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Articles by Sofia G. Montinola
Inheriting the Ivy League: The Market for Educated Egg and Sperm Donors
Shannon R. T. Copeland was up late. Her eyes were fixed on the baby photo that had appeared on her computer screen, and she found that she had goosebumps on her arms — chills induced by the anxiety of making a life-changing decision, and the relief of discovering exactly what to do. She ran up the stairs. Her husband was watching TV. “I found her,” she said.
To Choose a Side or Check a Box | Magazine | The Harvard Crimson
I assure you, I do not consider myself a “tragic mulatto,” or feel like every day of life is a punishment for my parents’ sins. The irony is that I would be perfectly unperplexed by my racial identity if it weren’t for the perceptions of others. On the very first day of sophomore orientation, I sat happily in the dining hall, excited to be back at college with my friends. We were discussing our dream of starting a club for Irish students.
On Borrowed Time: Inside the Decision HUDS Workers Say They Must Make Between Safety and Salary
Issam Elrhanifi stood in the quiet Quincy dining hall, staring down at the sheet in his hands. It was the week of March 29. For the past seven days Elrhanifi had been working as usual, circumstances he hoped would change. The COVID-19 pandemic had changed his family situation drastically. Elrhanifi could not continue to work as Harvard had expected him to. That day, Elrhanifi went to his manager at Quincy to inform him that he planned to stay home.
The Other Dog | Magazine | The Harvard Crimson
Ask anyone who knows me — I cry easier than a toddler at the dentist. But for some reason, it wasn’t the hundreds of patients we’d seen in various stages of disease or the abandoned children ecstatic to receive their first toy who finally broke the dam on my tear ducts. It was a stray mutt minding its own business in the corner of a park in Concepción, Iloilo. I don’t know why it took me so long to cry. Ask anyone who knows me — I cry easier than a toddler at the dentist.
Full of Empty Words | Magazine | The Harvard Crimson
Each cut of the scissors through the noodles effectively severed any connections I had hoped to make with the old lady through our shared cuisine, language, and culture. Under the golden light of chandeliers swaying above a room full of chatter, I was drowning. I gasped for phrases, characters, any sound to latch onto and send rolling off my tongue to appease the stern old Chinese lady before me.
To Do No Harm | Magazine | The Harvard Crimson
What separated the before from the after was an infection. Bacterial meningitis to be exact; an explosion of E. coli bacteria transported by arteries to the brain, inflaming his spinal cord and brain to the point of almost cutting off blood flow entirely, leaving neurosurgeon Eben Alexander III fighting for his life. On Nov. 10, 2008, a Monday, Alexander went into a coma for a week, with essentially no brain activity. Alexander claims he spent that time in heaven.
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