Last spring, my grandma sent me an innocuous text: “Dang weather! It’s too stormy to drive, but I need to pick up some Target gift cards to pay my DirecTV bill.”
Unbeknownst to her, the DIRECTV representative she had spoken to was a scammer who convinced her she could pay her bill with gift cards.
A journalist sends an email to a UCLA administrator.
The administrator then forwards it to the university’s Strategic Communications team. Days later, the journalist gets back a carefully sculpted and minimally detailed statement.
I like to tell people that I’ve based my entire college experience on Pitch Perfect, just replacing acapella with Ultimate Frisbee.
While I’m (mostly) joking when I say this, what is definitely true is that I applied to the Daily Bruin because of Gilmore Girls.
Being an international student in the United States means receiving a lot of noes.
No, I can’t work off campus without receiving academic credit or filing a petition with the government.
I was seventeen when I attended a talk with Clarissa Ward. Only two minutes into hearing about her experience working as a war zone reporter in Afghanistan, Iraq and other places, I knew I wanted to be a journalist in some capacity.
A little over four years ago, I received my acceptance to UCLA.
I felt a multitude of emotions: happiness, validation, disbelief, gratitude and fear. I viewed UCLA as the final destination after years of hard work.
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