As a result of the donation, most medical students at the School of Medicine from this fall onwards will have free tuition. Medical students whose families earn under $300,000 will not have to pay the cost of their tuition, while those whose families make up to $175,000 will have their living expenses covered in addition to tuition.

Daniels continued by describing the impact of the donation on eliminating financial barriers and encouraging students to pursue a medical education.

"By reducing financial obstacles to individual opportunity, we can open our doors more widely than ever and fuel the excellence, innovation, and discoveries that redound to the benefit not only of the students but of society as a whole," Daniels wrote.

In addition, the donation will contribute to financial aid for graduate students in the Schools of Nursing, Public Health, Education, Engineering, Business, Arts and Sciences, Advanced International Studies, the Peabody Institute and the forthcoming School of Government and Policy.

Daniels closed his email by expressing gratitude for Bloomberg's ongoing support of the University and the impact of the donation.

"Today, his gift helps open new doors for another generation of leaders in research, education, and patient care and positions our university to attract the brightest minds to our community of scholars, innovators, and problem-solvers," Daniels wrote. "On behalf of the entire Johns Hopkins community, I share our heartfelt gratitude and appreciation for our alumnus and friend Mike Bloomberg."

This donation builds upon Bloomberg's donation of $1.8 billion in 2018 to fund undergraduate financial aid, which enabled the University to permanently conduct need-blind admissions.

Underwood was previously awarded the Hugh Hawkins Research Fellowship and conducted research on the history of classical music in Maryland before and after the Peabody Institute was founded.

She was also involved with the Music for a While program - a partnership between Peabody and the Hopkins Hospital bringing Peabody musicians to perform at the hospital.

In an email to the University, Vice Provost for Student Affairs Rachelle Hernandez, and Associate Vice Provost for Student Engagement and Dean of Students Brittini Brown wrote about Underwood's impact on the campus community.

"Zoe will be remembered for her kindness, authenticity, resilience, and thoughtful and reflective nature," they wrote.

Students wishing to express their condolences to Underwood's family may write an email to "The Family of Zoe Underwood" and send it to the Office of the Dean of Students at deanofstudents@jhu.edu.

Mental Health Services(Homewood location)is open for current students over the summer on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday from 8:30 a.m.-5 p.m. and Wednesday from 1-5 p.m. The office may be contacted by calling (410) 516-8278.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a crisis on or around our Baltimore campuses, please contact theBehavioral Health Crisis Support Teamat (410) 516-WELL (9355) to speak with a crisis support clinician.

For support outside of the Baltimore area, please call 988 or use the Crisis Text Line (text HOME to 741741).

For Peabody students: Deb GouldandStacy Cooper Pattersonare available to meet, either in person or virtually.

For Homewood students: Student Outreach and Support, located in AMR II, is available for appointments by calling (410) 516-7857 orscheduling through theirwebsite.

Religious & Spiritual Life can be reached at (410) 516-1880 or at chaplain@jhu.edu.

TimelyMD's TalkNow service is available 24/7 and can be accessed by visiting timelycare.com/jhu.

Additional health and well-being resources provided by the University can be found on the well-being website.

"Ethan dedicated himself to research, driven by a desire to make discoveries and help others," the University wrote. "He passed unexpectedly in 2024 due to natural causes and his legacy of curiosity, perseverance, and kindness continues through the fellowship named in his honor."

The Ethan M. Posner Fellowship is open to all first and second year students in the Krieger School of Arts and Sciences with a similar passion for research and desire to help others. The fellowship will grant two students -one in the natural sciences and the other in arts, humanities or social sciences -$11,000 to fund an independent research project. These research projects will be designed jointly with the Office of Undergraduate Research, Scholarly and Creative Activity (URSCA).

"Graduating fellows are required to present the results of their research to the Johns Hopkins community at the annual URSCA Symposium, held in the spring," the University wrote. "Additionally, a portion of each fellow's award must be dedicated to the dissemination of their research at a professional conference."

Fellows will be selected based on their demonstration of three qualities: motivation to pursue research based on a desire to change the world, vibrant energy and passion as reflected by their involvement at Hopkins and caring commitment to the University community as shown in their application essay.

Dear Freshman Molly,

You made it! Yes, you read that right; you're at the end of your four years at Hopkins, and you have come out in one piece!

I remember how you are feeling now: Having spent your entire life in a small town, you are restless and excited to go far. When imagining what you think the college version of yourself will be like, she is everything you are not at 18 - effortlessly successful, self-assured and outgoing (complete with a really cool haircut).

Unfortunately, this version of you does not magically materialize once you enter college. Coming to Hopkins from your tiny hometown is daunting, and entering college during a pandemic does not make it any easier. You spend your freshman year in an endless series of Zoom calls, and you will feel cheated out of the classic experiences of living in a tiny dorm room, eating terrible dining hall food and commiserating with your first-year peers over the growing pains of moving away from home.

With everything occurring virtually, you will feel frustrated and like you are missing out on opportunities to figure out what you want to study or do in the long term. However, freshman you will make a great decision that will largely come to define your time at Hopkins: You will join The News-Letter during your freshman fall as a staff writer. You will be nervous to join and worried about your inexperience, but you will resolve to try your hand at student journalism.

When in-person activities resume during sophomore year, the highlight of your first day of classes will be attending your first News-Letter general meeting in the Gatehouse as a News and Features Editor. Crowded in the building's cramped main room every Monday evening, meeting your co-editors and collaborating on weekly production will quickly become your favorite part of the week. Working as part of a team, brainstorming article ideas and interviewing people across the University and Baltimore will broaden your horizons and open your eyes to critical issues and the importance of local journalism.

Major spoiler alert: The highlight of your college experience will be spending your junior year as one of the paper's Editors-in-Chief. From late nights laying out the pages of the paper to print distribution on the golf cart, being Chief will be equal parts stressful and rewarding. But, you won't be alone; working with the best co-Editor-in-Chief, Managing Editor and staff will make it so that the intensive nature of daily production is always fun. You will eat an inordinate amount of THB bagels and slices of Ribaldi's pizza, but there won't be any long-term damage. The experience will be hard, but it will open so many doors for you, and you will learn so much.

Beyond this, you will try new things; some of them won't stick, but that will be okay. You will try barre classes and give up after a month, but you will have better success running. You might not run the half-marathon you aspired to complete, but you will accept the more gradual pace of progression and complete a 5K. You won't do all the things you imagine the future you doing, but it will be for the better. You won't study abroad, but you will have the greatest summer in Washington, D.C. when you intern there, and you will have all kinds of stories to tell.

There will be throughlines: the interests you had as a teen will remain the same. Film will always be your main hobby - and, let me tell you, living through the summer of Barbenheimer will be exhilarating. Even though this interest will remain constant, you will branch out: You will fall in love with European cinema and the French New Wave. I am so jealous that you will get to watch Anatomy of a Fall for the first time with fresh eyes. You will still love reading, and you will read every night before bed. You will never read a book you love as much as A Room with a View, but you will make progress on your to-read list. You may never pick up your copy of Anna Karenina even though you make it your New Year's resolution every year to read it, but you will eventually finish Doctor Zhivago - fair warning: It will take you four years of sporadically reading it. Most importantly, you will make all kinds of new friends, but your hometown best friends will remain constants in your life, and there will be nothing more rewarding than growing in tandem with them.

Overall, you may never become the idealized version of your future self, but you will have experiences you never thought you would. Your time at Hopkins will not be easy, and there will be rough patches, but it is more worthwhile than you can imagine. Looking back as a senior, there are things I am going to miss, from my favorite professors and familiar faces on campus to the dogs I pass by on my morning walk to class every day. While freshman you is scared of the unknown lying in front of you, your current self is less worried - and, dare I say, excited - about what the future has in store for her. You have so much to look forward to that you don't even know about yet (including several Taylor Swift albums!), so get ready.

Best wishes,

Future Molly

Molly Gahagen is from Key Largo, Fla. and is graduating with a degree in International Studies and Political Science and a minor in History. She is a former Magazine Editor, Editor-in-Chief and News & Features Editor for The News-Letter.

Before going into the nitty gritty of my time at Hopkins, I just want to say that I'm grateful for both the hard and good times I've had here. These experiences are what have shaped me into the man I am today. I came to Hopkins as a teenager right in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, and I leave a full grown adult ready to swim through the challenges of life.

Freshman year was by far the hardest year for me. One would think that, coming in as a freshman, you'd be having a lot of fun, getting to meet new people and experiencing independence. That wasn't the case for the Class of 2024. We were the COVID-19 freshmen, and most, if not all of us, were confined to our computer screens for nearly the entirety of the year.

