1. 家 (jiā) / home

When we first moved to Vancouver, my parents held out only a few weeks before their homesickness set in, rising like a fever. They booked their first flight back to China three weeks later. Then the flights home stretched to become months apart, then every half-year, until it was just once a year. Suitcases no longer waited by the front door.

In between visits, they learned to make do with WeChat video calls that showed only their parents' faces cropped awkwardly at the neck as we ate mooncakes that tasted faintly of freezer burn. In time, they surrendered their Chinese passports, raised a red and white flag, and became Canadians.

During COVID, my parents insisted on going back every summer, even when their homeland wanted to keep us out. We endured lung scans, blood tests and hazmat suits. Even though we only went back once a year, that rhythm of return was something I counted on and carried me through each school year.

The summer after my sophomore year was the first time I didn't go back. College applications were approaching, and between SATs, summer research and piano exams, I was the only one who stayed in Vancouver while everyone else went home. That summer stretched into winter, winter into spring and then to the next summer. And quietly, without me noticing, my plans to return dissolved with the seasons. I realized that by the time I graduated, it would have been three years since I last went home.

Sitting in the empty house the summer after my junior year, I remember constantly playing "The Lark" by Mikhail Glinka. It was inspired by his travels abroad and eventual homecoming. Sitting at the cold piano bench, my thighs sticking to the leather and my hands slipping against the keys, I read the words my teacher had written under the first four notes: patient and longing. I forced myself to imagine the contour of a bird's wing as I played, trying to pour all the homesickness I could into the melody.

Glinka got to go home, but I didn't know if I would. That thought weighed on me even as I reminded myself to play slowly, to keep the bass soft, to let the bird sing through the melody. Yet all I wanted was to slam on the keys and drown out that hopeful bird.

2. 夹 (jiá) / pinch

Two months ago, I finally got to fly back home. I was going over our itinerary with my mom when I suddenly broke down. I don't even remember what set it off - maybe it was when we talked about the tanghulu I could finally eat when I got back, the kind that never melts even in the summer heat. Maybe it was hearing my grandma excitedly rattling off the dishes that she was planning to cook for me. The memory of her late-night soups, made from scraps she scavenged from the fridge, made my chest swell until it felt like it might burst, spilling everything into my eyes. "I want to go home," I said. "It's been too long. I want to go home."

Landing at Beijing International Airport, the heat hit me first, thick and dusty, carrying the smell of asphalt and something faintly sweet I couldn't place. The wood-and-metal lattice ceiling above the arrivals hall looked exactly as I remembered from three years ago. I took a picture, as if to prove to myself that this was real. I felt myself tearing up again, pinching myself to believe I was finally home - until an official gestured me toward the foreigner line and pressed an arrival card into my hand.

Getting home isn't simple. Jinchuanyuan, where I was born, is a small countryside village on the outskirts of Tangshan, about a two-hour drive east of Beijing, mostly on bumpy gravel roads. On a map, it's unclear where the village starts or ends. It resembles a poorly stitched patchwork quilt: dashed with forgotten railway tracks, intersected by gravel roads, and rudely cut off by a transnational train line.

For over two hours, I watched the highway narrow into single-lane roads and skyscrapers give way to white brick homes with plastic strip curtains flapping against metal doors, and that's when I knew I was home. The blue river of dusk laps at the car window as we pass cornfields, the first day already ending.

My grandma is standing at the entrance, in the same spot where she stood three years ago to wave me goodbye. She kisses my cheek, murmuring that she cooked for me because I asked, and before I know it, a tissue is in her hand and tea is poured into my cup. I wrap my arms around her, and my throat feels pinched when I notice that I am a whole head taller than her now, and my embrace fully encircles her small frame.

3. 假 (jiǎ) / fake

Looking out my bedroom window, Jinchuanyuan already feels different from the way I remembered it. The drive from the city to the countryside, the way rain collects in shallow pools on the dirt paths, the type of fish in the ponds and the distance of the telephone poles, all of it is slightly different from how I had described it in the memoirs I wrote for English class.

I began to question whether I had any right to speak for my hometown. Unlike my aunts and uncles, I never learned to grow crops. (I knew how to season sliced tomatoes, but not how to plant one). I wasn't one of the elementary school kids who painted murals on abandoned brick walls. I never remember which family store sold which sausages, or the names of any stray cats. My loyalty to the town felt fake, like I didn't deserve to call it home, like every word I wrote was a performance for attention.

My unease only grew when I realized that it was getting harder to hold a conversation in Chinese. I could once entertain anyone with stories and made-up gossip, but now, simple phrases stalled on my tongue. While chatting with my grandma, I would constantly use Google Translate to look up words that should have come naturally. I wanted to tell her how much I had missed her and what I had been up to those three years, what Jinchuanyuan meant to me, but the sentences extinguished in my mind, and I could only sit silently beside her.

4. 价 (jià) / price

It was naive of me to believe the village would wait for me untouched, thinking I could return to the summers as they once were.

My brother, who once wrestled nonstop with my dad and grandpa, now barely leaves his room and hardly speaks to anyone. The aunt whose hair I used to brush is now busy with her own children. My neighbor, the one who used to chase me around begging to play "magical girls," now smokes and has been expelled from school. The "Big Hero 6" that spun endlessly on my cousins' DVD player was taken away during the divorce. The unfinished apartment blocks I thought would stay half-built forever had finally been completed and filled with new residents. My great-aunt, who would invite everyone to lunch around her desk-sized table, passed away two years ago. I hadn't been there to say goodbye. No one visits her husband anymore.

Am I the only one who notices these changes? Everyone else seemed to have moved on, untroubled, as I stumble through the ruins of my nostalgia. The home I am reaching for is again far away.

Angel Wang is a freshman from Vancouver, Canada studying Writing Seminars. In her column, she writes about the people, places and passages that help make sense of what's in her mind.

Additionally, the rise of digital downloads from sites like Napster marked a major shift away from physical media and signaled the death of the LP. In response to this decline and the dominance of corporate retail chains, these owners were inspired by a similar promotional holiday - Free Comic Book Day - to drive foot traffic by offering a slew of hyper-exclusive releases to independent record stores for one day.

Each year, in anticipation of the event, the official Record Day Store website releases a list of the year's releases. This encourages customers to build relationships with local record stores since each store can only stock a certain portion of records based on shopper preferences. Although I have been collecting records for a few years, this was my first time participating in Record Store Day because I had been turned off by the notoriously long lines and titles that didn't really catch my eye.

However, this year, with a fuller(ish) wallet and a burgeoning record collection, I was initially pulled in by Hampden's Celebrated Summer Records. The store, mostly specializing in punk releases, was hosting an exclusive pressing of Maryland-based artist Snail Mail's new album Ricochet, which was limited to 300 copies and boasted hand silk-screened Melvins-inspired alternative artwork. Snail Mail's Lindsey Jordan, a solo guitarist, would also be signing records for fans from 11 a.m.-12 p.m. - an exclusive opportunity to be able to chat with one of the most exciting artists in the indie rock scene.

The night before Record Store Day, I spent some time digging into the records I could purchase at one of the many records stores in the Baltimore area. I was immediately caught off-guard by the sheer quantity of solid releases there were: from a breathtakingly serene live album by indie folk band Big Thief's Adrianne Lenker to the legendary noise rock producer Steve Albini's rough mixes for the pioneering post-rock band Slint's untitled EP recorded before its famed cult-classic Spiderland. After doing some research on my best options, I set an alarm for 9 a.m. and eagerly awaited the next day's festivities.

After waking up early (for me), my girlfriend and I set out to make the half-hour walk to Celebrated Summer Records. There was already a lengthy line full of excited fans by the time we got there. After 15 minutes of standing in the heat, we paid for our numbered record, which totaled to just under $40 - a fair price for a product clearly created with so much time and effort. Soon after, I explored the store's collection of Record Store Day exclusives. I spotted the Lenker and Slint projects, as well as the Salad Days soundtrack, featuring the music of D.C. hardcore legends like Jawbox and Youth Brigade. Unfortunately, I arrived too late for the rarer releases since the store sold out of Ethel Cain's Inbred EP and a compilation of John Coltrane live recordings. As we moved closer to the entrance, I ultimately decided against purchasing any other titles (at least, until after I met Lindsey).

Once we were ushered into the store's main area, I made my girlfriend stand in line for me (thanks, Nancy!) while I made a beeline to the used titles section. This is where I found a slightly worn copy of Destroyer's Kaputt - a beautiful medley of singer-songwriter, pop and jazz - for $15, a steal. Upon reaching the front of the line, Jordan kindly signed both her record and the Destroyer one for us, and we chatted briefly before we made the trek back to Hopkins. Overall, the well-planned, well-coordinated event went smoothly, and I was very satisfied with my records.

A few hours later, following a quick nap to recover from the early wake-up, I again coerced my girlfriend into accompanying me to another record store - this time all the way to Fells Point's The Sound Garden, aka Rolling Stone Magazine's second-best record store in America. Although I'd been there a few times (for the Black Country, New Road and Twenty One Pilots listening parties), I was still overwhelmed by the sheer selection of titles. What followed was nearly two hours marked by indecision and me going, "Oh my God, they have [insert album here]!" Eventually, I was satisfied with five records, which I pared down from the twenty that caught my eye. After exercising heavy restraint, I walked away with a copy of the Deafheaven KEXP Sessions live single.

