This article is interactive. You will need a 6-sided die (or random.org/dice). Try to maximize your GPA, Health and Artistry. Your final score is Gx + Hy + Az, with coefficients x, y, z based on the character you chose at the beginning. Make choices wisely. The author recommends procuring a pencil and printed copy before trying this; try playing it with other players, too.

Note that while this is based on true events, actual experiences vary; for example, no dance majors were consulted while preparing this article.

8 a.m. Choose a character. All characters start with G = 4.0, H = 4.0, A = 4.0.

1. Player (1): Bachelor of Science in Computer Science/Bachelor of Music in Composition. You were a National Young Composers Challenge Finalist in high school. Now you are trying to finish your Computer Science degree with research in algorithmic music theory. You're co-founder of the largest student group at Peabody, a composer-performer collective. Coefficients: x = .7, y = .8, z = 1.5.
2. Player (2): Bachelor of Arts in Biophysics/Bachelor of Music in Oboe. You were valedictorian in high school and played on a state-championship-winning field hockey team. You are also a composer; now you go to lab at the Miller Research Building every day to maintain the health of your cells (ironically sacrificing your own), alongside your 88-credit Biophysics major. Coefficients: x = 2, y = .5, z = 1.
3. Player (3): Bachelor of Arts in Public Health/Bachelor of Music in Violin. You played on NPR in high school. You are far too involved, as President or Co-President of 3 or 4 clubs, including the Peabody General Assembly. You've done research in neuroscience and performing arts health and recently became an undergraduate researcher with the School of Public Health. Coefficients: x = .8, y = 1.7, z = .8.
4. Player (4): JHMI. You are a $1.6M electric vehicle. Coefficients: x = -2, y = 4, z = -2.

9 a.m. It's time to ride the JHMI! Roll a die. If ≥ 5, then you have caught the JHMI. Otherwise, subtract .2 from your health and repeat the process until you catch the JHMI. If you have rolled at least 4 failed rolls, you can choose to (a) keep trying the JHMI or (b) take the Purple/51/Silver instead for a flat .6 penalty, distributed as you choose across GPA, health and artistry. Call this procedure Ride the JHMI.

10 a.m. It's time for Theory 5 with Kip Wile. Don't be late! Subtract .3 from your GPA if you rolled the die more than once at 9 a.m. Otherwise, add .2 to your GPA. In class, you discuss Stravinsky's block designs in Petrushka and tonal ambiguity in Symphony of Psalms. After class, you have to catch the JHMI to head back to Homewood. Ride the JHMI. If you rolled two or fewer times, skip to 11 a.m. Otherwise, Eat Lunch at Peabody instead: add .3 to your health and subtract .2 from your GPA, then skip to 12 p.m.

11 a.m. You have caught the bus... wait. Buses? (The editors of The News-Letter have informed me that I cannot insert the image of two JHMIs side-by-side in this paragraph for formatting reasons. Alas. Imagine it instead. Better yet, imagine a whole lineup at the Med Campus -better board the one leaving now, not the one leaving in an hour!) Roll a die. If even, take the bus on the left. If odd, take the bus on the right.

• 11 a.m. (Left). On the bus, you receive a message from Gradescope. Luckily, your Data Structures Course Assistant graded your work correctly rather than labeling your answer wrong just because it happens to be technically more correct (the professor mentioned it in class) than the answer key. Not that that would happen at Hopkins! You breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you were actually wrong on the super simple question three about Maps. Add .2 to your GPA. Go to 12 p.m.
• 11 a.m. (Right). Just as you begin to relax, you realize that it is Friday, April 18, 2025. You look to your right as you pass 25th Street and notice the building formerly housing Yum's Asian Bistro. You decide to come back tomorrow and explore the area, which is almost certainly not foreshadowing. Anyway, you've foregone lunch today. Subtract .4 from your health. Go to 12 p.m.

12 p.m. Your best friends are performing at the Friday 12:30 recital. Do you (a) attend in person, (b) catch it on the livestream or (c) disappoint them for work again? Choose one.

• 12 p.m. (a). This is strictly not possible if you are at Homewood, but let's pretend it is - Ride the JHMI. (If you ate lunch at Peabody, no need.) Your friends do great! Add .3 to your health and add .3 to your artistry. Subtract .2 from your GPA. Since you are at Peabody, Ride the JHMI again to get to Homewood. Go to 1 p.m.
• 12 p.m. (b). Roll a die. If ≥ 4, then all goes smoothly; go to 12 p.m. (a). Otherwise, the Concert Office failed to activate the livestream again; go to 12 p.m. (c).
• 12 p.m. (c). You miss the recital again. Add .4 to your GPA and subtract .3 from your health. You have the sneaking suspicion that there is now a group chat without you and that even Player (4) was invited... If you are at Peabody, Ride the JHMI to get to Homewood. Go to 1 p.m.

1 p.m. It's your last 25-credit semester of the program, so you chose to take it easy with your Homewood course selections. What was your 1 p.m. again? Was it (a) Theory of Computation, (b) Biophysical Chemistry or (c) Genetics?

• 1 p.m. (a). You are Arthur. Merlin claims he is not colorblind, but you don't believe him. You bake a green pie and a red pie on your way to pick up a public coin from Chase Bank. Add .3 to your GPA and add .1 to your artistry. Subtract .2 from your health. Finally, Ride the JHMI and go to 2 p.m.
• 1 p.m. (b). You are Merlin. You studied really hard, and on Midterm II, you remembered the details of the Chaperone-Hydrophobic Collapse model for protein folding. You successfully complete the derivation for the slope of TΔS at the temperature Ts. Add .4 to your GPA and subtract .2 from your health. Finally, Ride the JHMI and go to 2 p.m.
• 1 p.m. (c). You are Arthur and Merlin. Your dominant alleles cover up your recessive alleles in the expressed phenotype on your way to jhu.instructure.com, remedying your genetic errors. Add .3 to your health. Finally, Ride the JHMI and go to 2 p.m.

2 p.m. You go to History of Music. Feeling emboldened, you raise your hand. Just as the professor calls on you, you realize you've forgotten which one you're taking. Is it (a) HOM1, (b) HOM2 or (c) HOM3? Roll a die. If even, go to 2 p.m. (c). If odd, go to 2 p.m. (b).

• 2 p.m. (a). Renaissance Paleography was last week; transcriptions are due. How did you do? Roll a die. If even, add 1.0 to your GPA. If odd, subtract .2 from your GPA and subtract 1.0 from your health. Go to 3 p.m.
• 2 p.m. (b). Choose to answer the following question right or wrong. If right, add .2 to your GPA, subtract .2 from your health, and go to 3 p.m. If wrong, subtract .3 from your GPA and go to 2 p.m. (a). Who composed Vivaldi's Four Seasons?
• 2 p.m. (c). As you finish speaking, you realize you've made a grave mistake. While you've sidestepped confusing John Adams, postminimalist, for John Adams, second POTUS, you've unwittingly confused John Adams, postminimalist, for John Luther Adams, postminimalist. Unfortunate. Subtract .4 from your GPA and add .3 to your artistry. Go to 3 p.m.

3 p.m. You need to go to Ensemble; missing the wrong rehearsal would be worse for your GPA than missing a homework assignment for your 1 p.m. Ride the JHMI. If you rolled more than once, subtract .2 from your GPA. Otherwise, add .5 to your artistry.

4 p.m. You're still in rehearsal. Roll a die. If even, add .6 distributed as you choose between health and artistry. If odd, subtract .6 distributed as you choose from your GPA and artistry.

5 p.m. You're still in rehearsal. Repeat the procedure from 4 p.m.

6 p.m. It's registration day! Peabody Double Degree students get priority registration, which allows time to sort out the inevitable lack of cross-campus communication. You're about to submit your SEAM case. Roll a die. If ≥ 2, you get Victoria Ritter and add .4 to your health. Otherwise, they've denied your request to enroll in Peabody courses because your primary registration is at Homewood. Subtract .3 from either your health or your GPA and repeat the process until you roll ≥ 2.

7 p.m. You're famished. More importantly, your health may be in shambles.

• If your health is ≤ 2.0, you are now sick. You may choose to Rest (you are out of the game, your current score becomes final) or Keep Working (at every roll of the die, if you rolled N, you're only counted as having rolled N-1; go to 8 p.m.).
• If your health is > 2.0, roll a die. If even, you Eat Dinner at the Peabody cafeteria, adding .3 to your health; go to 8 p.m. If odd, you Ride the JHMI and Eat Dinner at home, adding .5 to your health; go to 10 p.m.