Keeping up with classes was certainly hard as I was learning from pre-recorded, YouTube lectures and slides for the most part, but the most challenging aspect was socializing. When I moved from Turkey to the U.S., a majority of my social circle was left behind. Of course, we still get to hang out every summer; however, in the U.S., I had to build up a new social circle, and the pandemic certainly did not help.

Like all hardships, though, Zoom University also came to an end near the middle of my sophomore year, and I found myself freed from the chains of dorm-room confinement. While I had a lot of fun times during the lockdown as well, such as the launch of the University's Minecraft club, for me, the true fun started when I took my first real step on Homewood Campus.

The chaos of college life embraced me from sophomore year onwards. Running to classes and making it on time for meetings were just the tip of the iceberg, though. Getting to meet the people I talked with online, eating from the restaurants I had heard so much about and sitting on the Beach were the best parts of sophomore year. That summer, I had one of my favorite and toughest experiences: my internship at the Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory. Though it pushed me to my limits with the steep learning curve and fascinating projects, that internship also introduced me to some of the best people at Hopkins, and I'll be forever grateful for that.

My most fun time at Hopkins was my summer study abroad experience in Japan after my junior year. I even got to visit the Tokyo Imperial Palace and meet with Princess Akiko of Mikasa. I had the privilege of having dinner with her alongside my host family at the Imperial Palace. Getting to expand my worldview and connect with peers across the entire world who had come to learn Japanese was an amazing experience. I'm longing to return to Japan in the future to meet up with my host family who helped me acclimate to a new culture.

Senior year was certainly an adventure with a lot of ups and downs. I finally didn't have as many classes as I did during junior and sophomore year, but, this time, I was battling a different beast altogether: What path did I want to take after graduating? I came to a crossroads, torn between walking down the path of higher education or throwing myself at corporate America. I believe that I've made the right decision, and, thanks to my experience at Hopkins, I'm ready for what's to come.

Now, as a graduating senior, my time at Hopkins is ending, and I'm proud and honored to say that I am a Blue Jay. From this point on, I'll stride forward to even better memories, wearing my badge as a Blue Jay with honor.

Zal Ekinci is from Montville, N.J. and is graduating with a degree in Biology and Chemistry.

Editor's Note, 2024; A previous version of this article incorrectly spelled Zal Ekinci's name.The News-Letter regrets this error.

During these last four years, I've worked as a tour guide for the admissions office. When we reach the last tour stop at Decker Quad, I always wrap up by answering the question, "Why Hopkins?" For me, the answer is simple: the people.

At Hopkins, the people around me push me to be the best version of myself. Whether that be academically or socially, my friends here motivate me to seek opportunities both inside and outside the classroom while also creating a safe support system around me. I feel like sometimes we take it for granted, but it's so inspiring to constantly be surrounded by an environment where people are constantly working together, enacting change, making new discoveries and engaging in their passions.

As a tour guide, part of my job is to gush about my campus experience and outwardly promote Hopkins to prospective students, but I truly do mean every word that I say. I've loved my time here, and I'm so grateful for the experiences, opportunities and people that Hopkins has brought into my life.

From late night study sessions in Brody Learning Commons to sunny spring afternoons on the Beach, I'm going to miss the sense of camaraderie and the feeling of being "all in it together" in both the exciting, happy moments as well as in the tougher, more stressful ones. Whether I'm looking back on rough nights spent cramming for Neuroscience: Cells and Systems exams in Milton S. Eisenhower Library or beautiful days spent listening to music and eating free ice cream on Wyman Quad, I reflect on it all with gratitude. I'm beyond grateful for the people who I've shared these experiences with, those who have motivated me to never give up and those who have stuck by my side even in the toughest situations.

Not every moment has been easy, and any Hopkins student can share their reality of taking midterms and completing a stressful week of exams, assignments and activities. Nevertheless, what makes Hopkins so special is the people we see on a day-to-day basis, the ones that bring a smile to our faces on our walks through Keyser Quad or the ones that we spontaneously run into in line at Brody Cafe. I'm going to miss bumping into friends on my way to class and seeing kind and familiar faces everywhere I go.

Speaking of community, I'm going to miss the student groups that have welcomed me in and given me a home away from home. Johns Hopkins Hillel and the Jewish Students Association have been an amazing space that I am so grateful to have been a part of since my freshman year, providing me with a place to hang out at any time and to have weekly Friday night Shabbat dinners alongside some of my closest friends. Further, I'm so thankful for the Brazilian Students Association, the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity, Blue Key Society, and the Ketzev a cappella group for giving me such memorable college experiences and introducing me to some of my dearest friends.

If I've learned anything from my time in college, it's to appreciate the little moments and to express gratitude for everything and everyone that brings me joy. I look back at minuscule moments from my freshman year - like sitting next to an unknown person in my First-Year Mentor group, bumping into someone on my floor of Scott-Bates Commons or building a snowman with a couple of "strangers" during our first Baltimore snow. I've now learned that these things are not minuscule at all, and that, in each of these situations, these "strangers" have become close friends of mine throughout college. I've learned to appreciate the little things because we never know what will happen next, who we will cross paths with or what our life will look like.

At the end of the day, none of us are strangers. We're all here because we are passionate people, whether that passion be directed at our loved ones, our academics, our life goals…we are all here because we are driven.

So, once again, I answer the question, "Why Hopkins?" and it's because I'm going to miss every moment I've spent alongside my friends here.

To my freshman year self, who was worried about making friends in college and who was overwhelmed by everything around him when he first came to campus, take a deep breath and make sure to savor every moment of your college experience. To the Class of 2024, thank you so much for all of the great memories. I can't wait to see where we all go next!

Gabriel Lesser is from Westchester, N.Y. and is graduating with a degree in Neuroscience, Romance Languages and Medicine, Science and the Humanities, and a minor in Latin American, Caribbean and Latinx Studies. He is a senior staff writer for The News-Letter, with a Voices column titled, "The Road Lesser Traveled."

If I had a nickel for every incorrect prediction I made about my college experience, I would have... a lot of nickels.

On March 14, 2020, I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. Staring back at me and my parents was the long-anticipated email from Johns Hopkins University congratulating me on my admission to the Class of 2024. I vividly remember spending the rest of that evening daydreaming about the four years ahead of me. During my spring break, I would get to visit Baltimore and tour the campus to get a feel for what was to come. At my high school graduation, I would proudly announce to family and friends that I would be attending Hopkins and majoring in Neuroscience (one of the biggest reasons I made my decision). At orientation, I would meet tons of new people who I would later recognize in the classes we shared.

The next four years of my life would be the start of a new chapter where I completely reinvented myself and figured everything out. Being as naturally smart as I was, I would ace all of my classes with little effort, get involved in research and several organizations and master my piano skills. I would get to experience living on my own and have the freedom to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And at the end of it all, I would be dressed in my cap and gown again, showing off the medical school I would be attending.

Not even 24 hours later, God made it known He had other plans.

As I'm sure we all know, the global crisis that was the COVID-19 pandemic had everything come to a screeching halt. With everything shutting down, touring the Homewood Campus was suddenly off the table. All graduations were postponed and/or made virtual. No matter, I thought, life happens. Everything else I planned would surely come to pass.

Well, it did, but not exactly.

Over the summer, Hopkins informed all students that the following semester would be fully virtual, including orientation and all extracurricular activities, until conditions surrounding the pandemic improved (Zoom University is making it to the history books, I'm calling it now). The majority of my fall semester was spent in my home library, glued to my laptop and frantically trying to finish up the calculus homework that took way longer than it should have. At the time, I had been blissfully unaware of the Hopkins GroupMe and Discord servers, so I didn't exactly get the head start in the social department I had hoped for.

Then came the following spring, and we were finally allowed to move into our dorms (how I managed to set everything up without any extra help will forever remain a mystery). That semester wasn't much different, honestly. All classes and activities were almost entirely virtual, and it seemed like I only ever went out to grab food or get my third COVID-19 test of the week.

Sophomore year came and went. Junior year flew by before I could blink. The end of senior year snuck up on me when I thought time couldn't go by any slower. In those years, classes never got any easier. Juggling extracurriculars while studying for the MCAT was a nightmare. And even after pandemic restrictions were lifted, Ms. Rona would still decide to pay a surprise visit just for giggles.

But there's one prediction I made that I haven't mentioned yet, and I think it's the only one I got completely correct.

No matter what, I would make it to the other side and look back at my memories of Hopkins with fondness and gratitude.