Overall, my first Record Store Day was an incredible success. Being able to chat with fellow record collectors reaffirmed my love for music. It reminded me that, beyond the artificial scarcity and limited pressings, what makes record collecting so meaningful is this shared passion and community. Record Store Day has something for all collectors - everyone, from Swifties to metalheads to children, will be satisfied with the releases.

I was relatively late in getting a driver's license. I realized this when I met up with some old friends in my senior year of high school, and I was the only one who still had a permit.

Right after my high school graduation, I realized that I had the perfect opportunity to finish my driving training. My dad was home, and he could sit beside me as I drove to camp each day and practiced parallel parking. The hours slowly added up, and I finally passed the test in July. Someone even came up to me after the test and said, "The parallel parking was really good!" (I don't know if I still have those skills, though; I haven't parallel parked a single time since).

After the test, it still felt too abrupt to start driving alone. First, my dad would still sit in the passenger seat. Then my grandma came along for a ride to Chick-Fil-A, and my dad finally moved to the backseat. I became pretty confident in my driving skills.

Then in August, it was time to leave. As I adjusted to my new life at Hopkins, I mastered the JHMI, Amtrak and Lyft. My sense of freedom grew as I traversed Inner Harbor and made solo trips to New Jersey. I also had to learn how to build and maintain my own schedule, since there were no check-ins or lights out in the dorm anymore, as I'd been used to.

When I came back home for winter break, I started to express this newfound freedom more overtly, taking my grandma to the mall and exploring libraries and cafes by myself. I relished the independence in each trip to the pediatrician's office for shadowing.

A few months later at the beginning of spring break, a friend from high school texted me, "Dare we make a pie girl trip sometime next week?" As trivial as it sounds, I was ecstatic, not only because I got to reunite with my best friend, but I could make the trip to Central Jersey by myself. This time, instead of asking my family if they were available, I only had to make sure the car was available.

Moreover, spring break has been another time of self-discovery. Each time I went out, I grew more confident in managing my own time and pushing back against my family when they asked, "Why can't you just work at home?" I would feel a mixture of thrill and fear as I thought, "I've never done this before."

On the last day of spring break, I faced my biggest boss: Philadelphia. My family and I went to see the Philadelphia Orchestra and pianist Haochen Zhang perform Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, and I took the wheel. It was the closest I've felt to road rage. Luckily, I didn't have to parallel park, but after staying still in a block for twenty minutes, my mom, brother and I ended up hopping out at an intersection while my dad replaced me. He found a parking spot as we walked to the theater on foot. All of us made it to the concert in time, and Zhang's playing was beautiful. In the end, I still adore Philly; I will take the SEPTA there next time, though.

On the way back (I did not drive), I asked my dad, "May I perhaps drive to school tomorrow?" He agreed. And so I got to drive the whole way back to Baltimore. On the way, he asked a few times if I wanted to switch, but I kept refusing until the end. As I rolled into the AMR II parking lot, I breathed a sigh of relief. We made it here safely!

Now that I feel much better about my driving, I can start to dream even bigger. I'm already imagining road trips in my head and driving across the country. With this newfound independence, though, I must also have greater responsibility and self-control.

My driving journey so far has been a vessel for my journey of self-discovery. When I started to drive, I didn't trust myself with such a powerful machine. Every time I sat behind a car wheel, I stepped out of my comfort zone. But with each successful trip I took, I told myself, "It wasn't too bad, right? You can do it next time, too!" As I continue my journey here at Hopkins, I hope to keep growing into a person who can trust herself with taking the reins of her life.

Elizabeth Rao is a freshman from Newtown, Pa., studying biophysics.

I've never had a reason for wanting to be a writer. My relationship with writing has always been that of a high-school love your parents don't approve of, in part because it reminds them of all their old mistakes - that is to say, fueled by contradiction and inexplicability. Every time someone assumes I want to be a writer, I don't, and when they think I must want to become something else, then I've only ever wanted to be a writer. I'm not saying this is a good way of life, but I am claiming it as mine. At least I'm honest - until you call me honest, and then I'm a liar.

These mental hoops and charades surrounding if I am or am not a writer all guard one core memory, which recently I've realized is the truest motivation I have. It starts where most good things do: at my grandma's house.

Her house is decorated as if there were a going-out sale on all things apple and bird. Cardinal lamps and small ceramic figurines of other soft-winged things I don't know the names of. Wooden apple trinkets and fridge magnets and teacher-sloganed memorabilia. Even the wallpaper in her bathroom is trimmed at the top with nests of various birds, unspooling around the perimeter like a strip of film. In her kitchen, an apple-shaped cookie jar where there was candy when I was younger; when I saw a similar one at my doctor's as a child, I described my grandma's as "more romantic" because I thought the word just meant special.

Everything at grandma's was more romantic. I thought the deep freeze in the garage was heavenly. The cows across her street and their landmines of shit were the closest I ever came to a more primitive life, and the way they reverently stared you down with eyes like sink drains and jaws moving in slow figure-eights made me feel almost messianic. I guess cows are the closest I've felt to being worshipped. Once my grandma picked a daddy long legs off her door on the porch and said, "Point to the cows, daddy," and in response it waved a hairlike leg across the street with perfect accuracy, and I felt like cows were somehow beasts of truth in this universe, known by all and knowing all, which made their appraisal and approval of me even sweeter.

So, my grandma's house always came to mind in connotations of magic. Maybe that makes my grandma a witch, the type nicer than I've ever known from storybooks. She certainly had at least one witch-like ability, which - if I remind myself why I sat down to write this article - is that call to writing I've only recently realized.

All my Fourths of July have been spent at my grandma's, going to the fireworks festival hosted by the town's Southern Baptist college. It always seems that she knows everyone there, including now-grown kids that were in her elementary school classes. After the festival, we would go back to her long concrete driveway and nightcap our festivities with fireworks of our own: modest ones that spun out on the ground, that shot up and fell short of the old trees in her yard, and sparklers that we waved like a maestro's baton from fold-up lawn chairs.

Then came sleep, always easier and with less of a fight than when I attempted it in my own bed. As a child, I shared a bed with my grandma in her room, her quilted covers over us and many pillows behind us, the antique marble-topped "bureau" from her own grandma sleeping beside us. To coax me into slumber, my grandma told bedtime stories. Or really, only one bedtime story: Goldilocks - with a twist. If I had to guess where the twist came from, I would point to one of those Fourth of July nights.

By twist I mean reimagining. Intervention. Improvisation. Creative liberties. Call it what you want. It went like this: "Grandma, can you tell me Goldilocks, but this time Fourth of July-themed?" Both of us would be lying supine, my eyes screwed shut and hers, I imagine, fixed to the popcorn ceiling in the room's dark. If there was no holiday or specific occasion, my requests for Goldilocks became strange. Things like, "Goldilocks, but maybe something to do with a dentist," and so on. If she ever hesitated or was at a loss, it never showed. She always dove in at once with the composure of a surgeon or army general.

So, the Goldilocks I'm most familiar with was always breaking into the bears' house not while they were out on a walk, but while they were at the fireworks festival. She was a more sympathetic character in my grandma's retelling, a testament to my grandma's saintly character. Goldilocks was an envious child, seeing all of her own friends go to the fireworks festival while she had no one to take her, which is why she found herself wishing she could inhabit another's life - and house - for just one night. I know, as I'm writing this, that I cannot do it justice; my memories now are something more like foxed and holed pages of letters I took for granted, assuming they would be ever-pristine.

My grandma was an English minor at her state college in Missouri, and perhaps selfishly or reductively - sorry, Grandma - I want to consider this the feat of her studies, the capstone. Every night, she respun Goldilocks into new configurations and mischief for me. She dragged the girl into modern context like a sorry child to the principal's office.

There was, of course, Goldilocks on Fourths of July. In my grandma's stories, not only was Goldilocks more sympathetic, but the bears were less punitive as well. Those Fourths of July in the Goldilocks world, her night ended not with her fleeing in terror, but with the bears welcoming her into their family and sharing their fireworks with her in their own driveway, even if she missed the festival.

There was Goldilocks sipping hot cocoa in winter. Goldilocks sharing a birthday with baby bear, but only his family bought him gifts. Goldilocks and something somehow with a dentist, if my memory is accurate in telling me I once requested this. Goldilocks and a million other lives my grandma gave her, too few of which I can perfectly recall.

When I am asked now why I want to be a writer, I know why. I believe in the original storyteller, that progenitor of all myth in this world, and her name is Susan.

Riley Strait is a sophomore from Olathe, Kan. studying Writing Seminars and English. He is an Arts & Entertainment Editor for The News-Letter. His column, "In Medias Res," translates from Latin to "into the middle of things," shares narratives that bury occasional insights within fluffthat often leave the reader wondering, "Did I ask?"

Two weeks ago, I decided to go to Hong Kong over spring break. It was impulsive. I had been there before - once as a child, and again in 2019. But somehow, I barely remembered any of it. This is the second time in a relatively short span that I have found myself writing about Asia, which probably says something about the kind of year this has been. More than ever before, I have been thinking more seriously about identity, what feels like home and how much of it is something I only recognize once I've been away from it.

