Vignettes

Unplugged Odyssey

Elizabeth Smith

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Small pockets of bright white light beam up from the reflective surface of the koi pond, dancing rhythmically to the gentle yet crashing waves that lick the edges of its enclosure. As I soak up the evolving scenery around my still body, early morning dew sticks slightly to my skin as I sway blissfully in my cocoon, its tethers hugging the trees with all its might.

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Blissfully unaware of the pestering propagandic ploy that the small device we so naively coexist with implores us to consume. My lungs gulp down the impeccable air that unapologetically feeds the world we occupy.

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Quiet thumping whispers across the space; its ginger footsteps, accompanied by two more sets of careful feet, break through the brush that lines the open field. The rustling that echoes from the brush slowly reveals a mother deer and her two fawns, enjoying their pleasant morning of munching on bright yellow dandelions and scintillating dewy grass.

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With the annoyance of a pestering alarm clock and the silent, unspoken threats of a man with far too much power, the burst of a chime screeches into the air of this tiny snapshot of heaven. The deer bob their heads up quickly and shoot through the field, in fear that they too may succumb to the manipulations the device possesses. Nearby birds, who unabashedly swim in the refreshing pond, scurry far from this modern alien. As I reach into my pocket, a heavy sigh coldly bellows from my chest.

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Its presence visually shouts out the recent notifications that I had missed, each one a digital breadcrumb leading me back to the noise I had momentarily left behind. The peace, once so tangible, begins to slip through my fingers like the mist that clings to the morning air. I take one last glance at the pond – now still, now silent – and for a fleeting second, I wonder what it might feel like to stay here, in the hush between moments, forever untouched.

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But reality taps harder than any screen. So I rise from my swinging cocoon, the trees releasing me with reluctant grace, and I walk back toward the world that never seems to sleep – already longing for the one that just did.

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My Invisible Enemy

Ayla Peden

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On Sept. 13, I came face to face with my long-time enemy: hypochondria.

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I jolted awake that morning with my heart pounding out of my chest.

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On instinct, my pointer and middle fingers flew to the pulse point on my neck, anxiously trying to keep up with the beats as they drove on faster and faster. Pulling out my phone, I watched the time tick by while I counted every thump that radiated from my veins. My heart rate was 120 BPM.

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Oh my god. What is happening?

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I gulped down water in an attempt to quench my beating heart’s thirst. As I drank, a million thoughts ran through my head.

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What if I’m dying? What if I’m having a heart attack? What if something is truly wrong?

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However, my heart still raced on. The only solution I could think of was to try and sleep it off. I tossed and turned for the rest of the morning.

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***

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In time, I managed to calm myself and go about my day. However, the classes that had distracted me ended, and I was thrust back into the world my mind had created. One by one, my worries and doubts came crawling back.

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Why do I still feel weird? What if it isn’t just anxiety? Please let this just be anxiety.

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I cringed at every thought and just wanted to get away. So, I decided to walk. I walked to Peabody Hall as if I were being chased and could somehow lose them if I kept moving. Alas, my fear caught up.

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As I reached for the steps of this historical hall, tears flooded my vision. I reached a boiling point where my racing heart was too much to ignore. And so, for 15 minutes, I sat on those steps and let the warm September sun embrace me as I sobbed. All I wanted at that moment was to be OK.

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Eventually, the rivers running down my face turned into streams, and my breathing became less frantic. With my head in my hands, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and listened to the world around me.

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I noticed the birds chirping and the light breeze rustling the leaves. I heard someone laughing in the distance and cars passing by. I also heard someone walking up the stairs I sat on.

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“Hey, are you OK?” the stranger asked.

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Looking up, I see a man around my age, eyes wide with concern. I clearly did not look OK, as I later found out I had mascara all over my face. And yet, I gave a small smile and assured him I was fine.

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While still concerned, the stranger made his way inside. As he left, I turned to look out at the rest of the world. After some time, I realized that my thoughts weren’t racing anymore, and neither was my heart. I hadn’t died. Oxygen still filled my lungs, and blood still pumped through my veins.

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It was over for now and would certainly pop up again later. But, while I was still at peace, I could find comfort in the fact that I would live to see another day.

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On the Ropes

Kethan Babu

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Only one movie line has ever made me cry.

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I hit a roadblock in my life halfway through November of 2024. After two years at Miami University, I thought I had finally found my place. I devoted countless hours to The Miami Student, and I genuinely enjoyed my journalism classes.

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However, everything collapsed. A 74% on a recent exam meant I earned a C for the first time in my life. My attempts to improve The Miami Student sports section and make meetings more productive seemingly failed.

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Worst of all, I questioned whether people I considered friends felt the same.

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Each day, I painfully woke up and wished I could disappear. The 7 a.m. alarms after five hours of sleep had me waking up with aches. Some days, I silently wished to close my eyes and not wake up the following morning.

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I reached the lowest point in my life, and nothing I did seemed worthy.