In between the days of feeling like my life was over because I failed my physics exam, I developed study skills that will prove crucial in med school. When I wasn't wasting my life away in bed because I was too exhausted to get up, I was grabbing bubble tea and playing Mario Kart with my friends. I'm certainly not a piano master, but I now have a laundry list of pieces that I'm eager to learn. I didn't hit submit on AMCAS in the summer of my junior year, but I now have the opportunity to fine-tune my skills and ensure I'm on top of my game when the next cycle begins. I had the opportunity to present a novel research project at DREAMS, making me eligible for departmental honors. I found my second family with the Melanotes, where I rediscovered my love for singing.

And at the end of it all, I'll still be dressed in my cap and gown, standing next to the most talented and hardworking people I've ever met.

Just as I predicted four years ago.

Chisom Uwakwe is from Grand Terrace, Calif. and is graduating with a degree in Neuroscience and Psychology.

Much like the last day of a vacation, my excessive awareness of the fact that my time at Hopkins is coming to a close has made it difficult to fully enjoy myself. Instead, whenever I check my calendar, I find myself counting the number of weeks left until graduation - and, six days later, my flight home.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. There are many benefits to returning home to Long Island after college. I grew up in Huntington, about an hour from Manhattan, and I have a lot of family in the area. For me, going home means hanging out by my grandparents' pool with my sister and cousins; it means going to Rosa's Pizza with my neighbors; it means curling up on my parents' orange couch with a book and a cat.

Typically, I indulge in these relaxing activities for a few short, idling weeks before returning to Hopkins for my next semester -but this time will be different. Following my graduation, I have almost nothing planned. I have a doctor's appointment at the end of May, my dad's ultimate frisbee tournament in June, my cousin's wedding in August - and that's about it.

Logically, I know I'll benefit from taking a breather -and that I'm incredibly privileged to be able to take one - but slowing down has never been very easy for me. I crave structure, crafting it where it doesn't already exist, whether I'm challenging myself to read as many books as I can over winter break or signing up for a spring half-marathon, and I don't know where I'm going to find it once I'm out of school. I'm trying to be grateful for the opportunity to slow down and spend time with family before starting to work full-time, but my own hopes and ambitions - and the pre-professional culture at Hopkins - have made it difficult for me to accept that taking an unstructured break after graduation may be what I need.

Truthfully, I don't want to be taking a break. I had hoped to be attending graduate school this fall, and, when that didn't work out, I modified my post-grad ambitions accordingly. I tried to get myself excited about the premise of accepting a job, moving somewhere new and starting the next chapter of my life alongside my friends but I haven't found the right fit yet - and I would rather sit in my discomfort at home for a few weeks or months than accept a job that I know I'll dislike (as I nearly did).

At a school like Hopkins, where many students follow straightforward, pre-professional trajectories, I've been finding it difficult to tell people that I don't know what's next for me and that I'm moving home indefinitely. While I know it isn't true, it often feels like everyone surrounding me has had their next steps fall seamlessly into place, receiving dream offers from jobs, graduate programs, fellowships and the like.

As tricky as it is to prepare to celebrate my graduation in the midst of so much uncertainty, I know that I nevertheless have a lot to be grateful for. I've absolutely loved my time at Hopkins - I wouldn't trade the experiences I've had or the relationships I've formed here for the world. I believe in myself and my potential, even if it's going to take me a little longer to figure out what comes next for me.

Every day, I get closer to figuring out what I want my life after college to resemble. There are so many opportunities ahead of me, it's difficult to choose what path to take - family, friends and professors keep telling me that the world is my oyster - but Long Island is as good a place as any to continue working toward the answer to that question. Besides, if the previous times I've spent at home over school breaks have taught me anything, it's that there's a lot to enjoy about a Long Island interlude.

Madelyn Kye is from Long Island, N.Y. and is graduating with a degree in Writing Seminars and International Studies and minors in French and History. She is a former Voices Editor for The News-Letter.

My time at THE Johns Hopkins University can only be described as hectic, bustling and ever-moving. From signing myself up for as many clubs as possible to taking 18-credit semesters, I would like to think that I have contributed (quite well) to campus - and Baltimore - during my undergrad. Though I have been involved in many things, I would like to take the time to highlight one class, one organization and one experience that meant so much to me.

Organization:

Nearly two years ago, I joined Hopkins Community Connections (HCC) as a community advocate. At that time, I was bouncing between the idea of the pre-med and pre-law tracks and was having a difficult time trying to balance two opposing paths. Though the first few weeks were challenging, being given the privilege and trust to work with real families facing real issues has been humbling.

HCC has been one of the most rewarding and eye-opening organizations that I have ever been a part of. There is a deeply personal bond between an advocate and client when you've been working together for weeks - sometimes months - and have tried to problem-solve some of their most intimate issues. I don't have a favorite client, but there are some families that I have grown quite close to with time.

One moment that stood out to me was when a long-time client of mine asked if he could come in-person to meet me for the first time. He explained that he had remembered my ethnicity from a conversation a few weeks back and wanted to gift me organic honey from "back home." I was touched, and I will never forget him.

Experience

This past winter break, I had the amazing opportunity to study abroad in Seoul, South Korea. I had never been one to solo travel or even desire solo outings, but in an unexpected turn of events, I ended up going to Korea completely alone. So, on Christmas morning I was on the 19-hour flight to Seoul... in a middle seat. I slept for at MOST an hour before we landed the farthest I have ever been from home. The next three weeks were spent exploring a unique culture totally unlike what I had ever seen before. I spent many nights lost on public transportation and many mornings looking for non-pork-based meat options, but all of it was worth it. While there, I made a friend from Macedonia (I didn't even know that place was real), was offered to spend the night in a random ajumma's house and spent a lot of time in 7-Eleven eating gimbap.

That being said, I did experience some hardships, conflicts and culture shocks, but looking back, that all seems less important. It was a time of firsts, a time of growth and a time of learning. After this trip, despite all else, I can say with confidence that I am awful at skiing, the best Chinese food is in Seoul and Korean Netflix is better.

Class

I know that I said I would pick one course to highlight but forgive me - I'll have to recommend two.

Taught by Professor John Marshall, the first class is a mouthful: Revolution, Anti-Slavery, and Empire 1773-1792: British and American Political Thought from Paine, Smith, and the Declaration of Independence to Cugoano, Wollstonecraft, and the Bill of Rights.

I joined quite late, but I could tell from my very first class that there was something different about this course. Though there are many anti-slavery courses at this university - many of which I have taken - none have ever given me the perspective on slavery and the American Revolution that Marshall provides in this course. In addition to being a witty and kind professor, Marshall takes the materials we've studied time after time and gives them a newer (and more interesting) meaning.

He also gets bonus points because he once bought me a book he thought I would enjoy reading!

The second course was Global Political Ecology: Colonialism, Capitalism, and Climate Change with Sheharyar "Sherry" Imran.

In my four years at this school, this has been the only 9 a.m. class that I have ever taken. I honestly thought that I would drop it after the first week for an afternoon class, but I found myself much too interested. I don't quite have the words to describe this course; my best effort would be Greta Thunberg and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez's lovechild. The topics covered a vast array of topics from Baltimore's Curtis Bay pollution to indigenous philosophical thought. It was very clear that Imran had put an immense amount of thought and consideration into each reading selected for class, and I honestly enjoyed reading them. Unfortunately, he is a graduating doctoral student, so I don't believe the course will be taught again; however, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to appreciate it.

Outside of these classes, organizations and experiences, I have been a part of many opportunities that I also greatly value and cherish.

I know that, at times, the Hopkins workload alone is enough to keep all of us more than busy, but I truly believe having experiences outside of a rigorous education path is the key to enjoying your college years.

I'm not sure if reading this will convince anyone to partake in any of my suggestions, but I hope that at the very least, you are inspired to get involved.

Maria Harar is from Atlanta, Ga. and is graduating with a degree in Political Science and Cognitive Science. She is a former Magazine Editor for The News-Letter.

"Copy of Copy of PLAN BUT I DROP PREMED"

That is the title of the final iteration of my four-year plan.

As I sit down to reflect on the last four years of my life at Hopkins, those are the words that echo in my mind. It's a simple yet poignant summary of the twists and turns, ups and downs, As and "unsatisfactory"s, that have characterized my university experience. It's a reminder of my wasted heartbreak taking Organic Chemistry and Physics, and of the meticulously scripted and practiced confession I wrote for my parents, anticipating their disappointment.

It's a frightening thing to be young and alive. It's one of the greatest privileges to be both, but how often do we know what to do with that? One of the curses of this experience is that it's our first time being alive. Despite our AP Lang's required reading of Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers or the rabbit holes of wikiHow articles, there is no absolute guide on the decisions we make as we navigate our lives, and there are no undos, do-overs or takesies-backsies, which makes every decision we make feel deeply consequential. In trying to come to terms with that - the devastating, boot-shaking, very loose conceptual knowledge of free will - I cope by planning.

