3. Asiago

  Lately, I’ve been having flashbacks to freshman or sophomore year.  As college decisions are coming out and I’m seeing the stories of people’s baby pictures with the college they have gotten into, it brings me back to my childhood and makes me realize just how fast time is flying.  It seems like just yesterday when we were getting the course request form in 8th grade for the courses we wanted to take.  Or even in freshman year for sophomore year, and then in junior year.  Time works funny this way.  This phenomenon is often called time compression or the memory content hypothesis, in which the brain stores fewer memories, making years feel shorter, and nostalgic memories act as triggers, making it seem like it was just “yesterday.”  To clarify, when we look back, our sense of how long ago something was or how long something existed isn’t based on an actual clock, but rather on how many events we can remember.  If there are fewer, the entire peri...

Planes, which are incredibly complex inventions themselves, are meticulously tracked by a whole complex system of satellites and radar communication. Because of that, the idea that we can have entire planes disappearing seems to be (almost) impossible. And yet, about 12 years ago, on March 8, 2014, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 vanished off the face of the Earth with a total of 239 people onboard.  Now, after all of this time, the world is still searching for some kind of closure. We are still searching for any sign of where the plane went, and any explanation that could somehow make sense of an event so genuinely inexplicable.  One of my favorite shows, Manifest , also explores this idea, but more through a fictional perspective. In the show, a plane with 191 passengers and crew mysteriously disappears, and five years later, those who were onboard return exactly the same, only now they have the ability to receive psychic visions of things they have no logical way of knowing. H...

  “Stick to your books.” “School boy.” Preminger drawls before letting out a sharp cackle. The recipient of his insult stares after Preminger, as he saunters away, his medieval style loafers click-clacking away on the marble floors.  I’m sure many of you are wondering who Preminger is. Well, to that question I must say, did you imbeclies not watch the blockbuster, showstopping, incredible franchise that is the Barbie series? Well, judging by your questions, I assume you haven’t, so I shall provide a proper introduction. Preminger. In Barbie Princess and the Pauper, Preminger is Queen Genevive’s royal advisor. Although royal schemer is a more fitting term to call him. For some background on the movie itself, the kingdom’s princess, Princess Annelise, meets Erika, a common girl who shares the rare birthmark that she does. Because the birthmark is said to be an identifying factor of royal blood, Annelise is overjoyed at the prospect of a new family member. When Erika is introduc...

Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen In Carcosa Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still is Lost Carcosa Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flaps the tatter of the King, must die unheard in Dim Carcosa Song of my soul, my voice is dead; Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa Cassilda’s Song in The King in Yellow “The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents,” was a quote from H.P Lovecraft who is often considered the father of cosmic horror—or Lovecraftian horror. In Lovecraftian horror, the fear does not come from the physical shape of the monsters, but what they represent and the insignificance of humanity in the face of gods. We cannot possibly comprehend the plans of god-like entities.  Similarly to Lovecraft, the author Robert W. Chambers wrote The King...

You’ve most likely felt that you’ve lived in a situation before, even though it is pretty much impossible for that to have happened.  A conversation, a place, just the moment itself.  Sometimes you may even feel like it's been a fever dream.  What I'm describing is something that has most likely happened to pretty much everybody, because it has for sure happened to me, many more times than I can count.  Déjà vu (in my opinion) is one of the most interesting phenomena to occur to humans. It comes from French and quite literally means “already seen.”  It feels as if a situation is weirdly familiar, as if you may know what will happen next, or if this exact thing has already happened, but you can't put your finger on it.  What makes it even stranger is how convincing the feeling is. Logically, we know that it couldn't have happened before, but our brain insists that it has.  I wish it were dreams that were somehow connecting together. A way to predict the...

Growing up, my family all slept in the same room. Three of us would squish onto the king bed with my dad next to us on a twin bed; I was sandwiched in between my parents. Every night I would fall asleep to my dad’s storytelling, or my parents’ singing or the chatter of all of us as we talked about the various events of our lives. Back when my biggest worry was which stuffed animal I would keep with me for the night.  Then our nights got smaller; my sister and I moved to the bedroom across the hall. My dad would sit on the edge of the bed for a few hours each night and tell “just one more” story until he was asleep and me and my sister lay awake giggling about our dad’s blabbering. These are the nights I remember the most. My personal favorite story was of Mukund and the Chocolate Pizza. This story would have us laughing for hours; no matter how many times my dad told it, I would always wait for the end with the same giddy smile on my face. It was through these stories that I learne...

Maybe one day... Sometimes my dreams bend into reality.  Conversely, some memories are coated in a hazy, oneiric fog like a thin layer of dust settling over an untouched surface. The line between what’s real and what isn’t seems so nebulous, even when I’m wide awake.  In elementary school, I remember getting a baby chick as a pet. I woke up in the morning, bright-eyed and fresh-faced, excited to see the new member of my family. I could imagine it vividly: small, warm, fuzzy, yellow, soft. A tiny thing. It would chirp, hopping around in my palms as I cooed affectionately in the morning light. Morning dew would reflect the sun, the drops winking mischievously as the force of their gravity bent blades of fresh grass into gentle curves. But when I eagerly swing open the door to my backyard, I find nothing there. My mother glances up after turning off the blender, a smoothie made from yogurt, frozen strawberries, and bananas. Her daughter isn’t a morning person. Drops of condensati...

Have you ever noticed how soft darkness becomes in the summer?  Not as lonely as it is in winter, instead more akin to pulling your blanket all the way over your head and letting your breath and body heat envelop you fully. In the summer, the streetlights are more orange—not as neon, not as cold. Breathing does not feel like drinking cold water with a cough drop in your mouth. In the evening, the grass exhales all the heat it had absorbed from the scorching sun during the day, and existing outside becomes bearable again.  It was on one of these nights that my mother told me she had something to show me.  We slipped on our shoes and climbed down the stairs of our apartment under the light of the entrance lamp, warm as all lights seem when tinted by childhood. Light orange, dark blue, dark green.  And they were there, in a patch of darkness, waiting for us. Glowing, swirling lights, something I had never seen before. It was as if my mother, the single being who has bee...