My friend and I stayed in Causeway Bay, and over the course of a few days, I saw many different sides of Hong Kong. The city was crowded, humid, fast-moving and very much alive. Its metro system made everything feel connected, even when the stations were packed during rush hour. There was movement everywhere. Pedestrians weaving through each other, old restaurants that seemed like they had been there forever, students in uniforms, buses passing by in layers of red and blue. There was a density to life that felt exhausting but deeply familiar.

I didn't connect naturally with everything. Hong Kong's food, for example, never fully persuaded me. After a few days, I found myself craving the flavors I grew up with instead. Part of the trip was realizing that cultural familiarity is not always the same, even in places I felt I should automatically belong to.

The most memorable part of the trip, though, was in Shenzhen, a 15-minute high-speed rail away. I wish I could've stayed there longer. There is something about large cities in mainland China that moves me from head to toe. They feel modern and full of technological advancements, but also deeply rooted in their thousands of years of history. They feel nostalgic. With my dad, I ate roast goose and other dishes that I loved almost immediately. More than that, I kept noticing how hard he was trying to make me happy.

He arrived early at the train station to meet up with me. He worried about restaurant wait times more than I did. He kept offering to buy me drinks and gifts in the mall, as if small things could somehow make up for the years and distance that had already passed. I realized that parents don't stop trying, even when the relationship has been roughened by place and time. I only see him once a year. He looks older and older as each year flies by.

After we said goodbye, I kept thinking about how much of his life had been spent working far from the people he loved, and how easy it is, when we're young, to assume there will always be more time to understand our parents later. But later is not guaranteed in the way we like to imagine. Spending just a few hours with him that day made me feel almost guilty and ignorant. I wanted to be less stubborn, less fixated on small conflicts that may take months to resolve. I feel that it's becoming my turn to return the care and love to my family. But there's a sense of hopelessness that comes with that responsibility. Why am I still so young?

We walked on the Avenue of Stars and rode the Peak Tram at night and watched the city turn into sparkling lights below us. On our last day, we went on a cable car. I thought I'd be too afraid of heights to enjoy it, but once we were above the water and mountains, I felt strangely calm. Looking down through the glass floor at the sea and the green slopes below, I felt minuscule against the vast landscape.

The temples on top of the mountain gave me inner peace. After days of trains, crowds, shopping, the quiet there felt grounding. Chinese temples always strike me with their steadiness, the way they seem to hold wishes for peace, family, health and well-being with such sincerity and certainty.

Now, writing this on the plane leaving HKG, I feel an unexpected sorrow. Hong Kong is not my hometown. I did not grow up there. Yet being there, and being in Shenzhen, made me feel at ease. Being surrounded by Chinese language, streets, food and rhythms of daily life made me feel closer to myself and my roots. There's so much more in China to learn, understand, recover and explore. I promise I'll be back soon.

Linda Huang is a sophomore from Rockville, Md. majoring in Biomedical Engineering. Her column celebrates growth and emotions that define young adulthood, inviting readers to live authentically.

Pick 1: LAS VEGAS RAIDERS: Fernando Mendoza QB, Indiana University

Perhaps the chalkiest pick we've had in a while, it seems all but guaranteed that Mendoza will be the first player selected. Coming off an outstanding year in which he took home the nations top honor, the Heisman Trophy, en route to a national championship at Indiana of all places, it looks like the Raiders will hand the keys to their franchise to the young quarterback out of Bloomington.

Pick 2: NEW YORK JETS: David Bailey EDGE, Texas Tech University

There has been a lot of buzz made about the Jets cancelling their top 30 visit with David Bailey, but, if anything, I see this as more of an indication he might be their player. If they had concerns or questions about him, they'd likely bring him in. While I don't necessarily think Bailey is the best pick at this spot, I ultimately think the Jets attempt to bring in a premier edge rusher in a class without a clear second pick.

Pick 3: ARIZONA CARDINALS: Arvell Reese EDGE, Ohio State University

I was tempted to pick Jeremiyah Love in this spot, but the Cardinals simply have too many other holes they need to fill on their roster before they should think about a running back. Reese is an athletic freak, and as long as the Cardinals can continue to develop his bag of pass-rushing moves (Reese only just started playing off the edge), then he should be a guy that can get you double digit sacks year in year out.

Pick 4: TENNESSEE TITANS: Jeremiyah Love RB, University of Notre Dame

Perhaps the best true talent in this class, Love is truly a do-it-all back. Comparisons to Jamaal Charles are not made lightly, and he would be a scary force to pair up with young QB Cam Ward. The Titans will have to continue to build in the trenches to ensure he has room to run, but there shouldn't be any reason why Love can't be an incredibly successful player from the moment he enters the league.

Pick 5: NEW YORK GIANTS: Francis Mauigoa OL, University of Miami (FL)

After trading superstar defensive lineman Dexter Lawrence, the Giants now have two top ten picks in the draft. Given this, I think the trench-inclined John Harbaugh will look to build the beefiest and best offensive line he possibly can, and Mauigoa is probably the best guy for that in this class. The Giants can focus on defense with their next pick, but Mauigoa should help to solidify their interior offensive line, and he has tackle flexibility in case of injury.

Pick 6: CLEVELAND BROWNS: Monroe Freeling OT, University of Georgia

The Browns are in desperate need of talent along their offensive line, and Freeling profiles as the truest left tackle in this class. His physical traits are reminiscent of a lab-built prototypical tackle, and with a couple of years of development, he easily could find himself amongst the best in the league at his position.

Pick 7: WASHINGTON COMMANDERS: Rueben Bain Jr EDGE, University of Miami (FL)

The Commanders simply have to upgrade everywhere on defense. A disappointing year can be chalked up to unfortunate injuries to Jayden Daniels and Terry McLaurin, but Dan Quinn puts out a replica of his defense this year then he will very quickly be out of a job. Bain was downright dominant in college, and while there are some concerns about his arm length, I see no reason why he won't translate to the professional level.

Pick 8: NEW ORLEANS SAINTS: Carnell Tate WR, Ohio State University

Tate would join a long list of Ohio State receivers to play for the Saints, and I think it would just be a match made in heaven alongside fellow Buckeye Chris Olave. With the emergence of Tyler Shough at the backend of last season the Saints finally have some momentum, and they should capitalize on that by shoring up their wide receiver core for the foreseeable future.

Pick 9: KANSAS CITY CHIEFS: Mansoor Delane CB, Louisiana State University

The Chiefs could go in a variety of directions here, but I think grabbing the best corner in the class would make the most sense. After trading Trent McDuffie to the Rams, Delane would slot in as their CB1 of the future and provide them with a strong replacement immediately. There are other corner options down the board that could prompt them to go somewhere else with this pick, but I wonder if any will have a day one impact like Delane could for a team that is looking to get back into contention.

Pick 10: NEW YORK GIANTS (FROM CINCINATTI BENGALS): Sonny Styles LB, Ohio State University

This would be almost a best-case scenario for the Giants who could nab two of the best overall players in this class. Styles is a ridiculous specimen, registering combine results that we haven't seen since Megatron himself, and for a team needing talent on defense this would be a slam dunk pick.

Pick 11: MIAMI DOLPHINS: Makai Lemon WR, University of Southern California

The Dolphins probably have the emptiest group of weapons in the league, but Lemon could go a long way to improve that situation. A shifty route runner that has impressive contested catch ability for a 5'11 receiver, he would feast in the slot and would provide new quarterback Malik Willis with a reliable target downfield.

Pick 12: DALLAS COWBOYS: Caleb Downs S, Ohio State University

Defensive players have to be the number one priority for the Cowboys, and what better way than bringing in arguably the best defensive back in the class. Downs is incredibly smart and has a knack for making timely game-changing plays, exactly what a struggling Cowboys defense needs.

Pick 13: LOS ANGELES RAMS (FROM ATLANTA FALCONS): Jordyn Tyson WR, Arizona State University

I initially thought that Tyson might slide further in the draft due to injury concerns, but recent reports suggest that some teams are still incredibly high on him. When on the field, he has a case to be the best receiver in the class, so I would not be surprised to see the Rams bet on the talent, especially with a pick that isn't even theirs.

Pick 14: BALTIMORE RAVENS: Vega Ioane IOL, Penn State University

The Ravens were plagued by deficiencies within their interior offensive line all of 2025, and Ioane would be the perfect stopgap to improve that play. A dominant force from the inside, he profiles as a day one starter and should give Lamar a reliable presence in pass pro.

Pick 15: TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS: Akheem Mesidor EDGE, Florida State University (FL)

The Buccaneers have a well-rounded roster, so picking an older prospect like Mesidor makes more sense given their desire to contend. Mesidor has some of the cleanest tape in the class, and recent comments from GM Jason Licht lead me to believe that this could be the pick.

Pick 16: NEW YORK JETS (FROM INDIANAPOLIS COLTS): Omar Cooper Jr WR, University of Indiana

With a lot of the top talent off of the board at this point, the Jets need to bring in some kind of weapon to help out Geno Smith, or whoever else is playing quarterback for them this year. Cooper is a reliable and very talented receiver and should pair well with Garrett Wilson.

Pick 17: DETROIT LIONS: Spencer Fano OL, University of Utah

Following the release of Taylor Decker, the Lions need to bring in someone to replace him along the offensive line. While there is speculation around whether Fano can stick at tackle long-term, he is very talented and should find a position somewhere along that line with relative ease.