8 p.m. You were working in the Arthur Friedheim Library when you overhear a friend, acquaintance or stranger disparaging the work that goes into the other degree or otherwise misunderstanding the subject and its practitioners. Do you (a) try to explain or (b) realize it is futile and continue to be misunderstood?

• 8 p.m. (a). Roll a die. If ≥ 5, they are receptive. Add .8 to your health. If ≤ 4, subtract .4 from your health and .3 from your artistry.
• 8 p.m. (b). Good. Add .3 to your health. Subtract .3 from your artistry.

Finally, Ride the JHMI back to Homewood.

9 p.m. Choose one of the following.

• Study. Roll a die. If you rolled a 1, do nothing. Otherwise, add .X to your GPA, where X is the die's result.
  • There are diminishing returns after 12 a.m. But if you're reading this, you've made it to graduation. So you already knew that.
• Visit Uni Mini for Snacks. Roll a die. If you rolled a 1, do nothing. Otherwise, add .X to your health, where X is the die's result.
  • You remember that at 3 a.m. on Tuesday, June 3, 2024, a van rammed through the doors of University Market in Charles Village. Three masked suspects went in to try to lift the ATM, failing miserably. After all this, the suspects left with nothing at all. You ponder the perfidy of desire and the resilience of commerce while enjoying your overpriced snack.
• Practice/Compose. Roll a die. If you rolled a 1, do nothing. Otherwise, add .X to your artistry, where X is the die's result.
  • You can't really practice after 10 p.m. unless you're at Peabody due to quiet hours. Even then, you'll get kicked out around 2 a.m. But for the purposes of this article, suppose you have all the time in the world to practice.
• Sleep. Roll a die. Sleep for the next X hours, where X is the die's result or the number of hours remaining, whichever is smaller. You cannot do anything else for the next X hours. Subtract .35X from your GPA. Add .35X to your health and add .35X to your artistry.

10 p.m. Choose another choice from 9 p.m., unless you are sleeping right now.

11 p.m. Repeat the procedure from 10 p.m.

12 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 10 p.m.

1 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 10 p.m. If you are not sleeping and did not choose to sleep, subtract .35X from your health, where X is the current hour.

2 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 1 a.m.

3 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 1 a.m.

4 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 1 a.m.

5 a.m. Repeat the procedure from 1 a.m.

THE END. Tally up your scores and compare. Recall that your score is Gx + Hy + Az, with coefficients x, y, z given by your choice of character.

Score sheet is linked here.

Alex Ma is graduating with degrees in Composition and Computer Science from Cincinnati, Ohio. You can reach him atalexmacomposer.comor linkedin.com/in/alexlejunma/.

Winning the East Coast Collegiate Volleyball Association Championships for the first time in the history of the JHU Men's Club Volleyball program was incredible. I can never forget the massive upset and the crowd lining the court, cheering as our team beat some of the best teams in the country to win it all.

But you know what might be better? The Raising Cane's after. We didn't even wait to shower. We drove straight there in full uniform, smelling like a musty, old volleyball gym, ordering enough chicken tenders to feed a whole army. This was not just a celebration, but a tradition. We did it after every tournament, win or lose. It was a break from thinking about lineups and staying in the tournament: just eating greasy (but tasty) chicken fingers and fries and making jokes.

My best friends came from this team. Three practices a week, tournaments almost every weekend. A lot of them were out of state, which meant road trips, plane rides and a lot of time spent together.

Even when my identical twin brother Justin and I turned down D1 offers, there are no regrets. Club volleyball at Hopkins was serious, giving me the opportunity to compete against the best teams in the country at the highest level while still having the flexibility to pursue the academic, research and clinical opportunities that brought me to Hopkins in the first place.

II. Teaching in PILOT

When I first joined PILOT as a student, I expected it to feel like a lot of other academic, tutor-like settings: quiet, a little tense and mostly focused on getting answers right.

It wasn't.

I still remember being pulled into a name game at the start of a session - everyone scribbling their name on a piece of paper, tossing it into a Giant plastic bag for picking and then suddenly being responsible for remembering someone else's new identity. It was chaotic and completely unrelated to calculus. But it worked. Within minutes, people who hadn't said a word were laughing, calling things out and actually paying attention to each other. It made the rest of the session feel different, less like a place where you had to prove you understood everything and more like a space where everyone was learning and figuring things out as they went.

When I became a PILOT leader, I found myself coming back to that similar idea. I still start sessions with the name game, and it plays out almost the same every time: hesitation at first, then noise, then energy. And once that barrier is gone, everything else feels more approachable.

That's what I've come to enjoy most about teaching. It's not just explaining content but rather shaping the environment people learn in. When a session feels more open, people are so much more willing to try, to ask questions and to stay engaged even when things are confusing and difficult.

That interest carried into my role as a Teaching Assistant for Organic Chemistry I & II. In a different setting, with arguably higher stakes, the goal is still the same: help students understand material that can feel overwhelming and give them the space to work through it without shutting them down, often with some jokes and fun involved. Whether it's answering questions outside of class or guiding problem-solving in discussion sections, I have found that the most effective moments are usually when a student is thinking out loud, unsure and willing to keep going anyway.

I am grateful for PILOT because it didn't just help me understand calculus or organic chemistry - it showed me how much of a significant difference the right environment can make. Cultivating a fun, energetic and informative environment is something I have learned to bring into every teaching opportunity.

III. Leading with Blue Key

Blue Key Society is the Hopkins student admissions organization, where I became a tour guide for prospective and admitted students. No two tours are the same. If you're anything like me, at some point you might have a guest suffer a medical emergency mid-tour, a parent interrogating you deeply about your Friday night plans or a fifth-grade elementary student asking what he should do now to get admitted into Hopkins in the future.

Beyond the chaos, it's one of the most rewarding opportunities I've had at Hopkins. There's a real enjoyment in talking to prospective students, answering their questions and giving them a genuine sense of what life here actually looks like. I love Hopkins, and being able to share my experiences - the academics, the incredible research, the clinical opportunities, the tight-knit community, including with the professors - (and hopefully help someone make one of the biggest decisions of their life) makes every tour worth it. And without even realizing it, you get really comfortable talking to people, handling curveball questions and scenarios, and thinking on your feet.

Brandon LeBlanc is a senior graduating with a degree in Molecular and Cellular Biology and Public Health Studies from San Diego, Calif.

Welcome to Hopkins! I remember how excited you were to get here and how many big dreams you have. You wrote me a letter during orientation week - sad to report that I never received it (aka you forgot to give it to your First Year Mentor). But that's okay! I remember a lot of the things you asked.

Before I get into that, I want to thank you. You did so much work for me to be where I am now. Not just academic work, but personal work. You struggled so much with friends, and, instead of giving up, you learned to communicate and love people regardless of how things end. You gave a thousand chances, you got hurt a lot, but I wouldn't be who I am if you hadn't. You were lost as a first-generation student. But you asked questions and you met upperclassmen whom you asked for help. You chose to do the things you loved and never prioritized your resume over the things you wanted to do. You made me the academic, researcher and student that I am.

And! You joined A Place to Talk (APTT). I do wish you had joined a semester earlier, but I can't possibly thank you enough for applying. That club changes your life. It makes you a better person overall. You meet all your closest friends through APTT, and I know that they're going to stick around far longer than college, but maybe another future version of us can update us on that. Oh! You do end up becoming co-director and Daivik will be your number one fan when it happens. You will keep up with all the friends who graduate before you, but you will still cry when they leave.

Now, to answer all the questions I know you were bursting with when you got here. You do everything you wanted to. I'm graduating in a few short weeks, and I will have done an entire thesis focused on Pakistan, mental health and medicine. I will be going to medical school, and I love the school I chose (by the way, you're moving to Philly! You'll finally get to wear your Eagles jersey in a sea of green). You are closer to the woman you want to be, though I definitely still have a lot to work on. I've gone to conferences, performed spoken word poems in front of crowds, gone to Umrah, finished my book, trained so many APTTers, helped underclassmen with what I wished I had help with and so much more.

You deserve to be here. You will always deserve to be here. And you will make yourself a seat at the table because that's just who you are. I would give you advice, but you don't need it. Although we could have done things differently, I don't think we needed to. Things are great as they are - even if they don't always feel like it.

