Make your bed 

Emma Touchard

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The alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. For a moment, we lay still, staring at the ceiling. We will roll over and open Snapchat, TikTok and Instagram for everything we might have missed during the short six hours of sleep we received.

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We shut off our phones and lay in bed briefly before stepping out for the day. While brushing our teeth, we think, “I’ll apply to that job tomorrow,” “I’ll start going to the gym Monday,” “I’ll go once I feel more ready,” “I’ll pick up that hobby once I have the time.” All of these promises I make to myself, yet get lost in wanting before I do the achieving.

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The phrase “the right time” echoes in our thoughts. Constantly waiting for the right time appears as a productive mindset and a good idea.

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We convince ourselves we just aren’t ready right now, and that it’s okay. But in reality, it’s just stalling. “The right time” remains out of reach, always tomorrow, next week or next month.

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Behind us, our bed remains unmade, which seems insignificant, but it keeps the door open for not now, but later. Growth rarely begins with big, dramatic changes and decisions. Most often, it begins with something small.

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We could turn around, grab the pillows, straighten the sheets, then two minutes go by and it's done. It seems like such a silly and small chore, but a positive change has been made. Our room is put together. We feel put together. A substantial change doesn’t occur, but internally, we chose action over procrastination. It reminds us that progress doesn’t always require hours of effort, but just starting.

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Making our bed is a physical reminder that something can be completed before excuses and “the right time” thoughts go silent. It becomes the first step toward accomplishing other things we’ve been putting off for weeks.

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If we complete one simple task in two minutes, maybe applying for that job isn’t as overwhelming as we thought. Sit with the idea that maybe starting that new routine or trying something new doesn’t have to wait for the perfect moment.

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There’s a quiet relief in finishing something so early in the day. It feels productive, proactive, like we’ve already taken control of the morning. 

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Moments like this remind us that action is much easier than the anticipation of it. Have you ever started off the day, remembered 10 things you have to do, then got back in bed because of the rush of overwhelming pressure hitting you? It’s real, but it’s only worse to avoid it. 

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The tasks we put off for weeks aren’t impossible; we’ve just convinced ourselves they are and that we will do them next week.

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Starting with something simple makes the next step feel much more manageable, then suddenly the day feels full of possibility instead of delay.

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Sometimes it starts with something as simple as a blanket and a pillow.

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Insert card to belong

Anastasija Mladenovska

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Universities talk about belonging as if it were a value, but the summer I couldn’t pay rent, I learned it often is a privilege.

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At first, I didn’t tell anyone that I might not be able to pay rent while living at The Verge last summer.

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I kept going to class. I answered emails. I did my job. I smiled when people asked how my semester was going.

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Campus didn’t notice. They rarely do. The emails kept coming: deadlines, opportunities, reminders about belonging. Everyone assumed you had somewhere stable to sleep and the money to keep showing up.

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I remember sitting on my bed, phone in my hand, staring at my bank account like it was something I could bargain with. I felt embarrassed by how small the numbers were.

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The truth is, as an international student, you don’t really have an option. Going back costs money, too. You figure it out. You ask for money. You explain yourself. Sometimes you beg, even if you don’t call it that. You learn how to turn panic into emails that sound calm. You learn how to make fear look professional.

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“I don’t have money for rent.”

“I don’t have money to come back to campus.”

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I remember the words coming out wrong, heavy, like they didn’t belong to me. Asking felt awful.

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The first time was the summer after my junior year, and the Honors College stepped in. The second time was the winter of my senior year, and the Department of Political Science stepped in. This kind of help doesn’t fix everything, but it changes the direction of your life. For a moment, it makes you believe in institutions, in the brick walls behind them, in the idea that someone is actually paying attention.

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But I always think about my first year. The truth is, I’ve been poor all four years of college.

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My department awards scholarships every May. In my first year, I applied. I didn’t get anything. In my second year, I applied again. Same result. Then, in my third and fourth years, I didn’t even apply, and I received two different scholarships.

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My financial situation hadn’t changed. The difference was visibility.

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By then, people knew my name. My work was recognizable. I had pushed myself far enough that I couldn’t be ignored. And that visibility came at a cost, being told I was doing too much, that I was unfocused and that I needed to narrow myself.

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International students don’t get to quietly struggle. You make yourself visible, or you fall through the cracks.

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There is a lot of talk in academic spaces about independence, self-sufficiency and grit. Those words sound neutral until you are the one who cannot afford to fail quietly. I learned how to look stable long before I actually was. I learned how to translate fear into productivity. I learned which parts of myself were acceptable and which had to stay hidden.

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Precarity teaches you that quickly.

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What I didn’t understand, until these two moments, was how fragile belonging really is. How often it has nothing to do with merit, and everything to do with visibility, timing and connections.

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As I prepare to graduate this May, I don’t think about my time here in terms of achievements or milestones. I think about how close I came to being unable to stay, not because I wasn’t capable, but because I was poor, foreign and one emergency away from being filtered out.