Pick 18: MINNESOTA VIKINGS: Dillon Thieneman S, University of Oregon

After Mendoza to the Raiders, this might be the second most common pick of the entire draft. Thieneman is a rangy and talented safety who could easily step into the role that Harrison Smith has occupied for the last fourteen years.

Pick 19: CAROLINA PANTHERS: Kenyon Sadiq TE, University of Oregon

The best move for the Panthers is to continue to surround their young QB Bryce Young with talent, and talented Sadiq is. While not producing the most at Oregon, Sadiq has all of the requisite athletic tools to succeed and has made some highlight-reel worthy catches that would excite anyone.

Pick 20: DALLAS COWBOYS (FROM GREEN BAY PACKERS): Avieon Terrell CB, Clemson University

Following in the theme of their earlier pick, the Cowboys need help on the backend of their defense, and Terrell is a great prospect at corner. He should immediately fit in across the other side of the field from Daron Bland, providing a lockdown presence that will be welcome in Dallas.

Pick 21: PITTSBURGH STEELERS: Chase Bisontis OL, Texas A&M University

The Steelers have a need at interior offensive line, and Bisontis has been quickly rising up draft boards. Pittsburgh should be able to plug him in right away and give Rico Dowdle and Jaylen Warren a strong line to run with.

Pick 22: LOS ANGELES CHARGERS: Kayden McDonald DL, Ohio State University

After losing Poona Ford in the previous offseason, the Chargers had a difficult time with stopping the run or generating interior pressure. That job will become even more difficult after losing defensive coordinator Jesse Minter to the Ravens, so McDonald should go a long way to helping that out.

Pick 23: PHILADELPHIA EAGLES: Kadyn Proctor OL, University of Alabama

The Eagles have had so much success in recent times from drafting players at positions they will need in the future. Proctor is exactly that, a bit of a project, but he has the potential to be a dominant force at his position with a bit of development.

Pick 24: CLEVELAND BROWNS (FROM JACKSONVILLE JAGUARS): Denzel Boston WR, University of Washington

After drafting tackle with their first pick, the Browns need to bolster their core of wide receivers. Boston is a type of receiver that they simply do not have on their roster currently, so it could make sense for them to go in this direction.

Pick 25: CHICAGO BEARS: TJ Parker EDGE, Clemson University

The Bears have spent a number of top picks on their offense within recent line, so drafting a high upside EDGE like Parker makes perfect sense. Before a disappointing season at Clemson, Parker was in talks to be one of the top picks in the draft, so if the Bears can tap into that then the ceiling is the sky.

Pick 26: BUFFALO BILLS: Emmanuel McNeil-Warren S, University of Toledo

The Bills season was ended on two penalties on deep shots from the Broncos, so this is a clear need for them to upgrade. McNeil-Warren is a fun, playmaking safety that should help to improve a poor Bills secondary.

Pick 27: SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS: Blake Miller OT, Clemson University

While they were able to get a deal done with Trent Williams, the Niners need to find a future replacement for the veteran All-Pro left tackle. Miller is a good prospect, and with a couple of years under Williams he could develop nicely into exactly what San Francisco needs.

Pick 28: HOUSTON TEXANS: Peter Woods DL, Clemson University

Their offense may be putrid, but if you can't score on the Texans then it will be difficult to win games. I say lean into your strength, so adding Peter Woods to a defensive line with Will Anderson Jr and Danielle Hunter is a scary prospect.

Pick 29: KANSAS CITY CHIEFS (FROM LOS ANGELES RAMS): Cashius Howell EDGE, Texas A&M University

The Chiefs current room of defensive lineman is simply not up to standard, so Cashius Howell would be a welcome addition. While he may not have an enormous impact in season one, Howell should develop into a nice pass-rusher for the future.

Pick 30: MIAMI DOLPHINS (FROM DENVER BRONCOS): Colton Hood CB, University of Tennessee

Other than receiver, the Dolphins biggest weakness is in their secondary. Hood had a phenomenal season at Tennessee, and that could see him launched into the first round for a corner-desperate team like Miami.

Pick 31: NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS: Emmanuel Pregnon IOL, University of Oregon

The Patriots simply gave up too many sacks in the post-season, and, while some of that can be attributed to Drake Maye, they need to do a better job at protecting their franchise QB. Pregnon had a near flawless resume at Oregon, and should be a quality player in the league.

Pick 32: SEATTLE SEAHAWKS: Brandon Cisse CB, University of South Carolina

To round it off I have the Seahawks drafting the uber-athletic Brandon Cisse to strengthen their cornerback room following the departure of Riq Woolen. Cisse is a lockdown corner and would be a great addition to a Super Bowl winning defense.

Recently, I acquired Joan Didion's posthumously published work, Notes to John, from the library. The book was subject to much controversy, raising questions about the ethicality of publishing letters or notes that may not have been intended for the public eye. I began reading with a sense of apprehension, guilt even. Discussing everything from her daughter's struggles with alcoholism to Didion's own struggles with mental health, the work consists of Didion's meticulously written notes to John detailing the sessions she had with a psychiatrist she saw in 1999.

It's possible that this book was never supposed to be published at all. Its contents were found lurking in a box near her desk after her death. As I read it, I wondered if I should be reading it at all, if my curiosity about an author I admired should really outweigh the semblance of privacy she might have wanted to maintain (if she'd wanted to keep these notes private at all).

But more than anything, reading these leftovers of another person's life reminded me of another memory. I had a very philosophical history teacher my freshman year of high school, and from a conversation with him emerged a discussion about how different the science and practice of history would be decades or centuries from now. Excavation and archaeological study would involve less digging through physical dirt and more digital: the archives we dig through might be hidden USBs, e-mail drafts and people's notes apps instead.

This very rambling train of thought brought me to the question that inspired my very rambling thoughts in this piece: What do my archives look like? What have I kept that I'd like to get rid of? What have I thrown away or deleted that I wish was still around?

It's a point in my archives' favor that I'm a chronic hoarder: they may be messy and unhinged, but they'll be comprehensive.

My self-collected histories go back at least 15 years, to a reusable plastic cup on my bookshelf from Olive Garden that I got on my fifth birthday with my childhood best friend. A "throwback" to a time where Olive Garden was a fancy restaurant and fettuccine alfredo was a rare delicacy, not a weeknight staple. From that same era of my life I have a painting of the Truffula trees from the Lorax - my sixth birthday, a day where there was a lot of laughter and pink paint splattered across my mom's dress.

My very first Build-A-Bears: Snowflake and Peanut Butter, dressed in baby onesies my mom bought from Costco. Age seven is marked with a dream jar. My second grade teacher had us all read The BFG, who used to collect good and bad dreams and store them on his shelf. I made up a silly little dream about my cousin and me, which sits on my bookshelf now.

Then there's my very first "letters" box, an old chocolate box that was covered in red wrapping paper. Originally it was for a "dress as your favorite author" day when 8-year old me dressed as Laura Ingalls Wilder and wanted her very own tin box to carry around. Now, it holds an amalgamation: birthday cards from friends I left in California 10 years ago, whose names I know by heart but faces I cannot remember. A friendship bracelet from a girl I was best friends with in the third grade who I didn't even know by the next year when I moved schools and we we were separated. A plastic frisbee, signed by everyone I knew in kindergarten and first grade when I first left Austin to move to California.

Eleven is when we turn digital: the first pictures in my phone are from a camping trip in Seattle with my Dad's college best friend; but pictures don't capture the silly song the kids made up when we lost the tea strainer and tried to distract our parents while we looked for it. Dance videos, Halloween costumes, scenic pictures that I thought were aesthetic at the time but in reality are just unintended Dutch tilts of pink and purple flowers. Hundreds of pictures of my mom and dad, because being the only daughter means being the designated couples photographer.

Ages 12 through 18 are more of the same: birthday cards, letters, gifts and broken collections of gifts. But what's more interesting is what's missing: there are so many things I've thrown or given away that I'd do anything to get back. The first polaroids I took freshman year at the freshman formal, an empty tin of Trader Joe's green tea mints filled with guitar picks. I've deleted hundreds of pictures of ex-friends who I once wanted to forget, but now I recall as key parts of my history, memories I wish I could maintain when my own mind fails me. I even gave away a beautiful scrapbook, inspired by Carl and Ellie's Adventure book, that I'd always wanted to fill with my own adventures.

A growing awareness of all the aspects of my life that I've deleted or lost has made me more conscious about preserving everything, good or bad. I've stopped deleting the bad pictures and started boxes for all my friends - I even keep my own box for my new design team, containing everything from sticky notes with our old ideas to a ratty blood pressure cuff all of us signed from the first time we reverse-engineered something together. I cannot get back the items I've lost, but I can be more diligent about chronicling my life. Hopefully, when some historian (or unpaid undergrad intern) looks through my things centuries from now, they'll find these relics of a girl who loves her friends and family. And who knows? Maybe, by some miracle, the letters on my iPad, my half-written poems in my notes app and my document of unsent texts, can be sent to the people for whom they were intended.

Shreya Tiwari is a junior from Austin, Texas, studying BME. She is a Managing Editor for The News-Letter. Her column, "Invisible Strings," shares stories about all the people, places, and feelings to which she has "invisible strings," intimate hidden connections that she hopes to reveal to readers with each piece.