I'm so proud of you, little me. You're gonna make all your dreams come true. And I hope I will too!

Love,

Dua from the future.

Dua Hussain is a senior graduating with a degree in Anthropology and Medicine, Science and the Humanities from New Castle, Del.

"Settled in? Welp, see ya in October!" was what I thought my dad said, walking off to the car. The next second, I was standing alone on a humid, cool summer's night in front of AMR I. Alone.

Based on the days I've sobbed at week-long summer camp, I expected the transition would be harsh for a homebound boy like me. Heck, not even half of what I had to take on had really crashed down on me. Careers. Projects. Laundry. Research. Keeping a clean room and studying and finding new friends and studying and possibly your first date. All crammed into four years.

From the stories, I assumed that to thrive in college, you had to be a non-stop happy machine. You needed to be at the big games. You had to attend the formals. You had to head out to bars, win every scholarship, keep up a 4.0 and become the single most connected person on campus. You had to live and not just exist, which is easier said than done.

But to quote one Veronica Sawyer, "If you were happy all the time, you'd be a game show host," and we all know primetime is out of style.

The weird thing is, I didn't crumble or fret at the fact that my protectors for 18 years suddenly jumped ship: I felt... calm. I looked up at the crimson-red sky as the horizon expanded. The air got cooler, my breathing slowed and the clench in my stomach suddenly ceased. The world got a bit wider, but I didn't quite see the big picture that day.

Flash forward. Dec. 21, 2025. 10 p.m.

I returned home from a four-hour drive from Binghamton. We hoped to see stars upstate, but the clouds covered most of the show. That's when my eyes looked up above my suburbia, where we (ironically) saw a partial view of the twinkling lights we sought over the weekend. It had been a while since I saw the sky, but the gaping abyss looked as expansive as ever, even larger.

I continued to stare into the endless sea of stars, a sea of dust, peppered on a dark mast. You expect each day of college to be a supernova, a barreling rocket of explosive change that burns bright for a millennium. In reality, each day was more like a speck of dust.

The speck of hot pot with your roommate after a long day of work.

The speck of helping a friend master organic pathways and mechanisms.

The speck of long, dreary nights in the (former) Milton S. Eisenhower Library and the victory lap of walking out of your last final.

The speck of nabbing your first perch at the lukewarm shores of Loch Raven.

The speck of weighing your animals and watching them remain healthy across the week.

The speck of a last-minute Christmas Village adventure, warm wine streaming down your throat.

The specks of attending a live performance, walking down the National Mall, watching Marty Supreme at midnight, catching an orange furry friend strolling down the street, wandering the Rotunda while the shuttle arrives, seeing the trees bloom in springtime... even if those specks aren't whisked by the algorithm or broadcast around the world.

That speck snowballs into the other 1,456, which implodes across a canvas. It's dusty, cloudy and no jigsaw piece, but it settled there anyway. And now, you work with what you have, stitching together the story you never thought you held in your hands.

As the sky widened that night, I finally saw the painting that I had managed to muster. One of mundane mornings, seasonal slumps, quiet acquaintances and small moments of triumph. Of academic achievement and growth by your own terms. Of the four years that rushed by so fast, you hope to hold onto them for the next four.

I looked at a masterpiece of my own making, not the perfect pictures of the past. I expected the sun would set too fast, to leave me without a glimmer of what I was meant to become.

But here I was with my self-portrait: a little speck of dust floating in the forever unknown.

Maxwell Rho is a senior graduating with a degree in Behavioral Biology and a minor in Writing Seminars from Manhasset, N.Y.

Freshman year, I was housed with the perfect roommate. Isabel and I were both five-foot-something in a closet-sized AMR I dorm, which was, though in no world ideal, a logistical windfall. But more importantly, we bewildered each other throughout the year with how similar we were. We were from opposite sides of the world, her desert to my ocean, but we'd never before met anyone we shared more in common with, in temperament, friendship and family. Though also fundamentally opposite in our studies, her Computer Science to my Writing Seminars, we'd both dedicated ourselves to the stubborn joy of puzzling out difficult questions in the hopes of finding in our own language a solution. She epitomized what I have come to admire in so many here: a restless curiosity to figure the world out, an absence of ego, an earnestness to ask any question and the serious grit to hunker down and get work done. But perhaps what I admire most about Isabel is her dignity and honesty, how she holds herself in every conversation and commitment, in every room in such a way that makes it immediately known that she is worth the world, which she is.

I told Lilah, my next Computer Science friend, that she reminded me of sunshine, and she laughed in my face. But Lilah is the only person I know who would land in any weird situation, however terrible, and wonder aloud if a stranger was just having an off-day. We acquire phrases and words from the people we spend time with and something so canonically Lilah is "[Blank] would do that." We were talking about this one day when we realized I'd adopted this in the opposite direction, drenching it in sarcasm where Lilah had meant it genuinely. Her version was one of joy at the wonderfully strange creatures we are, an excitement at having someone's actions line up so perfectly with what you'd predict based on their character. She's the only one who would go out of her way to try a nasty-sounding flavor like chicken-kimchi-cabbage milkshakes just because she can't imagine it and wants to figure out if she likes it. Few people find such delight in empathy toward people and things alike. So, sorry to say it again, and in writing, but Lilah, despite your excellent taste for grungy raw unproduced indie music, you are still full of sunshine.

Gabby, my Computer Engineering and not Computer Science friend (this, I'm told, is an important distinction), is the first person I text when I want to grab coffee or food. We've had more than our bargained share of morning Kitsch runs, afternoons spent languidly not studying at Good Neighbor and impromptu Tamber's dinners. My time with her is always the highlight of my day. There is something so grounding and safe about being around someone who you can trust to be honest and accepting no matter what. She's the first person I run off to a movie with after any inkling of a bad day. I scared her in the kitchen in the early morning a couple weeks ago, stumbling in for a water with an antihistamine in my mouth and garbling something incongruent, trying not to startle her and startling her all the more - and as I went back to bed, I could not stop laughing. With her, the world feels awfully simple; it's one where we deserve fun and patience and a listening ear, where there are such things as the kindness of people and hard work paying off, and after spending any amount of time with Gabby, I find myself leaving with much more faith that there is good in the world.

And now Kate, who is sleeping across the aisle from me as we drive beneath cloudy Delaware skies. I didn't have a single writing friend before studying abroad in Rome, and I came back with a Writing Seminars family. There is no one whose life has mirrored my own quite as much as hers, from family structures to books to riding the hyphen of science and humanities. To share time with anyone at all is a gift. But to be present with someone, to be able to bring your whole self and know there will always be space and grace for you, is the wildest stroke of luck.

We just came through another long tunnel. Silvery, overcast daylight fills the bus once more. We're almost back to Baltimore now, and how lucky am I to say, at least once more, that I'm almost back home.

Kaitlin Tan is a senior from Manila, Philippines, graduating with a degree in Writing Seminars and Cognitive Science. She is a former Magazine and Voices Editor for The News-Letter.

I preface this essay by saying that there isn't such a thing as a bad movie. A movie could have lackluster cinematography, poor characterization, ill-fitting music, an incoherent plot or the most desaturated color palette and still not be a bad movie. It only becomes a bad one when the denouement of the movie does not offset sacrificing three hours of time that could be spent working, which is such a Hopkins way to characterize a movie. These bad movies have become the hallmark of my time at Hopkins, and in a strange way, the workload at Hopkins and the resources that it provides have facilitated my perusal of these movies.

If I want to see a movie, the first thing I do is look up the Letterboxd ratings. I laugh at the quippy one-liners, skim the wannabe film critic commentary and note the general sentiment of the reviews. Average rating 3.5? Nope, I might actually like the movie. Average rating 2.7, and if I squint, I can see its terrible potential? Fitting for a night of procrastinating on the eight-page paper due in two days. The more pressing and important the deadline, the higher the potential for the movie to disappoint me. Always ready to join me on my bad movie watching is my friend Kayla, who watches movies on a more regular basis than I do.

The Collegetown Shuttle is the holy grail for bad movie watching - it connects Hopkins to the Towson Town Center, whose food court is perfect for snagging a Chick-Fil-A sandwich to smuggle into the movie theater. On the way to the cinema, Kayla and I talk about our expectations for the movie. We're usually hoping for an empty theater so that we can verbalize our ongoing disbelief and get some cheap laughs in the process. The thirty minutes of trailers help in setting the mood for our procrastination to begin as we look out for even worse movies to watch (we're looking at you, The Sheep Detectives).