I've spent countless hours poring over my spreadsheet - meticulously planning out my trajectory and charting my path. I'll do this, which will allow me to do this, which will give me the skills I need to do this, which will help me apply to this, and such, and so forth.

But the most life-impacting decisions I've made have happened off Google Sheets and mostly out of my control - a result of random chance. That's why I have a love-hate relationship with the serendipitous chain of events that contribute to our lives. For one, serendipitous is such a scary word to spell, but how terrifying is it that luck plays so big a role in our lives - this unexpectable variable that, no matter how hard you try, you can't plot out on a spreadsheet.

The friends that I've made at Hopkins have had an indescribable impact on both my experience and on who I am as a person. From the memories of laughing so hard I run out of breath and my lungs start hurting, to how they've shaped me and encouraged me to be more confident in myself, they've given me so much that an 800-word News-Letter article disguised as advice on planning can't begin to show my appreciation.

They weren't a part of my first four-year plan. I only met them through E-Board on a club - a club that I only applied to on a whim because someone I randomly reached out to on GroupMe to ask about transitioning to college recommended it. But in the late nights when my brain begins to spiral, I can't help but imagine the "what-ifs." What if I had reached out to someone else, joined a different club and never gotten close with those friends? Without them in my life, what different kind of person could I have become? What if I didn't get waitlisted for Fundamentals of Epidemiology and missed out on the memories of pulling out a picnic blanket to sunbathe on Wyman Quad on Friday afternoons? The butterfly effect is real, but unfortunately I'm afraid of bugs.

There are things you cannot plan for, and there are things you should change your plans for. I say all of this genuinely, albeit hypocritically, as another tab peeks out on my spreadsheet entitled "Life Plan," but there is little to do other than accept that inevitable chance. Some of it will be good and some of it will be bad, but you have to plan for your plan to not follow through - and that's not necessarily a bad thing.

But in my opinion, the scariest thing about a four-year plan is how fast four years pass. Those eight 6:30 a.m. alarms to get ready for class registration are over before you realize it, and where you were once logging into the admissions portal with your friends surrounding, hoping to see the words "You're In!," you are now in your cap and gown saying your goodbyes to your friends and hoping they're not goodbye forever.

For all the all-nighters on D-level wishing for it to be over, you never really imagined it would be over so soon. Of course, it was never perfect - there were decisions I should have made, decisions I shouldn't have and things that didn't go the way I hoped, but I don't feel regret for those things. I like to think that there are no such things as mistakes - just interesting chapters in your future biography. Worst case scenario, we'll try again in the next life.

As I get ready to graduate - furiously clawing at every aspect of my fleeting college life that I can - so deeply wishing everything could stay the same, as my friends depart for the rest of their lives, I can only oh-so-desperately hope that I have been a part of their four-year plans and will continue to be so in the next sets of four-years to come.

Kobi Khong is from Orange County, Calif. and is graduating with a degree in Public Health Studies.

As I conclude my last year of college and my third year in Baltimore, I think back to the places where I passed my time. The dorms, the library, the stuffy classrooms. It is easier to grieve brick and mortar than the people I may never see again.

I will miss the study carrel on C-level where I cranked out papers until the early hours of the morning. I would occasionally stand to see the heads of hair and empty Celsius cans behind other desks just to remind myself I wasn't going through it alone. I will miss the Gilman Hall basement, where Writing Seminars professors gave me life advice I know I'll return to for years to come. I will miss the maroon, upholstered furniture of Homewood Apartments. On those scratchy chairs and couches, virtual strangers quickly became my best friends.

Yet, I don't know how to start saying goodbye to the Gatehouse. With its ancient sage brick and sagging roof. Its shoddy foundation and sinkless bathroom. I consider "It was nice knowing you" or even a "Thanks for everything." But what can that convey?

Certainly not the scream when I first found a wasp nest in the window of the chiefs' office. Not the countless slices of cold Domino's I ate on print nights. Not the giggling with fellow editors at the old quotes scrawled on workroom walls. Not the early-dawn hours when I wanted to curl into a ball on the squashy, blue sofa.

Back in 2020, I started college, and it felt like nothing had changed. I was still studying in my childhood bedroom and walking the same suburban streets. My first year passed by in a blur of Zoom lectures. I was desperate for the next few to be different. I felt pressure to cram transformative experiences into the rest of my time at Hopkins. I wanted to explore Baltimore and come to see the city as my second home. I wanted to take classes and have conversations that would change how I saw the world.

As commencement creeps closer, I think I have accomplished those things. Old Bay Seasoning and crab cakes now have a special place in my heart. I have loved learning about Charm City from the fourth-grade students in Writers in Baltimore Schools. I have been surprised by class discussions on everything from DNA sequencing to Raymond Carver.

However, my most meaningful experience at Hopkins is the one that reflects how little I've changed. I have always been obsessed with the work of documentation and storytelling, as evidenced by the stack of filled journals in my childhood bedroom. I adored being an editor for my high school's paper. Joining The News-Letter was a natural continuation of those passions.

While my time on staff hasn't unveiled a new me, it has brought me new challenges and a new community.

Being co-Editor-in-Chief during one of the most divisive times on campus in recent history has often filled me with worry and self-doubt. I have wondered whether we are doing enough to highlight student voices and experiences. I have stressed about the backlash in our inbox and Instagram comments. But, mostly, I have been in awe at The News-Letter staff - a group of students equally committed to providing the Hopkins community with fair, factual reporting.

I have laughed until I was in tears while delivering papers around campus or brainstorming headlines for the week's editorial. I have looked forward to editing album reviews and sports recaps by our talented writers. I have been overwhelmingly grateful for the support I've found in my partner in crime, Yana Mulani. I have been proud of the work we've done, and that's a feeling like no other.

When I left the Gatehouse after my last print night, I wanted to say goodbye. It was a cinematic moment: the incoming and outgoing chiefs turning toward North Charles Street in the early-morning darkness, birds chirping in the trees above us. It would've been the perfect time to say something profound. But I couldn't find the words then, and I still can't. I have spent countless hours in that cobweb-filled cottage stressing over ledes and captions, and now, when it matters most, I can't even offer a platitude.

But maybe a college experience that started strangely should end that way, too. So here it is: my last piece for The News-Letter. Not much of a goodbye, but an attempt, nonetheless.

Abigail Tuschman is from Fort Lauderdale, Fla. and is graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in Writing Seminars and Natural Sciences and a minor in Spanish for the Professions. She is a former Editor-in-Chief, Opinions Editor and Voices Editor for The News-Letter.

Everyone comes to college an outsider. New to Baltimore, I remember jangling with the nervous desire to belong. I looked for a way in through writing for The News-Letter, and one of my first stories was about a new restaurant opening in Charles Village called Busboys and Poets. Busboys is gone now, which goes to show how a person and a place can change together in less than four years.

I went on a lot of walks through campus in the spring semester of my freshman year, learning the names of buildings and quads without even meaning to. Before I quite felt like a real student at Hopkins, The News-Letter connected me to several incoming students who had just been accepted in the second early decision round. As we talked, I realized that I had the privilege of imparting knowledge and a sense of belonging; I had become part of Hopkins.

Walking back and forth across campus became an increasing necessity as pandemic restrictions were lifted and classes and extracurriculars started meeting in assigned rooms. I could not tell you exactly when the people around campus stopped feeling like non-player characters, but, at some point, they started meeting my gaze and saying, "Hi, Elaine!" I started saying, "Hello!" first.

The pandemic definitely skewed my perception of social norms. Eating meals by myself and talking to random strangers were practices that I continued as I took on the identity of a Resident Advisor (RA). Though the job itself necessitates embracing some awkwardness - as an upperclassman in the dining halls, for example - I learned more about confidence from my residents. I strove to give them the in-person freshman experience that I did not have, and they were upfront with me about everything going on in their lives. In advocating for them, I learned to advocate for myself.

Shedding my reserve to let my confidence shine through took a prerequisite feeling of safety, and I will always remember the people who have made me feel seen and also comfortable while being seen. Their authenticity has brought out mine.

When I, having chopped 18 inches off my hair since my freshman spring, returned to campus sophomore year, Kimberly, who worked at Hopkins Cafe at the time and is stationed at CharMar now, actually remembered me when some of my friends did not even recognize me anymore. She made me feel at home here, and I still wear the fuzzy red socks she gave me one Christmas. We would never have connected if she hadn't told me she liked my hair when it was long and lamented when it was gone.

Larry, who works with RAs, remembered me as an AMR II Hollander resident when I became an RA myself. That might seem weird, but it means so much for me to be remembered when my biggest fear is being forgotten. I made an impact just by existing, which signified to me that I truly belong.