A subtle bass line pulsates from inside my headphones, most likely loud enough to be heard by any passerby as I lace up my green and beige New Balances before heading to the Rec for an hour of pickup basketball. Despite my limited previous experience, which came from a brief tenure on the first-year high school basketball team, I have come to find 'hoops' as my go-to weeknight ritual over the last few months. Standing in stark contrast to the pastel Kobes, Kyries and KDs that are typically on display, my 'old-reliables' have sustained continually middling performances in five-on-five play.

On the court, one could loosely describe my role as a 'facilitator' - doing just about anything to get the ball into the hands of those capable enough to score (namely, anyone but myself). Instinctually, I stray away from creating plays or shooting out of fear of embarrassment. When I am given the ball at the top of the key, I'm usually waved off by familiar faces who know that I won't be taking a chance. The few shots that I do take are a mere foot away from the hoop, or the result of a rebound of someone else's missed shot. Consequently, I am generally perceived as a non-threat in most basketball contexts.

Yet recently, I have found those initially unfamiliar faces to be a comfort. Beyond the stereotypical freshman fears of not fitting in or finding a friend group, the bar to get into a pickup game is extraordinarily low. The general criteria is to rely on three simple words, "I got next." You don't have to be a superstar, and you certainly don't have to be six feet tall, but if you want to play, that's enough. It doesn't take long to find your people, even if you don't manage to get to sixteen points first.

Further, the common courtesy of pickup extends beyond a handshake at the conclusion of each game. You'd have to look very hard to find someone who doesn't admit if they last touched the ball before going out of bounds, or if they fouled you on the follow-through of a layup. I understand that for most people, I'm getting in the weeds with basketball jargon, but my point is that generally people won't cheat, lie or take special effort to cheapen the sacred nature of the sport. In fact, clever plays or flashy passes will generally result in clapping from the opposing team, or at worst generate a look of disbelief accompanied by an under-the-breath mumble of how did he make that?

With finals season upon us, I think it's important to give ourselves a little bit of grace, or, more importantly, a bit of fun. While I know many of us are tempted by the allure of a solitary day spent studying, it seems unbelievably essential to do things that are not tied to any measure of success, academic or otherwise. Thank goodness my effectiveness from the three-point range and my average of two rebounds aren't tied to my GPA, or else I would be on academic probation.

What that could look like for you might be baking, watching a movie with your friends or simply taking time to be. For me, it feels like squeaky hardwood floors accompanied by the standard Wilson ball beating a steady heartbeat into the ground.

I wouldn't call every person I've shared the court with a friend for life. Hell, I can't even remember half their names. But then again, I don't need to. Because each time I step on the court, the subtly upturned heads of familiar faces are all the greeting that I need. That's a feeling of family in and of itself. One that isn't contingent upon blood or similar interests, just a shared love of putting a ball in a hoop.

I have never been the most skilled player, but if you ever happen to be at the Rec at eight on a Tuesday night, look at the basketball court. You'll probably see a myriad of swishes, some lucky shots, a behind-the-back pass or two and a few people just running up and down the floor, enjoying themselves. For most of us, that's all we could ever ask for.

Bryce Leiberman is a freshman from Madison, Conn. studying Political Science and Philosophy. His column records a search for authenticity exploring the past, present and restless work of becoming oneself.

The University explicitly states their compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973. However, though it meets several legal requirements, the pathways available for individuals with temporary or permanent physical disabilities are long and convoluted. Journeys that are typically straightforward for able-bodied individuals can take significantly longer for individuals with disabilities on Homewood Campus. We argue that the University must improve the availability of SDS services for students with physical disabilities and emphasize physical accessibility as much as academic accessibility.

While SDS is designed to support all students, its initiatives often center on accommodations that suit those with mental disabilities, leaving physical accessibility underemphasized. Examples of accommodations listed on the SDS website primarily address cognitive or sensory disabilities over mobility-related disabilities. Though this list is not necessarily comprehensive, it reflects a lack of transparency about available resources for these individuals.

Even though the campus is officially ADA-compliant, meaning that an accessible pathway exists between all buildings or locations on campus, these paths are oftentimes inefficient and greatly increase travel time between locations. For example, the walk from Gilman Hall to Remsen Hall normally takes only a minute by walking through Keyser Quad. However, an ADA-compliant route from Gilman to Remsen requires taking the elevator down to the bottom floor, walking northeast on Bowman Drive and entering the bottom floor of Remsen Hall through an obscured entrance, which takes much longer. Navigating within buildings across floors is an additional barrier because the University is often delayed in fixing or maintaining elevators - notable examples include elevators in dorms such as Scott-Bates Commons and the elevator in Shaffer Hall, where the SDS office is located.

It is important to note that the University has made active efforts to improve accessibility on Homewood Campus, one of them being Milton S. Eisenhower (MSE) Library, one of the buildings that was formerly criticized as "insensitive to the needs of disabled students." According to the Sheridan Libraries, one of the key design priorities in the reimagining of the Milton S. Eisenhower library is the prioritization of universal design with enhanced usability and accessibility. The renovated library will meet all modern accessibility requirements in accordance with ADA, including upgrades on building systems, infrastructure and interior architecture.

The prioritization marks both a positive step in the direction of a more accessible campus and shows that the school is aware of the lacking accessibility at Homewood. While these construction efforts show institutional commitment to long-term accessibility in new buildings, they have also introduced immediate disruptions and barriers for students with physical disabilities, rerouting foot traffic through even longer and less navigable routes. Prioritizing future improvements should not jeopardize the current experiences of those with physical disabilities.

In order to truly demonstrate a commitment to accessibility, the University must show equal prioritization of cognitive and physical disabilities, and this starts by building an accessible campus and experience that expands beyond the classroom. Hopkins should seek better communication between SDS and affiliates, provide more structured alternate routes and implement clear accessibility plans during all construction projects. These initiatives will help create a campus and culture that is accessible and enjoyable for Hopkins students, faculty and staff.

If you're a regular reader of our beloved Arts and Entertainment Section, you'll remember the recent Throwback Thursday on the ancient cave paintings of the Chauvet Caves. In 2010, the Chauvet Caves featured in renowned German director Werner Herzog's 3D documentary Cave of the Forgotten Dreams, which is being released in 6k restoration this Friday. While it may be impossible for a great many of us to ever see the Chauvet Caves in person, this 6k restoration not only brings the images of its walls to you, but it promises 3D effect, highlighting every crevice and divot. Look for this movie that looks back at the beginnings of art in a theatre near you on April 24!

In the spirit of looking back, the end of the year prompts many of us to begin reflecting on the 2025-2026 school year. How have we transformed, freshmen into sophomores, and have we fashioned ourselves into something ready for the broader world, graduating seniors? Yongyu Chen's debut poem collection Perennial Counterpart, which explores themes of "memory, nostalgia, and identity," might be the perfect read for our reflective time. The collection "balances conceptual density with a yearning lyricism" and releases this Tuesday on April 21!

Following this bittersweet note, Noah Kahan's fourth album The Great Divide promises songs of old memories and summer days with track titles like "End of August" and "We Go Way Back." The album's title track, released at the end of January, sends out a raw, heartfelt message to an old friend many years after their relationship has faded. If the end of the school year promises some bittersweet things for you, check out The Great Divide when it releases this Friday on April 24.

But don't let all this reflecting get you down, because spring is also a time for celebration and living in the moment. As you might have seen all over Sidechat, Instagram or our very own The News-Letter, Gunna will be headlining our annual Spring Fair Concert this Saturday, April 25. Known for albums such as Drip or Drown 2 and DS4EVER, Gunna's rap music has topped Billboard charts since his debut in 2016. If he isn't in your rotation already, then tune in, because tickets drop this Monday at 12 p.m.!

To watch:

• American Youngboy, directed by Nico Ballesteros - April 22
• Nikki Glaser: Good Girl, directed by Hamish Hamilton - April 24
• Michael, directed by Antoine Fuqua - April 24
• Cave of Forgotten Dreams, directed by Werner Herzog - April 24
• Omaha, directed by Cole Webley - April 24

To read:

• Working Nature: A History of the Energy Economy, written by Daniela Russ - April 21
• Lidie: The Further Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton: A Novel, written by Jane Smiley - April 21
• No Way Home, written by T. C. Boyle - April 21
• Afternoon Hours of the Hermet, written by Patrick Cottrell - April 21
• Perennial Counterpart, written by Yongyu Chen - April 21

To listen:

• Wishbone (Deluxe), by Conan Gray - April 24
• Kehlani, by Kehlani - April 24
• The Great Divide, by Noah Kahan - April 24
• Toy With Me, by Meghan Trainor - April 24
• Under My Umbrella, by Miss Grit - April 24

Live events:

• Love and Family in Palestinian Cinema screening: 'The Time That Remains' - April 20, 6-8 p.m. at Gilman 50
  • This event is free.
• Spring Fair Concert: Gunna - April 25, 8 p.m. at the Ralph S. O'Connor Recreation Center
  • This event is free and requires registration.
• The Joshua Ringel Memorial Reading: Cornelius Eady - April 26, 2-4 p.m. at the Baltimore Museum of Art
  • This event is free and requires registration.
• I'm Gonna Let It Shine: Praise, Power, and Protest in Black Musical Traditions - April 26, 3-5 p.m. at the St. James Episcopal Church
  • This event is free and requires registration.
• Shriver Hall Concert Series: Steven Isserlis, Cello and Connie Shih, Piano - April 26, 5:30-7:30 p.m. at the Shriver Hall Auditorium
  • This event is free and requires registration.