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I struggled to sleep most nights. Self-doubt and an increased course load resulted in endless hours of staring at the ceiling with my mind racing. Melatonin and a pair of headphones could permit me maybe four hours of rest, but some nights that didn’t even shut my eyes.

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During one of those nights, I gave up, figuring it’d be easier to stay awake another few hours instead of falling asleep and waking up for my 8 a.m. Spanish class. To pass the time, I searched for a movie to watch.

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I selected “Creed,” thinking an action movie and a fourth cup of coffee would keep my eyes open for three more hours.

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My dad first introduced me to the “Rocky” franchise during my sophomore year of high school. COVID-19 shuttered our doors, and the Babu house had nothing but free time.

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For three days straight, my family and I watched all six “Rocky” movies. I lived my life thinking “Rocky Balboa” concluded the series. However, in the fall of 2021, my older brother asked if I’d ever heard of “Creed,” which I hadn’t. The series follows Adonis, the son of Apollo, as he reunites with an elder Rocky and continues his father’s legacy.

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The greatest film series I’ve ever seen had more movies? I needed to see how the story continued.

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That night, my brother and I retreated upstairs to watch “Creed.” It takes a lot for a film to move me, but my heart plummeted when Rocky told Adonis he’s “just an old trainer” and they weren’t really family.

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In the final fight, Adonis defied all odds and went the distance with his rival. However, he gets knocked out, and even after he gets back up, Rocky wants to call the fight off.

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Adonis rejects this.

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“I gotta prove it,” he said. “I gotta prove that I’m not a mistake.”

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At the Catholic high school I attended, theology teachers and priests always taught us that God gave everyone a purpose and reason for being.

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As an atheist, I found that idea illogical. No higher being gave me a reason to exist, and without proof of God, I could only believe that my existence is purely coincidental. In the grand scheme of things, my life held little significance.

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The answer was rational, but it heightened my already excessive daily anxiety. Maybe God doesn’t have a reason for my existence, but if He doesn’t, then what is my purpose?

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While most of Oxford dozed off, I sat at my desk, fighting back tears at 6 a.m. Perhaps the drowsiness got to me, or maybe it was the dread of four upcoming final exams, but I bawled my eyes out.

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My college experience up to that point made me question my direction in life. What if I made too many mistakes? What if the people I considered friends didn’t feel the same? What if I didn’t become a professional writer, the only thing I strive for as a career?

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The clock read 6:30 a.m. I wiped my tears and crawled to the bathroom sink. I squeezed toothpaste out and brushed my teeth while turning the shower on. I set aside a pair of black sweatpants and a grey hoodie.

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Adonis could have let Rocky throw in the towel. He could have congratulated himself for making it that far and told himself that he did enough. Maybe the knockout proved that boxing wasn’t his calling, and he should return to his past life.

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Instead, Adonis rose up, ignoring his swollen eye and cracked ribs. He needed to justify his place in that ring.

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No higher being wrote out a plan for my life. But with every choice I make, I take up the responsibility to defend my existence.

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An Altar of Rock 'N' Roll

Lily Bayer

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It’s 6:55 p.m. My mom, sister, brother and I are watching TV in the living room when lights flash through the back windows. We face each other and sigh.

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Dad’s home.

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There are 22 minutes left in our show. Twenty-two minutes we will not be watching tonight.

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At 7:02, my dad barges through the back door. He stomps into the living room and immediately connects to the speakers, cranks the volume and hits play to Bruce Springsteen radio. To our luck, every night at 7 p.m., Bruce Springsteen radio plays “The Price You Pay.”

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And boy, do we pay a price.

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He continues to blast music by The Grateful Dead, U2, Phish and then some. And the following night, like clockwork, the same songs, the same noise, start over again.

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My dad is an atheist, and music is his religion. He doesn’t believe in God or Heaven. He doesn’t read the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. He engulfs the words of Garcia, Anastasio, Springsteen and Bono. He is a music evangelist, pushing his beliefs on all who will listen.

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Growing up, organized religion was a part of my life but not overtly expressed. I attended Catholic schools from kindergarten through 12th grade. However, I struggled between grouping myself with opinions I didn’t align with and wanting to believe in something. Watching my dad pray at an altar of rock melodies and riffs actually helped me better understand a devotion to faith.

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The irony isn’t lost that my atheist father shone a light on my spirituality. My dad’s love for music taught me to gravitate towards what feels right for me. It’s OK to believe whatever I want to believe, just as it’s OK to listen to whatever music I want to listen to.

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My dad’s song of choice is “Terrapin Station” by The Grateful Dead, and mine is “Through the Dark” by One Direction. My dad chooses not to believe in any higher power, and I decided there’s something out there. Yet, my dad and I agree that “Golden” by My Morning Jacket is our favorite song.

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Music is my religion. It is the uniting factor of love in my family, just as faith is for some people. The closing line, or should I say holy verse, of “Golden” sums it up best. 

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“You’ll be right here forever / We’ll go thru this thing together / And on heaven’s golden shore we’ll lay our heads.”