I ground my heel into the patch of lichen clinging to a wayside boulder, about a hundred yards from where my mother stood. She was pointing up to where I could not see. My boot paled under the swinging shadow of overhanging ivy—it was the same green as my home, which sat on the border between town and township, middle and middler class. From this angle, farther up the curved slope of the trail, my mother seemed to have buried her whole hand in the roots of a nearby tree that clung, high above her, to the mountainside.

There is something exciting about seeing the mundane turned into spectacle. Glass House Rocks, an annual event sponsored by the undergraduate councils, transforms Lerner Hall into a space for student group performing art showcases, free food, and giveaways.

“When I teach in a place like Hamilton,” begins Nicole Gervasio, clutching her frail, sweatered terrier to her chest, “I’m honestly so alienated from it that I’m not humbled by it.”

Desmond Hanan walks into the buffet area of John Jay Dining Hall—past the vegan, nut-free, and gluten-free stations, the crowds of people in front of the drink machines, the grill, and the salad bar. Then a Columbia College sophomore, Hanan navigates the dinner rush crowd to the desserts. Cakes sit on pedestals, soft serve swirls in its machines beside chocolate sprinkles and marshmallows, chocolate sauce, and warm caramel. This evening, they are also serving blondies—thick chocolate chip cookie squares—stacked into pyramids on a counter. He picks one up.

Clara Monk’s students can see her, but she can’t see them. Looking into the green eye of her webcam, she greets the ten high school students who have logged in and are awaiting instruction. Her only evidence that they are there, and that they are listening, is the stream of messages pinging in the group chat.

For our orientation issue, we’d like to present you with some Blinks: small anecdotes from our staff members. This time around, we’re looking back to our most memorable NSOP experiences in honor of the end of everyone’s favorite week of the year.

Sarah Kinney, a first-year at Columbia College, speaks with the self-assurance of someone with a quote from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights etched into the back of her neck. It reads, "Speech and belief, fear and want," the promise that all people have the right to express themselves freely and be free from want of basic human necessities. This was her first tattoo. Her shoulder-length blond hair, kept short enough to expose the lettering, parts at the center of her forehead, drawing a blunt line imperfectly across.

By the campus entrance on Amsterdam Avenue and 116th Street, a small box posted just outside the iron gates, like a telephone booth or a lantern glowing softly with white light, goes unnoticed.