The 2026 NCAA Division I Women's Basketball Tournament was filled with excitement, fueled by a newfound hype over women's sports. Ever since the 2023 tournament where Caitlin Clark and Iowa faced Angel Reese and LSU in the national championship game, views have skyrocketed. At the time, Iowa was a no. 2 seed and LSU a no. 3 seed, meaning Iowa had at least 4 teams in the tournament that were ranked higher, while LSU had at least 8. The final two standing had one thing in common: they were the underdogs.

The 2026 tournament ended with a championship game of South Carolina vs UCLA. UCLA dominated, winning 79-51. Six foot seven UCLA senior Lauren Betts won Most Outstanding Player. She had a tournament average of 21 ppg, 9.8 rpg and field goal percentage of 68.8%.

There were many more stars who shined throughout the tournament. Notre Dame's Hannah Hidalgo is as versatile as they come, averaging 25.3 ppg, 5.6 steals and 6.9 rebounds at only five foot six. Earlier in the season, she broke the DI record with a 44 point and 16 steal game, making her known as one of the best defenders in the game. UConn stars also rose to the top as players like Azzi Fudd and Sarah Strong both averaged around 19 points per game and were tremendously efficient shooters. Strong was named the National Player of the Year and Hidalgo was awarded Defensive Player of the Year.

There has been a recent shift in the game, punctuated by an expanding skill gap. There has always been a big difference in the capabilities between the 1st and 16th seeds, but not only has this become more evident, it has become apparent even within the first 3 seeds. Since the LSU vs. Iowa championship game, there has not been a 3rd seeded team present in the Final Four.

There also has been a massive emphasis on the new 'it' teams in the league. In the last two years, the same four teams (Texas, UConn, South Carolina and UCLA) have appeared in the Final Four. This has created much underwhelm within the tournament; people who were excited to see the underdogs come through faced constant disappointment. This year is being dubbed a chalk heavy year, which highlights the trend of higher seeds outscoring their opponents. 6 of the 32 first-round games were decided by single digits. Of the 29 other games, the winning team advanced by an average margin of 25 points. No. 1 South Carolina took the crown with its 69-point blow-by of Southern.

There are many reasons that teams like UConn, South Carolina and LSU have become superteams, some including incredible coaches and massive fanbases. Additionally, there are two new developments that have readjusted the way talent and skill are dispersed throughout the league: the commercial concept of name, image and likeness (NIL) and the transfer portal.

NIL is a way for players to make money from their own personal brand. Certain teams as a whole are more well known than others and have higher exposure, so players are now choosing teams that might maximize their future NIL income. Generally, these are teams that have more TV time, larger fan bases, are sports-centered and have more connections to deals. As a result, the best players will all cluster at the best schools in order to optimize their earnings. For example, LSU player, Flau'jae Johnson, is the nation's most valuable women's basketball player with a $1.5M NIL valuation. She is partnered with brands like Puma, JBL, Amazon, Meta and Samsung, and is also signed to Jay-Z's music label.

The transfer portal, introduced in 2018, allows students to transfer to a school they feel better accommodates their athletic needs. Prior to this, players would have to sit out a whole season at their new college and receive permission from their school to transfer (unless the coach that recruited them was leaving). Now, the transfer portal is unrestricted -any player can enter it as many times as they'd like. If a player transfers schools more than once, a waiver is required to allow them to play immediately; this was done for Louisville star Hailey Van Lith, who transferred from Louisville to LSU to TCU in the span of three years (and started for all 3 teams). This year there have been over 1300 women's basketball players in the transfer portal, and teams, such as Tennessee, had 0 players on their roster at one point.

The portal definitely has many positives. For one, bench players don't have to feel stuck; instead, they can go to a place that values their game and respects them as players. However, the negatives are evident as well. Notably, the best players are no longer dispersed throughout the division. Instead, they flock to the same elite teams at unprecedented levels. Notable transfers include Iowa State's Audi Crooks, who shot 64.9% from the floor and averaged 25.8 points per game in the 2025-2026 season.

The NCAA DI Women's March Madness was more than just a tournament, it was a reflection of the evolution of women's college basketball. What has been adored for its Cinderella story-like comebacks is now defined by influence, resources and money. If the tournament proved anything, it's that dominance may in fact be the new norm, rather than the exception, for the future of the women's game.

On April 9th, the Baltimore Museum of Art hosted the sixth annual Donald V. Bentley Memorial Lecture: The Freedom Bell: An Evening with Frances Harper at the BMA. Tracey Beale, the director of public programs at the Baltimore Museum of Art, gave a brief introduction about the Billie Holiday Center for Liberation Arts and highlighted its collaboration with Hopkins and its memorial lectures. She also introduced Jackson, who set the tone for the lecture by opening with his poem, "The Flight of William Bowser." William Bowser was a Maryland native who led a slave revolt shortly after the birth of Harper. The poem echoed the ideas of perseverance and revolution that Harper's life embodied.

Historian Martha S. Jones, a professor at the SNF Agora Institution at Hopkins, gave a lecture detailing Harper's life. She has evoked Harper in all of her works. She detailed the creation of the Johns Hopkins Hospital's orphan asylum and Harper's eventual visitation that disrupted the pre-conceived, rigid notions of what Black orphaned girls were capable of, covered the breadth of Harper's activism and work and analyzed how her speeches and poetry were effective in challenging the suffocating racism and sexism of the 19th century.

"By the 1850s, Harper was already established as an educator and published poet. In that decade, she also broke new ground; she joined the anti-slavery lecture circuit, a rarity for a Black woman, and she immediately earned notice," said Jones. "One woman's magazine remarked how Harper tore down barriers. Mary Ann Shadd Cary, an American-Canadian anti-slavery activist who edited her own newspaper in the 1850s, described Harper's early speeches as fervent, eloquent and with almost superhuman force and power over the spellbound audience."

Jones discussed how Harper's successes, particularly through character and speech, manifested. Harper's demeanor was critical to audience engagement.

"She adopted a ladylike comportment, even as her ideas were sharp edged and highly political," said Jones. "Audiences admired her unassuming manner, graceful oratory, fervency, pathos and truthfulness. She delivered outbursts of eloquent indignation in a style of speaking, which was highly poetical, quite touching and effective. [...] Harper shared the podium with many of the era's best known anti-slavery speakers [...] men like H. Ward Douglas, Robert Purvis, Charles Remond, William Grant Still and William Howard Day - along with white women lecturers, such as Lucretia Mott and Josephine Griffin."

Despite her professional triumphs, Harper faced many personal and fraught dangers during her travels.

Jones discussed a moment where Harper recalls a specific dangerous encounter.

"I have been insulted on several railroad cars. The other day, in attempting to ride in one of the city cars, after I had entered, the conductor came to me, and wanted me to go out on the platform [...] As a matter of course, I did not," Harper said. "Some one interfered, and asked or requested that I might be permitted to sit in a corner. I did not move, but kept the same seat. When I was about to leave, he refused my money, and I threw it down on the car floor, and got out, after I had ridden as far as I wished."

Then, Jones covered Harper's far, thorough journey across the country.

Specifically, in detailing Harper's journey, Jones moved from the men Harper shared the stage with and focused on her talent as a female speaker.

"She headlined commemorations and celebrations. She shared the bill and the podium with illustrious men, including H. Ford Douglass, Robert Purvis and Charles Remond," said Jones. "Cary had remarked that Harper was the greatest female speaker ever. And in the post-war years, Harper proved her right. When she spoke before the American Equal Rights Association in 1866, she did not mince words about the rights of women [...] faced down figures no less formidable than Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan Anthony, and she was at her best, the only Black woman to speak in a gathering brimming with skilled orators."

Most often quoted is her admonition: "They are all bound up together in one great bundle of humanity." Jones elaborated on this quote.

"It was a fierce reframing of American politics that rejected differences of race and of sex. Harper did not dwell on property rights for the ballot," said Jones. "Instead, her grievances emanated from the everyday indignities that Black women endured on the nation's trains and streetcars, being roughed up, ridiculed and refused service. All this, while white women passengers watched."

According to Jones, she was one of America's first truly intersectional feminists, someone whose analysis rejected racism, and sexism, along with differences of class and origin; "Harper's concerns only continued to broaden in the post-Civil War years, and she turned her attention to orphan children, those uniquely sheltered in care."

"Theirs was a world shaped by slavery, anti-Black racism and, even among some Black leaders, skepticism about how far a young woman's aspirations should take her," Jones remarked. "Harper's young life was troubled and also fortunate. She made the most of the active fortune we know while building upon a foundation that few young Black girls, even those born free, would never know before the Civil War."

In her 1891 poem, "Out in the Cold," Harper reflects on justice.

Jones' analysis of the poem incorporated Harper's life.

"Harper knew herself to be more fortunate than most children left out in the dark and cold, and it is her humility that permits her to see herself in the face of the children who animate the poem," said Jones. "The poem reflects the circumstances that Harper saw as she traveled through her time with women and girls, many former enslaved people among them."