Taking American Sign Language has introduced me to another mode of expression in a way that has pushed me to genuinely find comfort in myself even when I make mistakes. Nobody is judging my personhood on the basis that I can never remember the difference between the sign for "funeral" and the sign for "visit." I strive for constant improvement and would much rather be corrected than continue making an embarrassing mistake for the rest of my life.

Receiving compliments is hard for many of us, and I am still waiting for those people who say my writing "slays" during workshops to double back and berate me for the middle-of-the-night scribbles I forced them to assess. I am still counting the days until people who say I am an eloquent speaker turn around and tell me that my word vomit is meaningless to them. But, then again, when have I ever told someone I liked something of theirs and did not mean it? Never.

The impostor syndrome is still with me. And yet, I have had the privilege of being surrounded by people who unconditionally support me. I remember asking a Charm City STEM League volunteer for help, and I barely said, "Would you-" when he responded, "I would love to." My most loyal PILOT student, Noah, announced once that he would follow me anywhere. My mindset is a little slower to change, but, whenever something goes well, I can hear the voice of Jillayne, one of my sophomore-year roommates, telling me that I am not simply lucky; I work hard. People are so kind, and I strive to be more like them every day.

Quite possibly the best compliment I have ever been given came from my best friend Kahea. "You got balls," she said. That is not to say that I somehow grew a pair in college. People sometimes mistake me for being shy because I can be quiet. But, if I were a book, I would have a transparent cover; I say what I mean. And I learned that from her throwing around the most out-of-pocket Midwest phrases, because she is not afraid of being herself in the face of questioning looks.

Everyone comes to college to learn, from professors and from each other. Other people's successes do not detract from my own. As I move forward into the real, adult world, I have confidence that I have learned something from the Hopkins community about being myself. I have a voice that people want to hear. This has been the case all along.

Elaine Yang is from San Ramon, Calif. and is graduating with a degree in Neuroscience and Medicine, Science, and the Humanities with a minor in Writing Seminars.

I joined the Poverty and Inequality Research Lab intending not only to gain research skills but also to become a better listener and advocate. During winter break, we traveled to a small town in Arkansas to map out the decision-making processes of families there. This experience helped us learn more about the voices of marginalized communities.

I usually like to decompress on plane rides at the end of each trip. But instead of my typical routine - donning my lavender-scented steaming eye mask and slipping on noise-canceling AirPods - I find myself reluctant to shut out the world on my flight back to Baltimore from our fieldwork trip in Arkansas. As I gaze down at the patchwork of landscapes below, each parcel of land seems to enshrine within it a silent testament to the stories and decisions of those who dwell there. The families we interviewed, the church services we attended, the donut shop that welcomed us - all of their narratives are interwoven into the fabric of transformative decisions, neighborhood choices, love stories and, perhaps most importantly, their genuine willingness to share their aspirations, resilience and identities with strangers from Maryland. I did not anticipate how deeply this short fieldwork trip would map its unique and invaluable imprint on my academic and personal growth.

My conversation with a participant - who I'll call Hilton - was an insightful journey into the depths at which personal experiences are shaped by broader social structures such as race, sexuality and socio-economic status. He texted Kaylee (the post-doc fellow and primary interviewer) right before the scheduled interview time, as he was helping a friend and was now at a fast-food place without transportation to get home. She assured him that everything would be fine while grabbing her car keys.

Kaylee and I hopped into the red Jeep with an interview material package and the very important recorder. His relief at seeing us was evident, and he quickly warmed up to our presence. We started the interview while we were driving to his house. It was indeed quite odd to talk about life in a moving car with two strangers. But Kaylee nailed it. And even while keeping an eye on the road, she was always giving Hilton the nod or the "mhmm" that said, "I'm here, I'm listening, keep going." It was this sort of magic mix of being present, but not pushy, that I picked up from her - something I'm definitely tucking into my own toolkit for future interviews.

The qualitative research method class did not tell me how to handle our rolling interview. The unconventional setting was, perhaps, something you would never find in a textbook, so it was like watching a masterclass in fieldwork on the go. Her approach was super casual but incredibly focused, turning it into a smooth ride - literally and metaphorically. It was a reminder that sometimes, the best conversations happen when you just go with the flow and adapt to whatever comes your way. The conversation eased into more serious topics about his life experiences as we approached our destination.

Hilton's life story is truly a story of trying to balance life during a time of constant change. His story is one that truly offers a hallmark to what it means to be human, marked at one point by aspiration and another by romantic comfort. From his childhood years where he spent his time moving homes due to the changing dynamics of his family, to all his different enterprises in his quest for independence and love, every chapter of Hilton's life had something new to add to the narrative of resilience.

After wrapping up an insightful day of interviews, we returned to our Airbnb, only to discover the heating had gone out - an unwelcome twist given Arkansas' unusually snowy January evenings. It was a reminder of how fieldwork often threw unexpected challenges your way beyond just the research questions. Kendall - our always-prepared supervisor - quickly took charge. Recognizing that the weather and malfunctioning heating system could potentially leave us in a tough spot, she guided us on a snowy trek to the nearest supermarket. Her leadership turned a potentially stressful situation into a bonding experience for our team. As we wandered the aisles picking out essentials (and a few comfort snacks), we shared laughs and stories about fieldwork misadventures.

As I pen this concluding thought, I'm still "looking" out the airplane window and observing the intersectional experiences from our fieldwork. Like the landscapes I see stitched together, the stories from the beautiful people I heard were incredible. I am immensely grateful for the opportunity to have been a part of these stories and the fieldwork trip. This advocacy spirit carried me back to Baltimore as I resumed my senior year. Reflecting on my time at Hopkins, I stand at the nexus of theory and practice, academia and advocacy. I am eager to support marginalized communities. For the past summers, I actively contributed to two vital organizations in Baltimore. My work - centered especially on queer, displaced youth and queer undocumented immigrants and refugees - shaped the foundation of my vision.

These experiences have left an indelible mark, defining both my academic identity and inciting personal growth on how to be a better researcher and, more importantly, how to be a better listener as I head to University of Pennsylvania for my Ph.D. in Sociology and Demography. I will continue my flights to different cities carrying much more than my eye mask and AirPods. I will hear more stories and see diverse groups of people carrying the insights and stories from Arkansas, Baltimore and beyond.

Frank Meng from San Jose, Calif. and is graduating with a degree in Sociology and English.

I will never forget the day I was accepted into Hopkins. Not because it was rosy and life-changing. Antithetically, it seemed that everyone thought the world would end that day. It was Friday, March 13, 2020, which became our last day of "normal" school before everything shut down due to the pandemic.

Now, my graduation gown stares at me from my closet, a self-imposed reminder that my time at Hopkins is almost over. How did we get here already?

Four years ago, everyone thought I had hit the jackpot. After many college tours, information sessions and applications, I had gained admission to a highly coveted "elite university" that so few from my high school had been able to attain in previous years. Of course, my imposter syndrome only intensified when I arrived here and learned that many of my friends had attended schools where the norm was to go to a top university. Many had parents who were physicians or professors or lawyers. For them, going to a top university was a given, so they seem to forget the immense privilege they have to be at Hopkins.

I know that this discourse is nothing new. But Hopkins was by no means my dream school as it had been for many of my peers. My eyes had been set on other schools, in more familiar cities, that were slightly less competitive. I had applied to Hopkins on a whim; it was the last application I wrote and the last decision I received out of many.

I was extremely hesitant to commit to Hopkins. I agonized over the decision for weeks. What if I ended up regretting going to Hopkins? I knew almost nothing about Baltimore, having only visited Hopkins once for an admissions tour, which I ended up disliking. I grew up visiting family in Washington, D.C. often, so that familiarity somewhat assuaged my fear of moving to a new city.

But, recently, I discovered this photo of myself in Baltimore's Inner Harbor as a child. I honestly don't remember that trip at all. We must've taken a day trip to Baltimore while visiting D.C. But here I was, in front of the dragon boats and multicolored panels of the National Aquarium.

It's the same place where my family and I took photos before they dropped me off at my freshman dorm. The red, green, yellow and white panel of the aquarium is still there. I know this seems silly; many Hopkins students arrive here having never visited the East Coast. But part of me finds so much comfort in trying to tease out the symbolic meanings of the past. Maybe Baltimore was meant to be all along. Finding this photo reminded me how lucky I am to have some family ties to this area - unlike my family members who, at my age, had to move to new countries alone.

What has fueled me has been reminding myself of the significance of my attending Hopkins when so few in my family have had similar opportunities. My ancestors fled war and poverty in China and went to Mauritius, a small island near Madagascar, where they didn't know anyone. My parents each left Mauritius in search of better opportunities far from home in Singapore and in the United States. Theirs is a classic story of immigrants chasing the elusive "American Dream."

