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ROSENBAND | When Hospitals Become Our Battlegrounds

When 7 p.m. arrives, my neighbors gather on their porches, banging pots and pans and cheering for doctors, like my dad, as they arrive home. It’s a sweet tribute. But in this period of social distancing, when every pursuit is a solitary one, I pinpoint those moments of camaraderie as my loneliest ones. I wait for 7 p.m., and when it rolls around I welcome a dispirited substitute for my father, void of his trademark optimism. I quickly scan him up and down — he has a face shield and mask in one hand and a bag of pomegranate licorice in the other, a blank face, a few drops of dried blood on his sneakers, a loosely tied Cornell sweatshirt hanging from his waist  — and then I continue to stir a pot of butternut squash soup.

ROSENBAND | Please, Hold the Door and Wipe Your Shoes

Two days before fall break, when prelim season had first dawned, I broke my ankle in Uris Library — a feat that sounds nearly impossible. As my friend Claire so eloquently put it, athletes break their bones on the field and nerds break their bones in the library. In my opinion, the market for extreme sports should now include hardcore studying. Since my injury, I’ve had to go to endless doctor appointments, withdraw from beloved classes, attend daily physical therapy sessions and go home for surgery, only to miss a month of school. The postoperative pain continues to be excruciating, yet it is the least of my problems. I wake up several times throughout the night nauseated by stress and anxiety, bogged down by an infinite number of questions.

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GUEST ROOM | Cornell’s Silence Was Heard on 9/11

The most impactful event that has happened in my lifetime is one I don’t even remember. On Sept. 11, 2001, I was nearly one year old. Any adult can tell you where they were and who they were with when the largest terrorist attack on American soil occurred. Sept.