Jones' lecture then returns to Hopkins, and how Harper and the institution shaped one another.

Harper, through her work and character, seemed to work as a counterexample to the rigid expectations set by the Hopkins orphan asylum.

"When Harper visited the girls in the Hopkins orphan asylum in 1895, she had a critical message. The girls there were trained to go into domestic service in the homes of Baltimore's elite. They would not be trained as educators or poets," said Jones. "They would know too little about how a woman like Harper made for herself a private as well as a public life. The girls, instead, could expect to live lives of domestic service, expect to face women who might not honor their purity and men who sought to compromise it."

Near the end of her lecture, Jones reflected on the nature of Hopkins as an institution.

In specific, she analyzed the institution's influence on those like Harper, who were orphaned and expected to be subjugated.

"For those straining to remember the asylum and understand its meaning for the Hopkins of today," said Jones, "Harper reminds us that in contrast, its rigid structures were not enough to hold her, and the possibilities of reform, back. The asylum began to shut its doors in 1914, but not before a new campus was built [...] It was the start of a new ambitious research institution that for generations trained young men of privilege, expecting that they would themselves someday not only make the world, but that they would head the elite homes that relied on the services of girls, such as those trained in the asylum. Hopkins was erecting halls that would launch white boys into limitless futures."

Jones concludes the lecture by moving back to words from Harper.

She takes Harper's most famous quote to bring together why every one of us should pay close attention to Harper and her life.

"To borrow Frances Harper's most openly quoted refrain, they were all the girls of the asylum and the boys of the university, but they were, like us, 'all bound up together," said Jones at the end of her lecture.

After the lecture was over, African American spirituals in Harper's honor were performed by Baltimore's Jonathan Pettus Chorale, which includes many alumni of the celebrated Morgan State University Choir.

A post-performance reception was held that featured free food and drinks. Notably, this reception featured a pop-up exhibit designed by Dr. Raynetta Wiggins-Jackson. Jackson is the lead curator for Curating and Archiving Black Baltimore, an interdisciplinary position between the Billie Holiday Center for Liberation Arts and Johns Hopkins University's Sheridan Libraries.

Currently, Special Collections in the Sheridan Libraries is hosting a Frances Harper exhibit until May 14th. The Brody Learning Commons Frances Harper exhibit is viewable from the windows of the Special Collections. This exhibit, called "We Rise," displayed at the museum, features a map that will help Hopkins students understand how the institution itself is in spatial relation to Harper.

The Billie Holiday Center for the Liberation Arts was designed to foster restorative links between Johns Hopkins University and the historic African American communities of Baltimore, and this lecture about Harper was one of the several ways the Center invites participants to engage with significant historical events and its relations to Hopkins. The Center hosts other programs for students to attend. These events are all over Baltimore and outside of campus, actively encouraging students to grapple with the history around them.

Through art, particularly music and poetry, Harper's revolutionary heritage has been preserved, but it also invites reflection on hope and resilience and a continued future for progressive growth.

Editor's Note, Apr. 15, 2026: This article was updated to correctly attribute several direct quotes by Jones from her lecture and correct several historical names mentioned. The News-Letter regrets this error.

I've been listening to kids more lately. Maybe it's because I've been teaching, but I don't mean just listening to them literally - their higher-pitched voices and inflections of pop culture, which sound like a dead language to me. The content of their speech is what I'm hearing, perhaps for the first time. Have you ever met one of those not-so-rare elementary-aged philosophers? One of my students wrote, "happy is where the sun likes my future." I do not think I could write a line so poignant if you asked me to. In dark clouds of jealousy, I feel relieved that my extra years have at least gifted me the executive function to weld together a greater number of mediocre sentences, and then I feel embarrassed for competing with an elementary schooler.

Listening to kids comes with the fine print of listening to myself or who I was as a child. The other day I excavated a memory I had forgotten. During long car rides as a child, I recall having one mission besides measuring our travels by counting the milemarkers outside: I had to find something beyond the window along our journey to "own." But what does that even mean, and more interestingly why as an elementary schooler did I have such a capitalistic and enterprising motor ticking me forward?

I held weird concepts of ownership. On vacation in Texas, I vomited in the Gulf after swallowing too much saltwater playing "surfboard," a game I invented in which - you guessed it - I pretended to be a stiff surfboard as the waves wrecked me. For years after that vacation, I claimed to others that I "owned" part of the Gulf of Mexico by virtue of my vomit (which I certainly owned) polluting a portion of its surface. But vomit wasn't always so ready to be summoned, and I yearned to expand my empire beyond the scope of my spray. My new rules of ownership became: If I spied a snapshot that was so unique for no one else to notice it in particular for the rest of the universe's time, then it became mine.

So, I began owning smaller things. I was very realistic about what I thought could get away without ever being noticed by anyone else for all of time. As environments blurred by my backseat car window, the things I looked for to accrue were mostly single leaves on faraway trees. Sometimes falling branches in crowded bosks, which I reasoned would descend into obscurity soon. If I was greedy, then I could get away with larger branches out in the open but which I figured were commonplace enough to escape the specific attention my rules stipulated.

Is it conceited to treat my life as literature? Just this once, let me - take an IOU in exchange. Readers of this era in my life may equip various lenses. There is, of course, the Marxist lens, which may come to mind first. Look at how far capitalism has extended for a child to be initiated into its grip so early, literally inventing currency with which to buy himself the natural world! That's one possibility. To any psychologists or literary specialists reading, submit a tip answering what a psychoanalytic lens of this situation may reveal.

This is not a practice I have kept today. None of the fallen leaves or pieces of litter that you don't see fluttering on Keyser Quad secretly belong to me. I don't remember when it stopped, either. Did something replace it? I've received the advice to never respond to emotional problems with intellectual answers, but I'm going to anyway. I think everyone wants to be different. Or at least I do. Even the people who say they just want to blend right in with everyone else: If you want to be extraordinarily invisible, is that not just another form of superpower, an abject form of difference?

So, perhaps all along this quest for ownership was one to differentiate myself. I alone own these things because I saw them when no one else did. In elementary school, when your parents are still picking the clothes you buy and acting more or less as your managers, then there are few other ways to express yourself as an individual. If the theory is that, with the advent of accessible forms of self-expression as I got older, the need for this game of ownership became obsolete, then that too still isn't satisfying because of one key issue: I wasn't very self-expressive even when I had the chance to be. For most of high school I wore sweats and hoodies and had similar interests to enough other people. If I wanted to be an individual then as I do now, then I certainly did a poor job of it.

Do I have parallel practices today? I do keep a running Notes app of observations, mostly with the intent to somehow write about them someday. Of course, that only receives half credit, because while it involves collecting my sights it also often leads to publicizing them via writing, which is anything but secret.

We all receive compliments that stick with us, especially the ones that are repeats, affirming a trait that we ingrain into our self-concepts. For me, I have always loved to be called observant, or a noticer of tiny details, but I can't tell if this resulted from or sparked my initial searching for hidden things to own. All the good that does me now is cue me in when small decorative or landscaping changes occur each time I return home. That house is a new color. They have a new birdbath in the lawn.

Call it anticlimax, but I myself truly do not have a read that I believe for why I was the way I was. I was not a greedy, possessive or territorial child in any other aspect of my life. I was not food insecure or strapped for belongings in any meaningful way. While I was not thirsty for ownership in action, perhaps I did always have some mental concept of needing something to belong to me: As I've written before, my dream job was nothing common like veterinarian, but rather hotel manager. Was this patchwork collection of leaves, branches of different sizes, and a measly puddle of the Gulf of Mexico the beginning of my very own Hilton au naturel?

Some things I think are better left packed. I do not believe any satisfying revelation lies at the bottom of why my childself narrowly escaped a track hurdling toward becoming America's next scummiest landlord. (Though, maybe there's still time…) To be honest, I believe that sometimes such exhumations of the past are only defilements of the present. We all have strange anecdotes. Are they better as just that: "anecdotes," ones we're meant to move past? In my hoarder days, I discovered some good things to own, the art of observation among them. But now - sue me for a sappy ending - I'm working on finding better things.

Riley Strait is a sophomore from Olathe, Kan. studying Writing Seminars and English. He is an Arts & Entertainment Editor for The News-Letter. His column, "In Medias Res," translates from Latin to "into the middle of things," shares narratives that bury occasional insights within fluffthat often leave the reader wondering, "Did I ask?"

When the summer heat has subsided, and the sun casts a liquid saffron in the rippling bank waters of the Loch Raven Reservoir, my father and I gather up hooks, lure and rods to set out fishing. After the back trunk of the car pops open with a metallic creak, we load up the equipment and begin a leisurely 9-minute drive from our house. My father is steering our beige 2008 Toyota Camry, proudly bearing a sunburnt bumper sticker of the Beijing Olympics, where our seatbelt buckles still radiate the heat of noon, and the entire interior smells of melting velour. He cranks on the radio to WEAA 89.9, my least favorite station, due to being young and not understanding the "allure of jazz," but my father insists it reminds him of the gate lounges of the Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, waiting for flights home. We mainly drive along one monotonous, lazily winding road that escapes to the outskirts of Timonium, brushing past the whipping scenery of foliage in the reflection of the approaching basin.