My friends know that I could go on about being Mauritian forever. But every time I meet someone new who asks about my family, I am again struck with this idea of generational context. I carry with me the legacies of generations of my family who have each sacrificed comfort and familiarity to pursue a better life for the next generation. For me, there is so much meaning imbued in my family's migrational history that has enabled me to reach where I am now.

My first college class was during the height of the pandemic over Zoom: Advanced French for Writing. My last class was a History Research Lab on the Asian Diaspora in Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Neither of these were necessary for my primary major, but they were both so impactful for my personal growth and interdisciplinary training. I'm so grateful to have taken niche social sciences classes that have fundamentally changed the way I approach global issues and research processes. Most importantly, studying the social sciences has enabled me to better understand my family's history.

My family has made all of my hopes and dreams possible. I owe all of my success to them and to their courage in moving to new places. And I know my four-year-old self would be proud to know that I ended up living in and, unexpectedly, loving Baltimore.

Estelle Yeung is from Clinton, N.J. and is graduating with a degree in Public Health Studies and International Studies.

Dear Isabella,

You've probably just gotten the news that your first semester at Hopkins, your dream university, will be entirely online - right before your wisdom teeth removal surgery. It sucks, I know. And these restrictions will stay in place for a while. But the pandemic doesn't last forever. You will get to dance the night away, see your friends' faces and experience all the unique offerings Baltimore has - eventually.

You're both dead set on what you want to do and also have no idea what you are doing. All you know is that you want to be an author and expect to come out of college with a six-figure book deal, right? Something you learn quickly is that college is unpredictable at best and hellish at worst - but it's not impossible, and you will be able to do it. You shouldn't come here to only write a book. You should come here to make close friendships and unforgettable memories, and sometimes you will pick going out on the town over staying in and writing. And that's okay.

Another thing you will learn is that things will happen in their own time. Everybody has their own path, and while your classmates are doing amazing and impressive things, you are doing something of equal importance: being the first person in your entire family to go to college and learning to be a self-sufficient, independent and good person. All of these are as important as winning an award. I know you don't believe that - it's hard to believe it myself. But you'll soon find yourself amazed at your own critical thinking skills, the fluidity in your speech, the eloquence of your diction, and that is more than enough to prove that your education was worth it.

You make the best of what you can with COVID-19 and the unending construction of a student center you will never be able to experience. You discover all the nooks and crannies of campus, all the shortcuts so you can get to Bloomberg in less than fifteen minutes when you accidentally oversleep. You say yes to everything on campus: five student jobs, countless clubs, a sorority and a large network of friends who all love and care about you, random trips to Inner Harbor, hopping on the bus that takes you all around Baltimore so you can see the good and bad of the city you'll be living in for four years, studying abroad in Japan. Yes, Japan! You will do so much that it's hard to believe that I've been spending most of my senior spring regretting all I haven't done.

You won't get any awards for Writing Seminars, and this will crush you beyond comparison. You won't write that Sociology thesis you pondered doing. You won't get a star-studded internship at some cool company, you won't present any important research that wins awards, you won't apply to or win any fellowships, and you won't graduate with a job. You'll burn out around the end of junior year after taking more than 15 credits for over two years straight, and you'll realize you haven't done any of the hobbies you loved in four years. A stake will drive into your heart every time you open LinkedIn and see your peers doing something unbelievable. But something shifts in your last three weeks as a student, and you realize you've earned some rest and relaxation.

Things get better. Then worse. Then better again.

One thing you never lose is the support of your community. Your parents are always there for you, and while they may not understand what you're doing or where you're going, they are there with open arms when you fall or succeed, and you will do plenty of both. They trust you and are waiting for you to trust yourself. You will have an academic advisor who is indispensable to your transition to college and saves you from countless pitfalls and mistakes. You have friends that come and go. Regardless of whether you will say goodbye to them at graduation or not, they will leave an impact on you so strong that you won't notice at first. Not until you choose a snack at the supermarket because they recommended that brand to you or a song plays while you're folding laundry and you're forcefully transported to the summer night your friend played it nonstop in your car. You might only keep in contact with a handful of friends post-grad, but the life lessons you learned from and with them will stay with you forever.

You have an indomitable spirit, grown from a working-class childhood, reinforced by high school and solidified in college. When you fall down, you will get up. When you're stuck in a corner, you dig out an escape. You will have setbacks, but triumphs follow soon after.

My next triumph is graduation, which may seem unfathomable to you. It did to me until this week when the graduation countdown went from years to months... to three weeks. So continue living like college will last forever, live in ignorant bliss.

It may seem like I'm some venerable sage, and you may be wondering what shift occurs that makes me an adult. But truth be told, I am and forever will be you, a scared but excited college freshman ready to take on the world. I will always be the "new kid," whether it's at a job, a friend group or a social club. I will always be learning and growing. I know this may seem daunting to you because you think you'll wake up someday and "get it," but you'll learn that nobody "gets it." Nobody understands what's going on, nobody is secure and everybody is a scared college kid bumbling around, learning and growing, forever and ever.

Keep making mistakes, Isabella Cardoso Madruga. Keep learning and growing. Your future is so bright; you're blind to its possibilities. This is the only advice I can give to you: You will be okay. I will be okay. We will be okay.

Love,

Isabella

Isabella Madruga is from the Bay Area, Calif. and is graduating with a degree in Writing Seminars and Sociology.

In April 2020, a little over four years ago, I wrote a letter to myself to be opened at the end of college. It was the summer before my freshman year, a few months after I'd discovered I had been accepted at Hopkins and a strange and uncertain time in the middle of the pandemic. Since then, I've mostly forgotten the contents of the letter, typed into a Google document with the title "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL MAY 23, 2024!!" However, I do remember inserting photographs of my current obsessions at the time, and I can imagine that I talked quite a bit about finding friends and a partner, things I've always been concerned with. So, in honor of the letter I wrote to future me, I'll now write one to my past self.

To freshman me: Don't worry. You always worry. You worried so much that you made a Reddit post asking people what to do in preparation for college. Don't be afraid to make some mistakes. A fear of looking bad or messing up will prevent you from being adventurous and exploring new things. Worry less about the future and embrace the present, as trite as it sounds.

Don't be afraid to be disliked by some people. I've come to realize that extremes are unhealthy. If you're absolutely loved by everyone, then you're not being real, and, if you're absolutely hated by everyone, then you're an asshole. By staying true to yourself while still trying to be kind and compassionate, you'll be loved by the people that matter most, even if you step on some toes here and there.

Cook more. I spent far too much money eating out and buying snacks when I could have tried out new recipes and worked on my cooking skills. Take advantage of your apartment kitchen when you're inevitably kicked out of the dorms junior year, and aspire to be the next MasterChef. Or, at least, a half-decent one.

Finally, take your writing more seriously and don't slack off. I entered and exited Hopkins as a Writing Seminars major, and - although I've never regretted this choice, as I've always loved writing - I do regret the lackluster manner with which I spent my time here. I didn't take my classes as seriously as I should have, thinking that, as long as I got As, I was doing fine. But, one's skill in writing isn't easily expressed according to a metric, and it isn't something you can cram at the last minute. It requires regular practice, reading and critique. Although my writing has improved in the past four years, it hasn't improved as much as it could have had I been more diligent in honing my craft.

Really, this letter to my freshman self might also be a letter to my current self. Although I've definitely changed in these past four years, I've stayed the same in many ways. I'm still anxious, neurotic and a people pleaser. I still worry. I still have many fears. I'm still learning to accept who I am as a person, to love myself and to grow as a friend to others.

In a few months, I'll be moving to New York City to live with my sister in a cramped Manhattan apartment. Unfortunately, I don't have a job lined up or a graduate program to fall back on. I'm in the middle of job hunting, and I'm starting to wonder if being a barista might be my only prospect for now. But, I'm also excited and hopeful for the future, and I'm especially excited to devote more energy and time to regularly writing and reading. I hope these next years of my life will be as fruitful as the past four.

Aliza Li is from Houston, T.X. and is graduating with a degree in Writing Seminars. She is a former Voices editor for The News-Letter.

"Not Like Us" is now the fastest rap song ever to reach 100 million streams on Spotify, beating the previous recordholder, Drakes' "God's Plan." Even by Drake's own admission, both on the last track of the feud in "The Heart Part 6" and a corny Instagram story which states: "Good times. Summer vibes up next," Drake is waving the "white flag" that he wished to drape over the rest of the industry. I have no doubt the hatred still lingers, and there are many accusations left unconfirmed, but at least the public side of the feud has ended.