Then, it's time for the movie. For the most part, it is what we expect. Sometimes it is a romp and a half (like when we saw Him and wondered why anyone would ever hate on such a campy film) or a middling, uneventful movie (Reminders of Him and that awful synth cover of Yellow comes to mind). It could be the best movie ever made (Jennifer Lopez was a star in Kiss of the Spider Woman, and there is a reason why it is in my Letterboxd Top 4) or, in the words of my friend Kayla, "literal shit from a butt" (Emerald Fennel deserves to pay for the unforgivable sin of turning Wuthering Heights into a salaciously bland romance between Cathy and Heathcliff).

My favorite part of bad movie watching is the trip back home. We have been enlightened, and as bad movie connoisseurs, we have to give our opinions on a movie that we had no directorial input over. On that bus ride home, we are cinematographers, producers, screenwriters and movie buffs. We are eagerly updating our Letterboxd profiles with one-liner reviews of the movie ("You're laughing. Two dumb bitches are telling each other exactly and you're laughing") and ripping these movies to shreds by wondering why they would make this.

But deep down, we love the thrill of seeing a bad movie. At Hopkins, we are primed to seek out greatness in everything, which is not wrong, but it leaves no room for imperfections or failure. These bad movies remind us that there are people out there who are still pursuing their passions and creating art in a world that is imperfect and difficult to navigate. And it affords us great comfort when Kayla and I walk back home and open up our computers, ready to start the work we so easily put behind us to watch Emerald Fennell dress up Jacob Elordi in a costume to give him a more-than-uncanny resemblance to Jesus.

It's been an amazing two years here at Hopkins, and it's sad to be graduating when I just got here, but I'm glad to have been able to see some duds because of my time here.

Lesley Kwarteng is a senior graduating with a degree in Chemistry from Elgin, Ill. When he isn't watching bad movies, he plays Quiz Bowl and is involved in musical theater.

Familiarity with a city certainly isn't just knowing the weather. By now, I am well-versed in the landscape of Baltimore. If travelers asked me for the must-visit restaurants or neighborhoods, I could give them a 10/10 pitch. But that wasn't the case two years ago: I used to take a Lyft to get to my friend's apartment at Hopkins House, and I didn't know how to walk to the nearest Giant until my third year, after I broke free from the shackles of meal plans. I don't remember when the feeling of distance changed. Now I feel pretty comfortable walking a mile and a half to Hampden and sneaking a chance to pet the dogs I meet along the way - one gift I am proud to have is that dogs always seem to welcome me.

During my first two years, I could not stop complaining about how dull life in Baltimore was. Later I realized that I was the one making it that way. I needed to commit myself to some exploration. Initially, I always felt the urge to get something done. So whenever I went out with my friends or on dates, I'd Google to make sure the restaurants we dined at had a high four-out-of-five rating. I would do my make-up and dress in a photo-worthy way, just so I'd have something to post on Instagram. Obviously I am a foodie, so if you, my readers, want my true recommendations, my current favorites are Clavel and Tagliata with La Barrita and Ethel's Creole Kitchen as honorable mentions. I am open to discussion and am always looking for new adventures.

Now, when I look back at myself at the time, I feel embarrassed about how vain I was, but I am glad that those outings became the material for my pieces during my time as the Leisure Editor for The News-Letter and the motivation to set up the column "Made in Baltimore." The project gave me the chance to interview local business owners and to see how much care and passion they put into their establishments and how their undertakings constitute the diverse community surrounding us today.

During the remaining time of my senior year, senioritis has slowly grown on me. I've started to take a more laid-back, low-key approach to the city. I've made peace with the weeks I used to define as boring. I go to those absurdly abstract math classes, feel humbled by my genius classmates and then come back to get my grocery runs done. If I have extra time, especially after finishing midterms or projects, I might go to the plaza at the Rotunda with my friends to catch a movie at Warehouse Cinemas during late nights (usually after 7 p.m or 9 p.m.). Send Help, Hoppers, Project Hail Mary, The Drama… the list keeps growing. I've truly become comfortable with nights in Baltimore, where I used to feel a little insecure about staying outside after dark, but now it's associated with a quiet warmth, as they were spent with friends I made here.

It is strange that people usually feel nostalgia only after they have already left a place and when they reminisce about the time they spent there. It's true for me as well. There hasn't been a palpable urge to cry because my time here is running low or a gripping intention to scroll through thousands of photos of Baltimore stored in my iCloud. I have been telling everyone that I am so excited to be graduating from Hopkins and saying goodbye to this city. But maybe one day I will start missing my time here. The people here. The collegehood and adulthood that all happened here. I do not know how long it will take, but I am waiting for that nostalgia to catch up with me.​​​​​​​

Yuyu Huang is a senior graduating with a degree in Mathematics and Economics from Fuzhou, China. She is a former Leisure and Magazine Editor for The News-Letter.

By the time my first conference arrived over Halloweekend, I still had no idea what I was getting into, but I was enthusiastic to figure it out. I was lucky enough to be in a committee paired with another first-year HopMUN member, Arusa, who would soon become one of the defining people of my college experience at Hopkins. The conference was a blast. From then on, I grew closer to the team's upperclassmen, bonded with my fellow first-year "NIC" class and traveled to so many places I'd never expected: D.C., Montreal, Chicago, Boston, Williamsburg and Philadelphia throughout my four years. I simultaneously developed skills with each training and conference that helped me grow in other areas of my life, including public speaking, presenting, improvisation and networking. As a sophomore, I became a Training Director for the team, where I got to connect with our club members on a closer level and eventually joined Arusa as an Exec member our junior year!

Through the years, I've been so lucky to meet and welcome so many special people to HopMUN who have made our team feel like a home. Each conference leaves me with countless fond memories and funny stories that remind me how much I love our community and the support we have for one another. Whether I'm newly connecting with a member on the team I haven't had the chance to talk with before or going on my fourth conference trip with a fellow HopMUN veteran, I'm always learning new things about everyone. Spending four days traveling and bunking together at a conference hotel is undeniably a bonding experience!

One of my favorite memories was attending Boston University's Boston Area Model United Nations Conference in the fall of my sophomore year, where our delegation was just a small group of four. We spent the weekend both working hard on the committee and going on side quests to explore the cafes, markets and Boston's food culture. When any worries came up, we called our team's President and Treasurer for advice, staying on the phone together to chat about how the conference was going. Being in Model UN for four years has felt like an accumulation of all these small yet significant, wholesome moments that fill my life with novelty, adventure and chosen family.

Model UN became so much more to me than learning how to delegate and write resolutions at a conference. It became a family I looked forward to seeing and training with every week. It became a group of people with so many different backgrounds, stories and futures who I loved traveling with. It became the first community I tell people about when describing my Hopkins experience. And for all the people on our HopMUN team who gave me such a loving community at this university, I'd like to make a motion of thanks. You made Hopkins a home for me.

Kayla Rabey is a senior graduating with a degree in English and Environmental Science from Sacramento, Calif.

Organic Chemistry I, taught by Professor Christopher Falzone, and Organic Chemistry II, taught by Professor Olivier Nsengiyumva, stand out as two of the most impactful courses I have taken. Like many students, I went into these classes expecting them to be challenging and, at times, overwhelming. Instead, I found myself genuinely enjoying the content. Both professors have a way of presenting complex mechanisms in a visual and intuitive manner that makes the material click. Rather than memorizing reactions, I felt like I was truly understanding how and why they worked. What made these experiences even more meaningful was the ability to connect with both professors outside of class. Beyond the classroom, I have had the chance to connect with them around campus, and I even play pickleball with Professor Nsengiyumva, which is something I will truly miss.

Another professor who has had a major impact on my time at Hopkins is Professor Peter Beilenson. I first took his course in Policy, Politics and Public Health and later had the privilege of working with him as a teaching assistant (TA). His classes are incredibly engaging and discussion-driven, and he has a unique ability to connect course concepts to real-world issues in a way that feels both relevant and thought-provoking. He brings an incredible depth of knowledge about both politics and public health, but what stands out most is how approachable and supportive he is. Being able to work alongside him as a TA gave me a new perspective on teaching and mentorship, and it is an experience I will carry with me moving forward.