Although I was the usual backseat passenger of my father's frequent journeys to the reservoir, I always made alternative preparations for spending my time. Sometimes I would choose my favorite stories from the Rainbow Magic Weather Fairies series to reread, undoing their worn, dog-eared pages. I also liked bringing a tight wad of multiple pieces of printer paper folded together with two Crayola coloring pencils - in case I was struck with the desire to trace over the book covers and reimagine their characters.

After parking the car on a flat gravel lot a little upfield of the fishing grounds, my father would swiftly change into his fishing garb, draping a faded blue and gray windbreaker over his polo shirt and spraying OFF! insect repellent in every direction, which invariably prickled the inside of my nostrils. "That's enough!" Rubbing out the oily droplets that would roll down my calves, I then helped him carry his red cooler. It functioned as both a storage container and a step he could use to heave his body up and lean his face far over the chainlink railing of the bridge, positioning him on the same altitude as the other more seasoned and more "American" fishers.

When my father fishes, you'd think he were some kind of monk. I sit a few paces away from him, watching his back poised and ready like the Roman statues I've seen in geography textbooks, and begin to read. Reading happens to sucks the time right out of a day, I've noticed, and I ensure each fishing trip that I have enough material to pass the time. Flipping to my lightly dog-eared page, I exit the realm of the reservoir, with its zipping dragonflies and itchy fountain grass, the landscape exhaling into silence as my mind enters the book in hand. I am still aware, of course, of my father's blurry figure recasting his line, the sound of the reel recoiling that gossamer thread and producing a high-pitched whir before the brass sinker breaks the surface of water with a plop.

It doesn't take me too many books before the sky breaks into a crabapple fuchsia, indicating the brink of night. A gaggle of geese makes their way across the inky water, their strokes leaving behind fine, dragging lines across the surface of the reservoir. When I squint again at my father, I realize he, too, has finished with the day, and his catch lay in an orderly row beneath his feet and spare rods. They ranged from small to large, a few Sunfish, six Crappies in ascending body length, and one glimmering Yellow Perchback at the top of this rank. I grin, putting down my books, and jump up to hug him fiercely.

"You did it! You did it again!"

As he smiles and squeezes my back with a gloved hand, I can smell the work of fishing on him, all the reel grease and saltiness from artificial lures and slimy tackle boxes.

In retrospect, I think he thought I must have really liked fish, or that I really liked going to the reservoir after school. Why else would I always volunteer to come with him, then, on these lengthy expeditions? The truth is, I actually liked the coming home part, him letting me sit in the passenger seat with the day's catch splashing around in the cooler on my lap, listening to the fuzzy radio together until I am lulled asleep by the familiar rhythm of the car tires running over the same speed bumps. The returning home tired, smelling like the rich earth and speckled with its dirt, opening the cooler and counting to ensure nothing had slipped away.

And then, waiting for the next sun to do it again.

Crystal Wang is a sophomore from Baltimore, Md., studying Molecular and Cellular Biology.

Founded in 2009 by Brandon Doman, The Strangers Project began as a simple yet powerful idea: to collect anonymous, handwritten stories from people around the world and share them in a space where anyone could read them. What started as a small project has grown into a global collection of human experiences stories filled with honesty, vulnerability and emotion. It creates a space where people can express themselves freely, without judgment, and where others are invited to simply listen.

When I visited the exhibit at the World Trade Center Oculus during spring break with the First Generation Low Income Networking program, I didn't expect it to affect me the way it did.

As soon as I walked in, I was surrounded by stories. Pages hung from the ceiling, clipped onto strings of light and covered the walls from corner to corner. The room felt quiet, but not empty; it felt alive, like every piece of paper held a voice waiting to be heard. I remember standing still for a moment, taking everything in, unsure of where to begin.

But once I started reading, I couldn't stop.

Reading those stories allowed me to feel people's raw emotions in a way I had never experienced before. The level of detail, the honesty and the vulnerability in their words made it impossible to stay detached. It didn't feel like I was just reading; it felt like I was being trusted with something deeply personal.

If I'm being honest, I cried.

Some stories carried joy. I remember reading one from someone excited about getting married, writing about love and the life they were about to begin. There was hope in their words, something light and beautiful that made me smile. Another story was written as a letter to a future self filled with uncertainty, but also determination, as if they were trying to remind themselves to keep going no matter what.

But not all of the stories were light.

Some were heavy in a way that stayed with me long after I walked away. I remember reading about someone being diagnosed with a terminal illness, writing about fear, acceptance and the reality of time slipping away. That story, and others like it, made everything feel more real, more immediate. These weren't just words, they were moments of people's lives, captured in a way that felt raw and unfiltered.

In that room, joy and pain existed side by side. Love, grief, hope and uncertainty were all hanging together, with each story just as important as the next.

What struck me the most was how connected I felt to complete strangers. These were people I would never meet, yet their emotions felt familiar. It made me realize how much we all carry, how many experiences go unseen and how often we move through life without truly understanding one another.

That space made me feel human, in the most honest and raw way possible.

One question written on the wall stood out to me: "What's your story?" It made me pause. In a room filled with vulnerability, I began to reflect on my own experiences and what I would share if I had the courage to leave a piece of myself behind.

Walking away, I realized how rare it is to truly listen to others, especially strangers. We live in a world where we are constantly moving, constantly distracted, often too focused on ourselves to notice the lives unfolding around us. But in that space, I was reminded that every person has a story worth hearing.

The Strangers Project is more than an art exhibit. It is a reminder that behind every face is a story, and behind every story is a human being navigating their own journey. And sometimes, all it takes is slowing down and listening to a stranger to remind you that you are not alone.

Alexandra Garcia Herrera is a freshman from Laurel, Md. majoring in Chemistry. Her column, "Letter from a Freshman," explores her reflections on what happens outside the syllabus: friendships, identity, grief and growth.

Two weeks ago, I had an incredible stroke of bad luck. Nothing was ever that serious, but minor inconveniences and unfortunate happenings followed me around like a fever I couldn't shake. The list of these inconveniences goes as follows:

I miss an email from my TA informing me that my 9 AM discussion section is online for the week, so I enter our empty classroom in confusion and have to join the Zoom call in said classroom and awkwardly apologize for being late;

I get a bad headache and take a nap to alleviate it, but it doesn't work and results in me being late to dance practice;

I'm in a rush to get home when it suddenly starts thundering and pouring rain-my friend offers to drive me home, but running to her car gets us both drenched;

I rush home to do a friend's vacation nails, but they end up being an hour late, so there was no reason to rush and get drenched;

My very irregular menstrual cycle decides to start two days before my very tropical, very beachy, very water-involved vacation to Cancun, even though I had just had my period 10 days ago;

At my internship, someone accuses me of lying about sending out the emails I was tasked with because they did not receive them, even though I most definitely did send those emails correctly;

My power goes out the same moment I'm supposed to have a meeting with with the same aforementioned TA, so I join her Zoom meeting late once again;

After joining this Zoom meeting, I quickly realize we were supposed to meet in person, not online, so I actually miss the meeting entirely;

I head to my next class shamefully, trudging through the heavy snowfall only to find out the professor decided to not come to class because of the snow, but neglected to tell us. She then gives us an assignment to make up for not having class, but makes it due 30 minutes after announcing it-with my bad luck regarding emails specifically, I don't see this until the deadline already passed;

I forget that I was supposed to have this article finished a week ago (sorry Kaitlin);

And finally, the night before my early morning flight, I get home at 11 p.m. and realize I lost my keys. My friend who lives 20 minutes away finds them on her floor, so I wait 30 minutes for a shuttle to retrieve them. On the shuttle back, it's past midnight and I'm the only passenger when my driver scares my soul right out of my body by muttering under his breath, "Why'd you get murdered?"

By this point, I am sick and tired of the games the universe has decided to play on me. But even more than that, I'm dreading that this bad luck is going to follow me onto my flight and stick with me through my vacation. Something almost always goes wrong for me when traveling is involved-either I forget something, or I lose something, or something is cancelled, or a horrible natural disaster overtakes my destination days before I go (last year, Palisades fire; I wish I were joking). My worries were only worsened when the BWI Airport completely shut down (the day before I lost my keys!) due to a chemical smell. But I tried to minimize any potential bad luck as much as I could - I religiously checked my bags to make sure I didn't forget anything, checked to make sure BWI was running again and that my flight wasn't cancelled, knocked on every piece of wood I came across and tried to manifest better luck by thinking of my unlucky streak as a way to get the bad vibes out of my system before I left.

In the end, whether it be the wood-knocking or the mindset change, something worked. The trip went entirely smoothly for me - nothing lost, nothing cancelled, nothing bad. It was nothing but a fun time filled with laughter, good food and beautiful scenery. Unfortunately for my friends, they encountered some back luck in the form of $60 water shoes, $70 swim trunks and some ill-timed lactose intolerance symptoms; I suppose they weren't able to get the bad luck out of the way in time.

From now on, I'm going to stick with the concept that luck is like a video game health bar, and to replenish it I have to endure a bit of misfortune. It makes it easier to bear, knowing that luckier times will come soon.

Harmony Liu is a junior from Queens, N.Y. studying English. Her column shares moments in her life that feel significant and profound enough to be written out and cast to sea for any to find.