They say there are two ways to tell time: by the ticking of a clock (obviously), and by the growling of the stomach. The latter has always been my go-to morning alarm; and the ringing tummy has but only...

I fumble out of the warmth of the white cotton. I tiptoe across the room and into the hallway—scared my footsteps would make the wood under whine. I rush myself into the buzz of the morning subway: a...

Sometimes, even the most common experience holds a special place in your heart: A young girl thrusts open the gym door and leaves the frenzy of jump ropes and screaming children. The purple frustration...

As I approach a mere two weeks until graduation, my initial thrill of leaving the school has begun to flicker away, instead replaced by a heart-tingling, squeamish sort of melancholy. The reality that...

Disclaimer: this issue of Colors of Adolescence does not make direct references to any real persons, nor should it be inferred. She tightly clutches onto the metal rod. Everyone on the train sways gently...

"Does not everything depend on the interpretation of silence around us?" - Lawrence Durrell -  It is only recently that I have begun to understand what silence could entail: It could be the awkward...

Let yourself sink into the Parisian atmosphere: intoxicate yourself with the fragrance of its dense, buttery baguettes; hum along to the romantic tinkles of French words boiling ever so softly in your...

We tumbled down a dirt trail and the bus eventually screeched to a stop at the rust-covered gate. The premise was hushed, dormant under an all-encompassing blanket of calm—until a student would notice...

I awoke to the drift of French bread wafting through the hotel every morning, and was lulled to sleep by the symphony of crickets at night. Sipping on cherry-ade, my sister and I, we'd sit amidst the tall...