One of the most surprising highlights of my coursework was Introduction to Fiction and Poetry I with Professor Jane Lewty. As someone who has primarily focused on STEM, I was unsure what to expect going into the class. However, it quickly became one of my favorites, and I credit that largely to Professor Lewty. She created an environment where everyone felt comfortable sharing ideas, and class discussions were consistently engaging and thoughtful. I found myself looking forward to reading and writing each week, which was not something I anticipated at the start. The class pushed me to think in new ways and appreciate perspectives that I had not previously considered, and it became a refreshing contrast to my more technical coursework.

I also want to recognize Professor Reid Mumford for his role in Physics Lab I and II. Lab courses can sometimes feel disjointed, but his were incredibly well organized and purposeful. Each experiment felt intentional, and there was a clear emphasis on understanding the underlying concepts rather than simply completing procedures. I have also really enjoyed the longer conversations we have had in his office, around campus or whenever he would stop by the lab room, which made the experience feel even more personal and engaging.

Outside of the classroom, my experience at Hopkins has been shaped just as much by the communities and traditions that bring students together. Being a member of the club volleyball team has been one of the most defining parts of my college experience. Over the past four years, I have had the opportunity to serve in various leadership positions, including president, vice president and captain, and each role has allowed me to grow as both a leader and a teammate. Some of my favorite memories come from traveling across the country to compete at Nationals and winning the East Coast Championship my sophomore year. At the same time, it is often the smaller moments that stand out the most, like practices, team mixers and simply spending time together.

Beyond organized activities, some of my favorite experiences have come from everyday moments on campus. Playing spikeball or grass volleyball with friends on sunny afternoons, taking a break from studying to spend time outside and enjoying the energy of campus life have all been important parts of maintaining balance. With the demands of academics and research, those moments of connection and relaxation have been incredibly meaningful. I have also really enjoyed simple traditions with friends, like getting together and going to Ekiben each Halloween, which became something we looked forward to every year.

There are also a few campus traditions that I have especially enjoyed each year. The Lighting of the Quads during the winter holiday season is one of my favorites. It is a great way to celebrate the end of the fall semester, with music, activities and a sense of excitement across campus. Similarly, Spring Fair is always something I look forward to. It brings everyone together through food, games and events, and it is a perfect opportunity to spend time with friends and take a break before the end of the academic year.

Overall, my time at Hopkins has been defined by a combination of challenging academics, supportive mentors and meaningful experiences outside the classroom. The professors I have learned from and the communities I have been a part of have shaped not only my education, but also the way I approach learning, leadership and connection. These are the experiences I will carry with me long after I leave campus.

Justin LeBlanc is a senior graduating with a degree in Molecular and Cellular Biology and Public Health Studies from Carlsbad, Calif.

I still remember my first introduction to the Hopkins community. Scrolling through the Hopkins Groups catalog during orientation week, an invitation to watch a horror movie caught my eye. I soon learned that my friends from pre-orientation, also big horror fans, had already signed up. We planned to meet up and go together.

The movie was scheduled to start at midnight.

"Is this your first time at The Rocky Horror Picture Show?" they asked at the ticket booth.

"Yes," I said.

"Perfect, it's free your first time." She uncapped a cherry red lipstick and drew a large "V" on my forearm.

Strange, I thought. Why did she write on my arm? And why is this a stage, not a movie theater?

Before I could answer my own questions, a Spotify playlist titled "F**k the Virgins" started blaring through the loudspeakers. The lights brightened and someone walked onto the stage.

"Are there any virgins - I mean, first-timers - in the audience? If so, please come up to the stage."

My friends and I looked down at the "V" on our arms. Oh no. As we stepped forward, three letters floated through my mind: W. T. F.

The cast strapped a woman's bra onto each of us.

"Now, raise your dominant hand. Good. Now put it behind your back. You will use your non-dominant hand to remove the bra." I stood there, dumbfounded. Slowly, I reached behind my back with my left hand and felt around for the clasp, fiddling stubbornly with the straps. A loud cheer erupted from the audience as the student to my right triumphantly held his in the air, like he had just won a national championship.

After the "team bonding activity," the main show began. The film rolled and the shadow cast took its place on stage. My only remaining fear: that the next surprise would be a 1980s porno projected onto the screen. I had already mentally drafted my gravestone - "Here lies Edmund, scarred for life after mistaking Rocky Horror Picture Show for a screening of Scream 5" - when the film finally started. What followed was approximately two hours of the most gloriously unhinged cinema I have ever witnessed, punctuated by commentary from the shadow cast that I cannot fully reproduce here for reasons of both memory and decency. The film was strange. The commentary was stranger. I remember laughing until my face hurt and understanding almost nothing. The only thing funnier was imagining my parents' reactions if they had been sitting next to me.

"What happens in Rocky Horror stays in Rocky Horror," I said to my friends as we filed out.

I meant it as a joke. But that night became one of those stories we kept coming back to, retelling it every time we ran into each other, laughing harder each time. In the chaos of freshman year, it became an anchor. A shared experience so bizarre it could only belong to us. I've lost touch with many of them since, as we each found our own corners of Hopkins over the years. But four years ago, that stage was a gathering of strangers who knew nothing of who they would become or where they would land. We have found our people, our rhythms, our places. Nobody knew each other. Nobody knew what was happening. Nobody knew what would happen next. And yet, for one gloriously unhinged midnight in Baltimore, none of that mattered. We were all equally lost, equally bewildered, yet somehow completely at home.

Edmund Sumpena is a senior graduating with a degree in Computer Science and Neuroscience from San Diego, Calif.

Love is impatient. Love is double texts, phone calls answered mid-nap or Brody Reading Room cram sessions. Love is knocking at Claire's door to make sure she's awake for our café run. Love is "I can't wait to see you" exchanged between me and my beloved suffering readers, our quartet of high school friends-turned-sisters. It is "come over as soon as you can, I have a drink I really want you to try," and "let's get there early; I want to leave as soon as possible, so hurry up!" It is the desire to be surrounded by people who make hours spent together pass by in a blur; it is counting down the seconds until you get to see them again.

Love is inconvenient. It's midnight trips to the Medstar emergency room, taking selfies with Claire while she's getting an IV drip and mass-ordering electrolyte powder on Instacart for her to use the next day. It's Claire making me hot tea with honey when I'm sick and asking if it's sweet enough. It's picking up an extra meal from Levering during sophomore year because my old suitemate hadn't eaten anything that day. It is staying in Clark Hall until 3 a.m., running tests on incredibly stinky goat liver with my old design team; it's taking breaks in between testing rounds to GrubHub momos from Harbor Tandoor or paneer pizza from Kohinoor. It's staying back at print night until Buse and Lana finish reading the very last news piece and checking layouts on broken-down iMacs until my vision blurs.

Love is an imposition. It is always showing up with a snack, whether it's brownies at Derek's pop-up café or an extra serving of a snack my friends love to power through Computational Cardiology study sessions. It's Prisha and I baking a cardamom olive oil cake with candied oranges to celebrate Alp finishing his MCAT. It's Hassan and I synchronizing our schedules to plan an Olive Garden catering party; it's eating mediocre pasta with buttery breadsticks because we all want to capture some of the nostalgia of the first memories we had with it. It's Neha taking two hours' worth of trains up to Baltimore just to celebrate my birthday with me.

With all these characteristics, I arrive at my final definition for love. It's like weeds: once its roots have been planted, it will never leave you. My closest friends now are the ones I met in my first months here; they entangled their roots with my own from our very first weeks together. They have buried themselves into every facet of my life, from trauma bonds formed in sophomore year classes to late-night conversations on beanbag chairs, hugging our stuffed animals to our chests. They have infected me with their passion for food, for coffee, for art, for experiencing everything possible in our limited time together.

This infestation is evident in everything I own: every gift, every birthday card, even half of the seasonings in my kitchen cabinet, comes from my friends. My most defining personality traits have flourished because of them - they are the co-conspirators on my 10-week Beli streak and the enablers of my debilitating addiction to eclectic caffeinated beverages. They are the recipients of every new recipe because, apparently, my love language is overfeeding the people I care most about. They have followed me from 19 to 20 to 21 and have left no doubt in my mind that they will be by my side as I walk across the graduation stage and in the walls of my new apartment when I start my first "big-girl" job in June. I carry them with me wherever I go.