The question then becomes, who won? It's hard to argue for Drake's victory. For one, he voluntarily dropped out of the feud. The artist who was goading Lamar to respond, the one who brought the feud back from the dead, is now the one taking refuge in "summer vibes." It isn't quite an admission of guilt, but it's certainly an admission of fatigue.

Rumors have surfaced that Lamar recorded all three of his responses - "euphoria," "6:16 in LA" and "Meet the Grahams" - in one session. Drake has been dropping his tracks in reaction to one session.There is more than enough evidence to support this rumor: in "euphoria," Lamar says word for word, "I can even predict your angle." This type of psychological victory over Drake cannot be overstated. When Kendrick released "Meet The Grahams" within an hour after Drake's meticulously planned "Family Matters," Drake had already lost. He just couldn't keep up.

If you aren't convinced that BBL Drizzy (i.e. the one and only Aubrey Drake Graham) has lost, then let's take a retroactive look at this beef, and compare the two contenders track by track.

"Push Ups" versus "Like That"

As I mentioned in my previous article, Drake's "Push Ups" was an amazing response to Lamar's "Like That." People debate about who started the Kendrick-Drake rap feud, but for me it was always Lamar who struck the first blow. Not only did "Like That" come five months after Drake's For All The Dogs, but Lamar's verse is responding to "First Person Shooter," which isn't a clear attack in the first place. Regardless of the validity of Drake's extortion claims on this track, his verse is just... better. Lyrically and simply as a diss, "Push Ups" has far more substance. This isn't to say Lamar's "Like That" verse is bad - "... it's just big me" is an iconic bar - but it's just a bunch of puns on "First Person Shooter." At this point, it was Drake: one, Lamar: zero.

"Taylor Made Freestyle" versus "euphoria"

I have to say, I think Drake should've definitely done more with the whole Taylor Swift angle. In "Push Ups," he poked fun at Lamar's verses with pop artists like Swift and Maroon 5, and in "Taylor Made Freestyle," he cleverly attacks Lamar's silence - accusing Lamar of waiting until Swift's studio album The Tortured Poets Department was released and the hype had died away. Looking back, this claim has some validity to it. Unfortunately, "euphoria" brought this back-and-forth to a whole new level.

In this six-minute onslaught, Lamar first claims all of Drake's accusations are baseless lies before accusing Drake of having ghostwriters, using fat removal to get abs and appropriating the Black image to further his rapping career. On top of this, Drake used AI to put words in both Snoop Dogg and Tupac's mouths in "Taylor Made Freestyle," which was rightly called out online. This is incredibly low for two reasons: Tupac has been deceased for nearly three decades, and Snoop Dogg is a Los Angeles native who "passed the torch" to Lamar in 2011. What was meant to be a cheeky, dirty attack on Lamar instead highlighted Drake's ignorance and his lack of actual support from legends of the genre. After these two tracks, Drake and Lamar were tied up.

"Family Matters" versus "Meet the Grahams"

This is the heavyweight matchup. Two powerhouses of disses both aimed at the throat, and yet, these two tracks could not be more different. Sonically, "Family Matters" starts as a typical melodic trap song transitioning into a faster-paced drill beat, and then a head-bopping orchestral sample flip. "Meet the Grahams," in contrast, is a minimalist, Alchemist beat with descending chromatic piano notes, which stays stubbornly the same throughout its six-minute runtime.

Shots go back and forth. Drake says that Lamar beats his wife Whitney. Lamar says Drake has multiple sex offenders on his label October's Very Own. Drake says that Lamar's second child really belongs to his creative partner Dave Free. Lamar accuses Drake of having a second hidden child.

And then we forget whatever Drake was going to say, because Lamar just said Drake has a second hidden child.

I acknowledge that there is no evidence to support Drake having a hidden daughter at this time. Judging from Drake's immediate denial of the accusation, either Drake is lying and deliberately hiding this information, or he has no idea he has another child. Lamar goes on past this bar, though, and he has a lot more to say about Drake's character - according to Lamar, Drake is a gambling addict, pedophile and general pervert. At some point, Drake has stopped talking about Lamar, and Lamar is still showing just how far his hatred goes. I don't care which is the better song: this is a battle, not an exhibition. Kendrick won here off of sheer focus alone. Kendrick: two, Drake: one.

"The Heart Part 6" versus "Not Like Us"

In the biggest bait-and-switch of all time, Lamar went commercial and in the best way possible. In "Meet the Grahams," he emptied the clip, threw all his accusations into one brutal song, and before Drake could even respond, Lamar decided to lighten the mood. Thanks to incredible reaction compilations such as the viral video by REACTORS GOIN' CRAZY, we can see the full effect of "Not Like Us" - the culture is with K. Dot.

Featuring a hard DJ Mustard beat, Lamar doesn't just defend his home city of LA, but also the American-born culture of Hip Hop. "Not Like Us" is a track which will live in history alongside Tupac's "Hit 'Em Up" as songs which captured the spirit of music, and forced their opposing artists to watch in horror as whole hordes of swinging bodies chant the hymn of their downfall.

On the flip side, "The Heart Part 6" amounts to: "I'm way too famous for this shit you just suggested." That's not a paraphrase - that's a real bar from Drake himself. I don't care what rhyme schemes he used on this song - musically, it's not the worst - Drake has no proof of any of his claims, all while he simultaneously begs for proof from Lamar. He even attempts to flip the script on Lamar, claiming he set him up with that information about his daughter, but this has been proven false. Drake can't stop lying, even on a track where he is accusing Kendrick of being dishonest.

This was the nail in the coffin. Lamar somehow managed to make a more substantial diss on a track which just topped the Billboard Hot 100. He stayed true to his own standards as an artist, while still appealing to the masses. Never has the distance between these two GOATs ever been this apparent. Lamar wins - three to one.

You could argue Drake didn't even want to win, and that he was more concerned with addressing all the people dissing him. Regardless, if this is supposed to be Lamar versus Drake, Lamar won. If you don't believe Drake himself, then you're fighting a losing battle. Re-listen and tell me who cut the hardest. Drake didn't even cut to the bone.

If you disagree, feel free to leave a comment stating your case. The music is out there - now it's our turn to carry on the beef.

Observing the past year's events unfold, I never thought I would write something like this nor that the need arise. Regardless I find it important to remind the Hopkins community, along with myself as I put my thoughts on paper, about the importance of condemning hatred from any direction and toward any direction. I will not try to avow a moral high ground nor advocate for how the geopolitics of the Middle East should operate. Those are discussions to be had through deliberate and organized dialogue. My intention is to call for solidarity against acts of Islamophobia and antisemitism alike, something easier said than done.

My understanding of solidarity is to stand for a cause or shared interest, united. Across the world, in the U.S. and, now, on university campuses, various calls for solidarity are being made. Solidarity with the Palestinians in Gaza, many of whom have lost their lives, futures, homes and continue to do so. Solidarity with Israelis, who were the victims of an intentional and painful attack in October. Don't get me wrong, solidarity is important and necessary, especially when it comes to highlighting the sheer humanity at stake during this devastating war. But why is it so difficult to stand in solidarity against acts of antisemitism and Islamophobia, simultaneously?

The rise of a far-right Israeli government, along with an extremist government in control of Gaza, has not only exacerbated political tensions but also augmented religious ones. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu himself claimed his "hands [were] tied" when making foreign policy decisions since he relied on Knesset support from his coalition, which consists of far-right, Zionist and religious leaders such as Minister of National Security Itamar Ben-Gvir and Minister of Finance Bezalel Smotrich. On the other side of the Erez crossing is Harakat al-Muqawama al-Islamiya, better known as Hamas. Established as a political branch of the Muslim Brotherhood in Gaza, Hamas's charter calls for "an Islamic society in historic Palestine" through any means necessary, including physical violence. The organization was officially categorized as a Foreign Terrorist Organization in 1997 by the U.S. Department of State. On the ground, conflict is not defined by the creed of Judaism or Islam. It is defined by the governance of Israel and Hamas. Note that Hamas governs solely Gaza while the West Bank is governed by the Mahmoud Abbas-led Palestinian Authority.

With differing political objectives and keen religious leadership heightening those tensions, the war between Hamas and Israel is viewed as a religious conflict between Jews and Muslims rather than a political one over occupation of land and borders. Both Jews and Muslims have legitimate claims to the Holy Land, and leadership from both sides use religion as pretext for their actions. In discerning the conflict as religious, Muslims and Jews are pitted against each other, something that is being reflected in the U.S. today. Alan Dowty wrote in Israel/Palestine that, as the early conflict progressed, it created religious tension; however, it was not rooted in a clash of religions. Thus, viewing the conflict as political rather than primarily religious is helpful in defusing divides that accompany fanaticism.

