FOX | We Got Lucky

I met my Freshman year roommate on Facebook. He seemed nice enough and worried about the possibility of roommate disaster. I was happy to commit to 9 months in the same shoe box with him. The night before move-in day, my family drove up to Ithaca and we spent the night in a small hotel about 10 minutes outside of the city. I walked into the lobby, bubbling with excitement, nervous for my first day of school. My new roommate, off the plane from Taiwan, was the first face I saw.

PERATI | My Cornell Experiment

After one of the most important people in my life was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer during my senior year of high school, I experienced a period of early maturity in which I became intimately aware of how important time is. I was no longer able to relate to the friends I surrounded myself with since childhood and I no longer recognized myself.

BERNSTEIN | It’s Closing Time

“Closing time, open all the doors and let you out into the world.”

When the song “Closing Time” plays, a gear starts turning in the college student’s mind and a flashing alarm light goes off in the brain, fit with siren and all, to give one message: leave. A grand exodus occurs, often with little to no communication. A few goodbyes can be heard, a couple people will say “well, I guess it’s time!” but by and large — even when some will, of course, choose to linger — the patron or partier will make for the exit without question. The casual laughs and conversations will continue as they migrate, but people don’t have to talk about leaving. They just go. 

This psychological conditioning happens late at night every weekend on campuses across the country, and it also happens every May. 

“Closing time, turn all of the lights on over every boy and every girl.”

The switch is flipped automatically in the beginning of every summer: the lights come on and we immediately head for the exit doors.

STELLA | So Long and Thanks For All the Fish

Everyone tells us that college is the best four years of our life. So what now, we just eat shit? Cornell sucks us in excitedly as incoming freshmen, with clubfest and orientation, just to herd us out as quickly as possible, trying to get their numbers of employed graduates up. Yesterday I was standing on-line at RPCC for Mongolian Grill and today I’m looking at apartments in Los Angeles that have in-unit dishwashers. Do I need a bed frame when I leave college?

GHAZI & YAMAZAKI | And Then They Were Roommates

When you put a minimalist and a maximalist in a room together at 18 and tell them to make the arrangement work, it makes no sense that ours did. For four years, we inhabited two different Cornells, but we worked as roommates because we both wanted to create the same Cornell: a place where you can be both soft and strong, thriving and hurt, grounded in your being and terrified of your becoming.

CHEN | A STEM Look Into the Opinion Section

I shouldn’t have worried about my reach or doubted the Daily Sun’s reach either. My team members for my Intro to Game Architecture course and fellow E-Board members for Women in Computing at Cornell loved resharing and boosting the links to my columns as soon as they came out. Even my ode to Duffield somehow reached my sister, who works in the Bay Area and has been out of school for five years, via her coworker. A junior from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln emailed me a four-paragraph response to my “Stop Catfishing Computer Science Majors” piece offering a separate angle from his personal experiences. My words were getting somewhere. Someone was reading. That was all that mattered.

SEX ON THURSDAY | How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Be Queer

I had a few (straight) relationships in high school, but I could never reconcile how my thoughts dwelt on the lingering touch of my friend’s hug and the warmth of his leg next to mine when we sat together at the crowded restaurants. One stuffy summer night in the park, I melted when he reached over to wipe away a drop of beer from my face and slid his fingers along my cheek. All we had were those moments, half-hearted but unmistakable, and all I could do was to wait and see if they would ever amount to anything. I wasn’t gay, I’d tell myself. That little word would upend my life.


When the United States repealed the 18th Amendment in 1933, alcohol was finally legal. People were swarming the newly-opened bars and rolling barrels of beer through the streets. In the Summer of Love 1967, youth cultures gathered in San Francisco to cast off conservative values and experiment with sex and drugs. 

Though our 2021 context is entirely different, we are poised to share similar collective experiences of jubilation. 

After more than a year of virtual concerts, conferences and classes, glimpses of “normal” life continue to dance around our yearning minds. Tinder bios now read “fully vaccinated,” like an adoptable puppy. I can finally hug my friends without worries in a flash of optimism.

BULKELEY | Thanks for Twisting my Arm

For every event missed because I was covering a game or asking questions at a presser, I created an entirely different set of memories that I’ll look back on whenever I think about my college years. From going to an ECAC Tournament and sleeping on the freezing cold hotel room floor to complaining about Midnight Edit at one of The Sun’s infamous last-night-of-publishing parties, I got to be a part of some pretty memorable times.

LIM | Not the End

I feel torn between an unwillingness to believe fatalistically in endings, and a fear that I might be underemphasizing the uniqueness of being at Cornell and at Ithaca. The above quote feels like an important reminder: the urgency with which I need to love remains throughout my life. What changes is the context and circumstances through which I can love people, pursuits and causes.