So to my friends who became family - thank you for making my life so beautifully inconvenient. I am undeniably happy to be stuck with you, forever. You're not rid of me yet.

Shreya Tiwari is graduating with a degree in Biomedical Engineering and is from Austin, Texas. She is a former Managing Editor for The News-Letter.

For many of us, impostor syndrome didn't begin in college, but it became impossible to ignore once we arrived on campus. For example, when I opened my acceptance letter to Hopkins, it was proof that the voices limiting me were never correct. If we struggled with self-doubt, that acceptance letter was our validation that we not only deserved it, but earned it. At least, that's what I believed at the time. However, as my first year at Hopkins came to an end, the validation I had gained through receiving that letter started to feel less like proof and more like a mistake waiting to be exposed.

Being surrounded by some of the world's smartest students, I assumed I was the least of them. People say impostor syndrome freshman year is normal, but what they don't talk about is what it feels like to become the disease and let it start shaping every aspect of yourself. From inside and outside of the classroom, it followed me into conversations, introductions and the way I carried myself, as if there was something I had to prove before I could exist in the space. Impostor syndrome was no longer a temporary condition of freshman year, but a chronic mentality that surpassed every feeling of accomplishment. When my professors addressed the class and said, "You're all Hopkins students, I know you're smart," I assumed they were speaking to everyone but me. When I had something to say during class discussion, I would rehearse it in my head until the moment passed, convinced that whatever I added would only confirm what I already suspected: that I didn't belong in the conversation. I waited four years for the impostor syndrome to pass, and in truth, it never did.

Over time, that doubt stopped being something I felt and started becoming something I believed. I slowly started to accept that maybe I would always be reduced to a certain impression that those who did not know me well saw. Maybe I was too quiet in class, which meant I had nothing valuable or insightful to offer. Maybe it was my style, which meant that everything meaningful about me could not surpass the superficial. Or maybe it was being a minority, which meant that there would never be a place for me in the room I wanted to be in.

At Hopkins, everyone is smart until proven otherwise. Somewhere within that narrative, I have always found myself to be the exception. I believed I was unintelligent until proven otherwise. As the past four years went by, I discovered I was not a special case. Many of us convinced ourselves we were the exception, and many of us are still waiting for the day that feeling goes away. But impostor syndrome is not something we can graduate from. In fact, it might be something we continue to carry with our degrees, ambitions and our quiet suspicion that somehow we've fooled everyone. I thought if I got good grades or the best internship, or stacked my resume, it would go away. I thought that college would cure me of the disease it had given me.

Now I realize that maybe the lesson of college isn't curing it, but instead learning to question it. Because the voice that tells us we don't belong doesn't disappear when we leave, it just follows us into new rooms, new opportunities, new beginnings. And maybe the point isn't to silence that voice completely, but to stop believing it.

Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I did prove something. I proved that I was strong enough to not only withstand the many negative ideas that can begin to manifest in new environments, but also challenge them. I spoke in rooms I once felt unworthy to enter. I sought out new experiences and studied not only in Baltimore but also in Morocco and D.C. I created spaces for the version of myself who once felt lost and overwhelmed. I became, in small ways, what I had once needed.

The voice is still there. It still shows up in unfamiliar rooms and new challenges, but it no longer has the same authority. It no longer gets the final say. And maybe that's what it means to move forward: not leaving the doubt behind, but learning that it was never telling the truth in the first place. As we graduate, we may still carry that uncertainty with us. But we also carry four years of proof. Proof that we showed up, stayed and grew into the very spaces we thought we didn't deserve.

And maybe that's enough to start believing that we were never impostors to begin with.

Kylah Chacko is graduating with a degree in International Studies and History from Leawood, Kan.

How are you? At this point in time, you have just started your first semester at Hopkins, and I can imagine you're feeling excited and anxious. Are you walking down the brick pathway by the Rec? Didn't the patch of trees seem like a huge forest? I recall how large Hopkins felt and at the time thought, "Would this place ever feel like home?"

As you start your freshman year, you're going to face many things - both good and bad. There are times when you're going to be studying for days prepping for a single exam only to get a failing grade. Other times, you're going to feel lonely as you listen to your peers talk about all the fun activities they did over the weekend. When those moments arise and you feel out of place or slow, take a step back to steady yourself. I want to remind you that you do fit in at Hopkins among your peers. There is a reason you attended, and I know you will do your best to make the most of it.

One lesson you will learn about yourself is that you are, in fact, a people person. I know in high school you thought of yourself as an introvert, but that is not the case - you were only shy. There's a moment in the fall semester when you want to meet more of your peers outside of class, and so you reach out to your Resident Advisor. Your RA would recommend you join an organization called Alpha Phi Omega, where you begin to connect with people outside your major and volunteer all around Baltimore. You're going to spend the majority of your college career in this organization, and it's going to feel rewarding because it gives you an opportunity to break out of the Hopkins bubble. You get to learn more about the city you live in, and it makes you feel appreciative of humanity. I know that sounds dramatic, but I loved seeing how many non-profit organizations exist to simply help one another. Other than volunteering, by your spring semester, you're going to become a go-getter.

You started Hopkins with the intention of conducting research, and you made it a reality! I find it amusing because you found the opportunity by simply asking your professor after class. Since then, you've had the chance to learn from amazing researchers and even publish an article! In addition to learning from people in the lab, you've also made close friends.

Some of the people you meet throughout the year become your closest friends in your senior year. You're going to get to explore Baltimore, D.C., New York and even Hawaii with them! The trip to New York is one of your favorite trips because it was the first time you went on vacation with your friends. It was wonderful walking down the streets of New York, visiting pizza joints and attending a Broadway show. The best part of the trip is when you visited your roommate at her family home, bought ice cream and watched The Hangover. This is one of the many experiences that you will have that will make you feel like you've found your home away from home.

Gabrielle, it may seem intimidating at first, but I want you to realize that you're going to have a great time at Hopkins - volunteering in the community, conducting research and making bonds with people that are going to last a long time.

Sincerely,

Senior Gabrielle

Gabrielle Chavez is a senior from El Paso, Texas graduating with a degree in Computer Engineering with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Management.

My first-year RA: Sounds good! Also, you didn't need to tell me this.

"Sorry, we told everyone they needed to bring their own calculator. We don't have extras," the TA said to the guy sitting next to me. Luckily, I brought two. Proud of how prepared I was for my first college exam, I handed him my spare - then bombed the test.

I'd only been on campus a few weeks when a prospective student stopped me to ask how I was liking things. "Is there anything you'd change about the school?" they asked. "Ummmm," I stalled, "In the dorms, they give us toilet paper, but they don't give us trash bags. I wish they would so we didn't have to pay for them."

After a few months of working my first on-campus job, I emailed my boss to let her know I hadn't gotten paid yet. She told me all the checks had been mailed. That was when I realized the third key they gave us at move-in was for a mailbox.

"I may be late, but at least I'm going," I thought as I walked in 15 minutes late to my first-year Introductory Chemistry class. I marched to the front row, sat down, missed the chair, fell on the floor and died laughing as Professor Sunita paused her lecture to glare at me.

Calculus II, Midterm Exam 2 - Question 5: 1/10 pts. "Very very wrong approach called freshman's dream."

I was taking notes with one hand and checking emails with the other when I felt a tug on my phone. It was Professor Hendry. "You'll get this back at the end of class," He was mic'd. The lecture was being recorded. It was a 200-person class.

Enjoying my newfound college freedom, I ate an entire bag of Walmart-brand chocolate chips. I was sick for three days and missed an exam. My family calls it "the chocolate chip incident."

I moved into my apartment during my junior year with no plans to furnish it because I thought it would make move-out easier. After a week of sleeping on the floor, I realized hardwood is really hard and ordered a bed.

When I ordered the tool kit for my new bed frame, I accidentally sent it to the wrong address. I had to walk to some random guy's house and ask if he'd gotten my package. Thankfully, he had.

My friend Isabel came to visit me for the day. I got lost navigating us, so she didn't see anything beyond campus. Instead of going to Fells Point, we spent the night watching movies on the floor of my apartment (because I didn't have any furniture beyond a bed).

Later, my sister came to visit. She did the navigating, so we made it to Fells Point for lunch. We were walking around with our leftovers when a man on a bench looked at me and said, "Where's my food? Hahahaha… Imma eat you."