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Belonging, I’ve learned, isn’t guaranteed. It has to be fought for, asked for and, too often, earned simply by refusing to disappear.

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Unsent email

Maureen Wilson

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I might need prescription glasses due to the amount of blue light I subject my eyes to at night. I’m either on my degree audit, Google Calendar or some paper I don’t want to start and won’t until two hours before the deadline.

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My roommate was fast asleep, all too familiar with the busy work I do after hours. When I’m too tired, I write emails. It’s fun to pretend you’re actually productive — to draft them at 2 a.m. and have them delivered at 7:30 a.m.

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My phone was left open to a text from my sister hours ago about how an old teacher of mine was substituting for her class. I knew her for five years — had her twice for English — and she was my primary reference for high school internships, scholarships and even college applications. Apparently, she’s still waiting for an update from me.

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I’ve been busy, but not enough to forget. Moving my cursor to the body text of a new message, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try. What I ended up typing wasn’t technically a lie.

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Good morning,

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I hated poetry until I was in 8th grade. I changed my mind after being assigned to analyze Edgar Allan Poe’s “Annabel Lee.” Something about the repetition and rhymes captivated me. She was my teacher back then, too, when all the classes were on Zoom, and participation was at an all-time low.

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I know this is out of the blue, but…

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I still don't know why that was what convinced me of creative writing as a form of self-expression. Maybe I felt comfortable in her class, which had serious discussions about ripped kangaroos and played trap Christmas music in the background once the season came around. Our class loved to go on tangents, and I remember once she off-handedly mentioned she was in an English academic fraternity in college, along with Irish dancing.

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It was random, but I remembered that. Though I can’t dance, I did join Sigma Tau Delta. During recruitment, I couldn’t help but mention her to the active members.

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… do you have the time to talk? 

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I can’t forget when I last saw her. I begged my dad to let me back into the crowd exiting en masse after my high school graduation ceremony. Everything felt anticlimactic once I tossed my cap, though I knew I'd regret not being sentimental. I had a card to give to her, which had pen marks essentially debossed from overwriting. It wasn’t memorable as I anticipated I’d eventually follow up.

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I’ve been hesitant to reach out, so I thought maybe we could do a video call or…

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I've changed my major at least three times and dropped two minors. Even my friends can vouch that they’re not really sure what I’m doing most of the time, other than writing. So surely, people don't mean it when they want an update on your life. Then again, I’ve convinced myself before that nothing newsworthy happens in my life when she’d be willing to listen. Who knows? Maybe she was also lost coming into college, even if it seems hard to believe now.

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…I could visit the creative writing class you started this year. 

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I can’t stop my middle finger from rolling back the backspace button, but I got further than I expected. My head is starting to pulse from the eye strain, which is my cue to shut off the lights and let everything go quiet.

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It’s the first step of opening up, even if I don’t know it yet.

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‘Fitting’ into Rush

Kylie Bunn

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Sorority recruitment is stitched tightly into the social fabric of Miami University. All 18 chapters encourage women to be a part of a sisterhood that is empowering and close-knit. With this comes a journey that each girl must go on to find the group that is right for them. Beyond the conversations and decisions, recruitment is a series of carefully curated fashion performances where clothing becomes part of the narrative.

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There are four rounds of recruitment that each come with an expected dress code. These guidelines encourage a level of formality and professionalism, ensuring potential new members (PNMs) are able to present themselves appropriately. But when more than 1,000 women are following the same criteria, the question of individuality inevitably arises.

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Welcome Round comes first and brings on a lot of matching sets and messy buns, to look comfortable and cute. There is a relaxed vibe, but still an expectation to be put together. Because PNMs are simply watching videos of the various sororities to later rank them, the fashion does not hold as much importance. That being said, this would be the first impression among peers who are also rushing, so the pressure remains.

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Philanthropy Round is the second phase of rush. There is a finer line on what is suitable for the event. Stakes are higher while meeting active members face-to-face for the first time, and making a good first impression is crucial.

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Although every PNM is given the same shirt, this is a prime opportunity to uphold self-expression in unique ways. Whether it be a long skirt, patched vintage jeans or linen pants, each one showcases its own vibe to be paired with how the individual wants to express themself. Another way of doing this would be fun, loud jewelry or kitten heels. Every element, big or small, can be considered as a way to break from the seemingly narrow dress code.

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In the last two rounds, Sisterhood and Preference, there is an expectation to appear more formal. Sisterhood has a delightful tone with floral or light colored dresses and a cutesy brunch vibe. This style reflects the purpose of the round where PNMs are introduced to the sorority’s values, character and bond. Preference has a heightened need for this formality, with cohesive, subtle colors and orderly dresses, which mirrors the intensity of the final round, where more intimate connections and hard decisions are made.

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Standing out during an event like recruitment can be intimidating, especially with heavy emphasis on presentation and first impressions. The desire to fit in and belong clashes with the importance of being a unique individual. But authenticity holds power, and when conversations are brief and judgements are formed quickly, being genuine will be at the forefront of what is remembered.

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