Meghana Mysore
Staff Columnist
Author Archive
Entropy

Many afternoons as a child, when fragments of the sun splintered through my window pane, I would feel compelled to go outside and sit on […]

keyicui
MYSORE: The stories we choose

In her TED Talk on the “single story,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie addresses our adherence to single stories — of places and their political landscapes, of […]

MYSORE: Catching up, growing apart

From a young age, I have grappled with ideas of transience and permanence. Like many children, I panicked when I couldn’t find my toy or […]

MYSORE: What we know

I’ve never been the best at standardized tests, so the SAT was a bit of a struggle. I studied for the test, memorizing words and […]

Lottery Tickets

Every Saturday night when I was in middle school, my father disappeared to a local gas station to buy his weekly lottery tickets just like […]

irenekim
MYSORE: A kind of infinity

Last week, after English 126, my friend and I walked to the Jonathan Edwards dining hall to eat breakfast. As I ate my two boiled […]

MYSORE: When we look away

The other day I was walking with one of my friends on Chapel Street, and we encountered a homeless man who asked if we had […]

Harvest

The ground is nothing but ruptured skin. Marley’s feet slice into open sores in the concrete. Grandma’s voice floats across the field, where Marley hunches […]

juliashi
Friendship: Imperfect but More Than Enough // Meghana Mysore

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a close friend about what friendship truly means at Yale. Does it matter more, we asked, […]

soniaruiz
The Writing on the Wall

We couldn’t stand the enigma of Yalies anymore, so we left civilization behind and retreated to the perpetually empty place: the stacks. As we languished one sunny afternoon between bookshelves at the heart of campus’s gothic temple to knowledge, floor 4M, pondering our social shortcomings mid-problem set, we looked up and had an epiphany: the answer to Yale’s social strife lies hidden in plain sight, the graffiti of the study carrels.

Caged Voices

In the external world, Mualimm-Ak noted, if you bump into someone on the streets, they at least say “sorry” and keep walking, and you know that you are there, that you exist. In solitary, you start to ask yourself, “Am I invisible?”