I was chatting with someone before class when my hard-of-hearing American Sign Language teacher walked in. He pointed at me, laughed and said, "I could hear your voice from down the hall."

I locked myself out of my apartment every year except senior year. I'm officially ready for the real world.

Tess Gallegos is a senior graduating with a degree in Neuroscience from Magnolia, Texas.

1. Take a dog out for a day from BARCS, an animal shelter in the city. They have a program where you can schedule to take out a shelter dog for a two- or four-hour time block. We brought our dog back to campus and ran around the Beach with him!
2. Go to the Baltimore Bike Party, hosted on the last Friday of every month. Each ride meets at St. Mary's Park at 7 p.m. and has a unique theme. Details will be posted on the organizer's Instagram, and the route is also posted on Strava. Hundreds of people show up and party through the streets together.
3. Register for a JHOC/OP outdoors trip and run through the campus's department of experiential education. Some trip offerings include rock climbing, mountain biking, backpacking, stand up paddleboarding and whitewater kayaking. The outdoor leaders are super passionate and happy to share their knowledge with anyone, from beginners to experienced outdoor explorers.
4. Play trivia at HomeSlyce on a Tuesday evening. Hosted by Charm City Entertainment, trivia awards a gift card to the first-place team every week. Extremely close to campus and easy to get to, carve out just an hour of your day to test your knowledge and laugh at how many answers you don't know.
5. Also a Tuesday special, Warehouse Cinemas in the Rotunda discounts movie prices to just seven dollars. Has there been a new blockbuster you've been wanting to see since it came out, but you didn't want to pay so much? Well, here's your chance to figure out what all the edits and reaction videos on TikTok are talking about!
6. Play tennis on the courts near the AMRs or badminton in the Rec Center. The equipment room, located near the bathrooms in the Rec, has tennis and badminton rackets, tennis balls and birdies you can rent for free. Every student has free Rec access, which makes this process convenient and streamlined. Go get some fun exercise and frolic around the courts.
7. Take the train to Washington, D.C. to see the cherry blossoms during their peak bloom in late March. Even if you have been in the past years, this makes for an awesome weekend or day trip to get away from the stress of Hopkins. If you feel like you do need to get some studying done, the multilevel SAIS building offers one of the coolest study environments. While you're in D.C., go shopping in Georgetown, try food at the famous spots and wander around the national landmarks.
8. Attend the Hopkins lacrosse games against Loyola or UMD. I may be biased about these events as a Sports Editor, but there's no doubt that the school spirit and action packed into these games will be exciting. The UMD game is Homecoming, and the Loyola game is Battle for Charles Street. If you feel like Hopkins has no school spirit, let the fans' cheering in sold-out stands prove you wrong. Don't worry if you don't know anything about lacrosse; the energy is infectious. On the most basic level, if we put the ball in the opposing team's net, that's good!
9. Watch the sunrise or sunset with your friends. I can't think of a more peaceful start to your morning or a gorgeous way to end the day. You can choose a picturesque spot or just go on the balcony of your apartment. If the latter, you can even integrate some baking of sweet treats into the night or play some games.

Try to at least complete one, and have an amazing year!

Talia Lehrer is a senior graduating with a degree in Neuroscience from Merion, Pa. She is a former Sports Editor for The News-Letter.

Most of my growth, both as a cadet and as a person, has come from deliberately choosing the hard path. That meant waking up before dawn to ruck 26 miles with 42 pounds, stepping out of an aircraft in full combat gear - five times - walking into unfamiliar rooms full of unfamiliar faces at leadership conferences, pushing through long, cold, rain-soaked days in the field and carrying the weight of responsibility as both battalion commander and operations officer.

If there's one piece of advice I'd give, it's simple: do hard things. Seek out the challenges that make you hesitate. Over time, you become comfortable being uncomfortable - and once you reach that point, there's very little you can't handle. Go do something hard today.

Michelle Berndt is a fourth-year Army ROTC cadet and former student-athlete majoring in Molecular and Cellular Biology from Cullowhee, N.C. She will continue her education at the North Carolina State College of Veterinary Medicine, with career plans to be a U.S. Army Veterinarian.

The year is 2021. Dua Lipa is at the top of the Billboard 100. I'm a high school senior, sitting in my kitchen, hitting submit on my final college applications; the knot in my stomach is teaching itself tongue twisters, and I am deathly afraid of the impending transition into adult life.

The year is now 2022, post-Oscars slap. My name has been called and, while sweating slightly in my cap and gown, I'm crossing the stage at graduation. I've been accepted into Hopkins as a neuroscience major. Life is looking promising, and I am deathly afraid of the impending transition into adult life.

The year is 2026. I am a senior again, but this time as an undergraduate student. In about a month, I'll be walking across another stage in a new cap and gown to receive a Bachelor of Arts in Film and Media Studies - plot twist. Oh, and I'm still deathly afraid of the impending transition into adult life.

Some things never change, while others drastically do… Neuroscience major to Film major, let's talk about it.

I came into my undergrad experience with the burning desire not to fall into poverty. There was nothing profound in my head about breaking boundaries in the field of science, contributing greatly to society or even the basic concept of providing for a family. What I had to motivate me was not a goal or any positive impetus; what I had was fear and deep avoidance. To which I'd say, running on avoidance can only get you so far.

Instead of wants, I had "not-wants." Instead of goals, I had "anti-goals." Instead of reaching toward, I was running away from. That's where the trouble lies. I had nothing to enrich my life emotionally. I wasn't passionate about what I was studying. My only aim was to pass my classes and get a decent job - aspirational mediocrity. I had no desire to excel or rise above - just complacently present. At such a demanding university as Johns Hopkins, this is a recipe for disaster. Burnout happens to even the most enthusiastic, so you can imagine what happened to me.

By the end of my first semester, I was in active depression. The program was lovely, and my professors were brilliant, but I stopped showing up to classes because I couldn't reconcile my being there. My GPA lowered, and so did my self-esteem. Yet, I couldn't let go of the concept that STEM was the only acceptable path for me. Even as I looked into other fields of study, it was always the same: neuroscience to cognitive science to computer science, stubbornly trying to jam myself like a square peg into a round hole.

Eventually, my advisor stepped in. Seeing my struggle, she implored me to be honest with myself about what I wanted out of my education. And once I had something in mind, she set up a meeting for me with two different professionals, offering me an outlook on two different career paths: STEM and the arts.

There is something that I must explain. I have been a dancer since I was seven years old. I've also been a dedicated thespian since middle school. I sang the alto part in choir, and when I had the blissful naivety of youth, the only thing I wanted to be was a performer. I have always been passionate about art. However, I intended to let that part of me go quiet for the sake of stability - safety in the absence of risk, unable to fail but equally unable to succeed.

Meeting with the two women my advisor connected me with, I realized that, regardless of my choice, my perception had always been wrong. I wasn't born a rich man's son; there is no sure, easy path to financial stability. Even the most predictable fields are subject to unforeseen changes. So no matter what I pursued in life, there would be difficult moments. As I evaluated both lives laid out before me, the decision was clear: I'd rather struggle doing something I love than struggle doing something I hate.

I am passionate about art, and it intimidates me. The thought that I may not succeed makes me grind my teeth. The thought that I may not be good enough has kept me up at night on multiple occasions. I've considered trying something stable first and then buying my right to make art as if it's something that has to be given to me. I've asked myself if I was making a mistake, but when I wake up every day, I couldn't be happier.

No matter how deathly afraid I am to present myself to the world and risk rejection, I have to. I can't conceive of any other way to live. When stripped of social pressures and internalized expectations, this is who I am. I am a film major with minors in creative writing and theater. This interdisciplinary take on storytelling sustains my soul, and I could not be prouder of everything I have achieved by taking the risk to try.

As I am writing this article, I have a film set to premiere in the Parkway Theater. I have lived and worked in Los Angeles. I have attended the Creative Arts Emmys. I have had so many experiences that I thought were inaccessible to me - things I wouldn't dare to dream of. Yet, the life I never thought I'd have is mine.

Life rewards authenticity. As I've changed over these four years of undergrad, I haven't changed at all. Instead of becoming someone new, I returned to who I always was. I returned to being the child who wanted to act and write and sing. I returned to the childlike audacity to persist. Even as I feel that knot somersaulting in my stomach, the most powerful thing I've gained in my time at Hopkins is the strength to move forward despite it, because I deserve to believe in myself. We all deserve to believe in ourselves.

