to do. This is a time to experiment, to see what