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When there is something more than puddled rain behind the window, something to hold in your pocket or collect in your boots. When earth reveals itself under tracks of mud, bruised but still here. Or when warmth is no longer a commodity and instead an old friend. When the snow is rare and pale and soft between your fingertips. When it glitters like it’s the last time you’ll ever see it, and you are warm, finally warm, and you remember how it feels to be held by light.
— Magazine writer Elane M. Kim can be reached at elane.kim@thecrimson.com.
Listen here, Josh. Winter ain’t nothin’ but a state of mind. It ends when you say it ends. Go outside in your tiniest tube top and shimmy on those slip-and-show-the-secrets shorts because a little bit of cold air can’t hurt you when you’re the iciest bitch in town.
— Associate Magazine Editor Jem K. Williams can be reached at jem.williams@thecrimson.com. Follow her on Twitter @jemkwilliams.
Winter will not end. Frost will bite your fingers until they lose all feeling, so you’ll hardly notice when your fingers freeze in place, a waking rigor mortis taking shape.
Winter will not end, and in the meantime, your body will host several generations of natural selection until your finger joints are vestigial and all your fingers fuse together. You’ll have two big fleshy scoops at the ends of your limbs. Spitting image of the guy from “The Lego Movie.”
But no, everything is NOT awesome. Winter never ends. It never began. It’s actually always been winter the whole time! You were too busy feeling things with all your little appendages to see that. Hope this helps!
— Magazine writer Olivia G. Pasquerella can be reached at olivia.pasquerella@thecrimson.com.
When slowly, the days get lighter — as in, the bounce in your step returns, and the sky seems blueberrier than before. When even the rain feels like dance. When laughter comes easier, stays longer. When the wind floats like song instead of a tuneless howl. When your spine straightens again, as if rising from the earth.
— Magazine Chair Kaitlyn Tsai can be reached at kaitlyn.tsai@thecrimson.com. Follow her on Twitter @kaitlyntsaiii.
You and me both, Josh. As a fellow semi-confused freshman, all I can do is hope that it ends soon.
Though I love sweater weather and walking around campus in earmuffs that tune out the bustle of Harvard Square, I would much rather not have to worry about accidentally dropping the end of my scarf and having it drag behind me on the cobblestone paths of the Square for 10 minutes. And although I love hot chocolate and wintry drinks, I miss being able to hold iced coffee without feeling like my fingers are going to fall off.
I am, truly, crossing my fingers and hoping that Punxsutawney Phil was not lying this year. I do, however, think we are close to the end as the sun still shines past 5 p.m. nowadays. I think it’s important to look at the bright side of all things — literally.
— Magazine writer Vivian W. Rong can be reached at vivian.rong@thecrimson.com
Oh Josh, winter never really ends! Sure, the weather warms up, the days get longer, and eventually we will even depart campus for summer break (it will come faster than you think!). But this isn’t the end, it’s just on pause. The fall will come and PSL season will fly past, and before you know it, you will be right back where you are today: wrapped in a blanket in the dhall, hoping your dhall crush doesn’t see you looking like this (a mess).
You see, winter will never end, because it is always coming back to us! But that is the beauty of life, oh Joshua! The cycles of the seasons, emotions, sensations, all of it. Rather than try to escape, take in each season for what it can give you. Run outside in the dreary days until you can’t feel your fingers, relish the joy of hot chocolate and cuddles with your loved ones. Disclaimer: seasonal depression is real, and I don’t mean to romanticize that. But if we can find a way to live in the midst of the lethargy of winter, then winter will be transformed.
Sending you love, oh Joshie, from a Minnesotan who has weathered far worse winters than this. We will make it through! But only if we make it with love.
— Magazine writer Thor N. Reimann can be reached at thor.reimann@thecrimson.com
You walk out of your 4 p.m. section in Sever, and before you burst through the second door frame to freedom, you feel your eyes burn from your 8:55 a.m. wakeup for your 9 a.m. class and your 12 p.m. caffeine fix well worn off, but there it is: the sun. Just eye-level from your gaze under the arch atop the wood-paneled steps, the beautiful rays of evening light fight for their last beams. Momentarily: a sigh of relief. The sudden motivation to go on a run listening to “Ribs” by Lorde. A burst of gratitude for everything you’ve ever known. These are the tell-tale signs that, maybe even if winter isn’t quite over, it’s only uphill from here.
— Magazine writer Chelsie Lim can be reached at chelsie.lim@thecrimson.com.