Since October 2023, reported bias incidents against both Jews and Muslims have been on the rise. The Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) received 1,283 bias reports and requests for help between October 7 and November 4 of 2023. Compared to reports submitted over one month in 2022, this value represented a 216% increase in complaints. More recently, with student protests appearing on college campuses, the use of derogatory slurs against Muslim and Jewish students have increased. Female students who wear the hijab and present as outwardly Muslim have been a frequent target of such incidents. Of course, we can't forget the story of Wadea Al Fayoume, the six-year-old boy stabbed 26 times in Illinois simply for being Muslim.

Similarly - and equally as unfortunate - antisemitic incidents surged 360% over a three-month span after Hamas attacked according to the Anti-Defamation League. Hundreds of incidents have been reported against Jewish institutions on college campuses, and about two-thirds of all incidents were attributed to repercussions of the Israel-Hamas war. The reemergence of harmful Jewish tropes and even a Jewish residence hall's getting set on fire are just a few of the hate-motivated incidents the Jewish community has endured. Antisemitism has contributed to Jewish individuals' feeling so unsafe that some choose not to wear symbols of Judaism outwardly as it may invite undesired confrontation.

This is unacceptable and intolerable. No one should feel as though they are being targeted for practicing their religion on a university campus. That being said, bigotry has become a lamentable externality of the Israel-Hamas war. It is a reality we are currently dealing with.

There is a hypothesis for taking sides on questions of moral judgement. Peter DeScioli, a professor of moral and political psychology at Stony Brook University, explains that "moral judgment takes as input a person's action and computes as output a wrongness value for that action." He argues that the establishment of a rigid binary framework used to define what is "right and wrong" leads to political extremism. DeScioli hypothesizes that moral judgment is often used to take sides in a conflict, further dividing people and dissipating room for cooperation.

This leads me to a simple conclusion: Don't pick sides in regard to condemning Islamophobia and antisemitism. This may seem straightforward, but, in practice, it's quite difficult. I fully recognize there are personal, familial and spiritual ties to all that is transpiring. That being said, as difficult as it may be, I encourage us to look beyond those ties and consider the humanity of those around us.

Rebuking antisemitism and Islamophobia are not mutually exclusive, binary choices. Having sympathy for the Palestinians who are now displaced in Gaza or the Israelis who have missing loved ones is valuable. Taking peaceful actions to demonstrate your solidarity is valuable as well. It spurs hope for those who may have lost it within the U.S. and abroad while demonstrating commitment to a cause that is personal for many.

When it comes to identifying and denouncing hateful actions that your peers, neighbors or friends may be facing, do not be selective. Students of all identities, faiths and backgrounds should strive to practice this. Call out antisemitism with the same fervor with which you would call out Islamophobia, and call out Islamophobia with the same fervor with which you would call out antisemitism. At its core, the current situation is a struggle over power and land. Do not let semantics and rhetoric make you think it is an intrinsically religious conflict or one that warrants bigotry toward Jews and Muslims.

As a Muslim student, I call for my peers of all faiths and identities to stand in solidarity with Jewish and Muslim students alike across the country, especially here at Hopkins. Next time you say something, share something or hit that repost button... bear in mind your Jewish or Muslim classmate, and think about both of them.

Arusa Malik is a sophomore from Crofton, Md. majoring in International Studies and Political Science

To the Members of the Johns Hopkins Community,

On Monday, April 29, the Beach became the site of a Palestine Solidarity Encampment, one of many on campuses across the nation. The encampment concerns many Hopkins students - the Jewish community included.

The horrific attacks against Israel on Oct. 7 impacted us directly, with members of our community losing friends and family members. In the months since, we have mourned the loss of civilian lives - Israeli and Palestinian. We recognize the disheartening and disturbing conditions in Gaza. At the same time, we stand firm against Hamas - a terrorist organization committed to the destruction of the Jewish people.

While the Hopkins Jewish community possesses a variety of opinions regarding the Israel-Hamas war, we are committed to promoting peace, security and healing for all affected by this tragic war. But irrespective of the conflict, it is unacceptable to risk the safety and security of students. The hatred espoused within the encampment puts every Hopkins student at risk.

Protesters -despite their stated desire to demilitarize both Gaza and Hopkins -call for violence against Jews. Some of these include:

• "There is only one solution: Intifada revolution."
• "Resistance is justified when people are occupied."
• "BPD, KKK, IDF, you're all the same!"
• "From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free."
• "Anytime somebody comes and tells you that in order for there to be justice in Palestine, that the illegal, racist settler colony of Israel needs to be wiped off the face of the earth, what are you going to say? [Crowd response:] 'Smash Zionism.' This is the task."
• Written on a tent in the encampment: "Theirs [sic] no such thing as a peaceful protest."
• On a sign at the encampment: "Zionism upholds Nazi ideology and white supremacy."
• "Some people think that victory is a ceasefire: these are people who haven't been paying attention because they've already shown that 'ceasefire' just means 'pause'. We're not here for a pause. Some people think that victory means peace, we think there's no such thing as peace without justice. And we know you only get peace and justice in victory. It means that your enemies have been defeated; it means that your enemies have been squashed; it means your enemies have been checked."

These are not calls for peace. These are not calls to improve the lives of Palestinian people. These are calls for violent attacks against all Jews: Jews in Israel, Jews in your classes, Jews in your community and Jews across the world.

These statements are antisemitic. We define Zionism as the right of the Jewish people to self-determination and statehood in our ancestral homeland. Denying this right is antisemitic. Denying our religious connections to the land is antisemitic. Calling for the destruction of the only Jewish state in the world "from the river to the sea" - home to 46% of the global Jewish population - is antisemitic. It is unacceptable for outside parties to assert that something is not offensive to our community.

While encampments tokenize minority anti-Zionist Jewish voices to justify their rhetoric and actions, national polling consistently shows broad Jewish support for the state of Israel, and the Jewish community at Hopkins is no exception. Israel is a critical part of our Jewish identities, and no student should be targeted based on their identity.

Calling the intifada - periods of intense violence, terrorist attacks and suicide bombings against Israeli civilians - "resistance" is sickening. Saying that all resistance, including the use of murder, rape and kidnapping, is "justified" is not representative of the values of the University, Judaism or the United States. Referencing the Nazi ideology of the Final Solution is blatantly antisemitic.

Yet, these statements are regularly proclaimed in front of a defaced Hopkins sign for all Jewish and non-Jewish students to hear by people hiding their identities. Many protesters may not know what they are chanting: the connotations, allusions and meanings behind phrases thrown out by a faceless leader. You may not know what you are saying, but the groups who created these chants did - and Jews do too. We encourage everyone, protester or not, to do their own research and critically evaluate what they are saying. Ignorance is not an excuse for hate; it is your responsibility to educate yourself.

For centuries, antisemitism has contained the consistent assertion that Jews are responsible for a culture's greatest evil. In Christian Europe, we were falsely accused of being Christ-killers. In Nazi Germany, we were smeared as communist race-polluters. In the Soviet Union, we were besmirched as greedy, capitalist bourgeoisie. Now, encampments label us as "settler colonizers" and "Nazis" committing a "genocide." These words pervade their rhetoric with ancient antisemitic tropes.

The violence hasn't been limited to words; it has extended into the physical realm. Protesters have reportedly assaulted a member of the Jewish community - which the encampment dismissed as "baseless." With their identity obscured and groupthink rationality, protestors suddenly lose accountability and act in ways that are completely unacceptable - here or on any other campus.

It is one thing to condemn antisemitism, but actions speak louder than words.

The encampment organizers brought protesters from the broader Baltimore community onto campus. We have repeatedly seen on other campuses non-student affiliates making encampments sites of violence and vitriol. The wide calls for non-affiliate participation and antisemitic rhetoric used by the protesters attracted hateful individuals to our campus, including one who waved a swastika on N. Charles Street on May 2.

It only takes one person with ill intentions for a student to get hurt. It only takes one person for consequences that can never be taken back.

It is a stressful time on campus. As the Board of the Jewish Student Association (JSA), we want to reiterate that all Jewish community members at Hopkins have a home at Hillel. We are here for you. We are a strong community and welcome every student: whether you come to JSA events every day or have never stepped foot in our doors.

Critical thought and intellectual humility are the only ways to break through dogmatism and ideological stubbornness. Escaping echo chambers and doing the hard work of analysis allows us to understand each other and this conflict far better than we ever could alone. We are inspired by President Ronald J. Daniels, who wrote on May 2, "But I believe the much harder work is to now move beyond the shouting, the slogans, the call and response, and to engage in a rigorous and open-minded way with the university community on the agenda for change that you propose."

The Jewish community welcomes respectful dialogue as we work towards a better future for Israelis and Palestinians.

The Board of the Jewish Student Association.