As 2026 inevitably turns into 2027 and the years go on from there, I don't expect to ever lose that tinge of fear toward new experiences. It's natural to hold apprehension about the unknown, but I am also growing to delight in it. Growth is uncomfortable. As I grow as a person and within my career, there will be growing pains, but that also means that something exciting is waiting just around the corner.

Amaiya Santiago is a graduating senior from Swedesboro, N.J. majoring in Film and Media Studies.

A. The basics

1. Wear blue on Blue Jay Tuesday

2. Join a new club at the Student Involvement Fair (or show up to the last General Body Meeting!)

3. Go to class beyond the first week

4. Take a writing intensive course that is not Introduction to Fiction and Poetry I

B. Hopkins core

5. Have a picnic on the Beach

6. Study in Brody till it closes at 2 a.m.

7. Take a golden hour photo with the Hopkins sign

8. Pet Tillie on Tillie Tuesday

9. Bond over the universal experience of Hopkins Groups crashing

10. Wait in line for free food and shirts

C. Hopkins traditions

11. Pick a pumpkin at Hoptoberfest

12. Ride the mechanical bull at Hoptoberfest

13. Get some apple cider and donuts at Hoptoberfest

14. Attend the Hoptoberfest concert

15. Enjoy hot chocolate during Lighting of the Quads

16. Collect all four Lighting of the Quads mugs

17. Watch fireworks at Lighting of the Quads

18. Play carnival games at Spring Fair

19. Go to the petting zoo at Spring Fair

20. Attend the Spring Fair Concert

D. Hopkins traditions (niche edition)

21. Run (or cheer) in the Annual Homewood Holiday 5K

22. Ice skate at the Hopkins ice rink

23. Eat cake during the Edible Book Festival

24. Attend Earth Month Bash

25. Lie on a blanket during Picnic Day

26. Attend spirit brunch at Hopkins Cafe

27. Scream on the Beach before finals

E. Hopkins traditions (cultural edition)

28. Attend Barrio by Filipino Students Association

29. Attend Lunar New Year Banquet by Chinese Students Association

30. Attend Taste of Taiwan by Taiwanese American Students Association

31. Attend Pocha Night by Korean American Students Association

32. Attend Spring Matsuri by Japanese Students Association

F. Hopkins students got talent

33. Attend O-Show!

34. Attend an a cappella showcase

35. Attend a dance showcase

36. Attend a fire spinning show

37. Watch a musical in the Merrick Barn

38. Watch a play in the Merrick Barn

39. Attend a Peabody performance

40. Attend praise night on Keyser quad

41. Attend a Hopkins Symphony Orchestra concert

G. Hopkins students have school spirit

42. Attend a Men's Lacrosse game

43. Attend a Women's Lacrosse game

44. Do the crab wave at a lacrosse game

45. Figure out how lacrosse works

46. Attend a sports game that is not lacrosse

47. Attend a tailgate before a game

48. High five the Blue Jay mascot at a game

49. Wear a ridiculous amount of Hopkins merch at a game

H. Locked in

50. Go to office hours

51. Study in Brody or Gilman

52. Study at the Peabody Library

53. Lock in during the Long Night Against Procrastination at the Writing Center

I. Hopkins students touch grass!

54. Sit in a hammock on Keyser Quad

55. Visit the plants in Olin Hall

56. Spot the Hop Fox

57. Have a picnic at Sherwood Gardens during the Spring

58. Get groceries and breakfast at the 32nd Street Farmers Market

59. Visit the Howard Peters Rawlings Conservatory and Botanic Gardens

60. Run a 5K, half marathon or marathon during the Baltimore Running Festival

61. Hike at Jones Falls Trail

62. Join the Baltimore Bike Party

63. Drive a golf cart during Alumni Weekend

J. Things to do besides doomscrolling

64. Visit Special Collections

65. Print a trinket at the Makerspace in the Pava Marie LaPere Center for Entrepreneurship

66. Try all the fancy machines in the Rec

67. Bring a friend to a group workout class at the Rec

68. Do a News-Letter crossword puzzle

69. Attend an event or seminar outside your major for fun

70. Volunteer at a Baltimore charity

71. Go swing dancing at Mobtown

72. Go sledding down the Beach in winter

K. Museum marathon (in order of distance from Homewood campus)

73. Visit the Archaeological Museum in Gilman

74. Visit the Homewood Museum

75. Visit the Baltimore Museum of Art

76. Cut through the BMA sculpture garden during the spring

77. Visit the Evergreen Library

78. Visit the Walters Arts Museum

79. Visit the American Visionary Art Museum

80. Visit the B&O Railroad Museum

L. Friday night vibes

81. View the stars through the telescope in the Bloomberg Center for Physics and Astronomy

82. Go to an Orioles Game at Camden Yards

83. Cheer at a Raven's game

84. Attend a concert at the Lyric

85. Attend a jazz concert at Bluebird Cocktail Bar

86. Attend a Baltimore Symphony Orchestra concert

87. Attend a performance at Baltimore Center Stage

88. Go duckpin bowling

M. Hampden circuit

89. Get coffee from Artifact

90. Visit the local boutiques and book stores

91. Go thrifting

92. Visit the Rotunda Farmers Market

93. Watch a movie at Rotunda

94. Get the Neighborhood Bird Bowl from Ekiben

95. Go to Urban Oyster during happy hour

96. Get comfort food from The Food Market

97. Try new ice cream flavors at Charmery

98. Eat a slice of pie from Dangerously Delicious Pies

N. Peabody circuit

99. Visit the Peabody Library

100. Climb the stairs of the Washington Monument

101. Get a drink at Ceremony

102. Get brunch at Dooby's

103. Visit the Enoch Pratt Free Library

104. Visit the Enoch Pratt House

O. Inner Harbor circuit

105. Take the Purple Circulator to Inner Harbor

106. Try the dragon boats or water taxi

107. Watch the sunrise or sunset at inner Harbor

108. Visit the National Aquarium

109. Climb up Federal Hill to enjoy the waterfront views

110. Eat some Italian food in Little Italy

111. Get a boot-shaped mug at Christmas Village

P. Things to do in D.C.

112. Visit the Johns Hopkins University Bloomberg Center at 555 Pennsylvania Avenue (not to be confused with the Bloomberg Student Center)

113. Get breakfast at the Dupont Circle Farmers Market

114. Do a museum marathon

115. Attend the Cherry Blossom Festival

Q. Journeying off campus

116. Take the Baltimore College Town Shuttle to Towson

117. Go on a Johns Hopkins Outdoor Club trip

118. Visit the Maryland Zoo

119. Go apple picking in the fall

120. Visit Ellicott City

121. Visit Annapolis

R. Eat your way through senior year (ordered breakfast, dinner and dessert)

122. Get a crab dip bagel from La Maison by Cafe Dear Leon in Remington

123. Get the Berkeley sandwich and Breakfast at Tiffany's from Kitsch

124. Get a matcha from Equitea

125. Get a lamb gyro bowl from the Jordanian food truck

126. Get fried chicken from BRD at R. House

127. Get a fancy smashburger from Mo's

128. Get fried chicken and waffles from Connie's

129. Get pasta from Grano's

130. Get fried chicken and sing karaoke at Kong Pocha

131. Get oysters from Thames Street Oyster House

132. Try a crab cake from Koco's Pub

133. Get Tia's Italian Ice (with ice cream on top)

134. Try seasonal ice cream flavors from Taharka Brothers

135. Try Old Bay kombucha

136. Go to Clavel for Margs Monday

137. Try a can of Baltimore lager Natty Boh

138. Try a local beer from Peabody Heights Brewery

139. Go to Asia in a Bite Food Festival

S. Almost Done with Senior Year

140. Actually remember to register for graduation

141. Fix your sleep schedule (briefly)

142. Submit your final final paper

143. Ace your final final exam

144. Recreate a freshman-year photo as a senior

145. Reconnect with a professor from your freshman year

146. Thank someone you are grateful for meeting at Hopkins

T. Finally done!

147. Make your Senior Class Gift

148. See people you have not seen since freshman year during the Senior Class Celebration

149. Enjoy desserts and champagne during Senior Toast

150. Walk the stage during Commencement!

Elizabeth Deng is a senior from Singapore graduating with a degree in Neuroscience and Economics.