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Features

Getting cozy with comfort food

When you think of comfort food, you may think of macaroni and cheese, soup or some other kind of warm food, but it is so much more than that. To some, eating comfort food is an act of self-care. To others, it is a reminder of their home or family. Regardless of how you think about it, each of us has food that brings us comfort in some shape or form.






The Setonian
Columns

Since You Last Saw Me: The new normal

In her first speech as vice president-elect of the United States, Kamala Harris said, “while I may be the first woman to hold this office, I will not be the last.” It’s a reminder that the work of representation is not done: A first cannot be a last because there are so many more female and Black and South Asian and queer stories to tell.





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Features

In-person students miss animal interaction

College students always miss their pets, but this year in particular, in-person Tufts students seem to be craving animal interaction. Even students whose families live near Tufts cannot go home and visit their pets as frequently as they may have in previous years because going home for the weekend breaks COVID-19 safety protocols. 



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Features

Roy’s Pastelitos

Sophomore Roy Hidalgo was first inspired to start his pastelito business due to a combination of factors: He has a limited meal plan, lives in a suite with a kitchen and needed some extra money.


The Setonian
Columns

Since You Last Saw Me: Reflections on the last 4 years

There are going to be a lot of takes on the election, and from a political standpoint, I’m not sure I can be all that additive. From a personal standpoint, though, I will always recall the 2016 election and its aftermath as the background for the development of the nuanced political opinions and convictions that my peers and I now hold.







The Setonian
Columns

Since You Last Saw Me: A treatise on sad pop bangers

Every sad pop banger that takes itself seriously culminates in collapse. The restrained verse-chorus-verse-chorus decorum must break into a bridge of absolute desolation. The artist can no longer channel the emotions through clean precision; the fabric of the song tears in the same way you rip off a Band-Aid. It becomes a sort of glorious, self-gratifying mess.