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(11/17/25 8:00am)
You know when you close your eyes, travel back to that one moment in time, the one that feels so real you can smell it, hear it and feel its warmth in the air? For me, that moment has always been Christmas. Every time I see the first string of lights go up or hear a familiar carol play in the background, I’m instantly brought back to this one memory: my brother and I standing beside our Christmas tree, our faces glowing in the soft light, completely mesmerized by the magic of it all.
(12/02/25 8:00am)
Last week, my roommate and I were discussing our favorite early 2000s rom-coms (with “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” at the top of the list, obviously), when she asked, “Hailey, are you against plastic surgery?” This question may seem abrupt, but it represented the accumulation of critical bits and pieces of our conversation: Samantha Jones in Sex and the City (Season 2, Episode 3, “The Freak Show”), the popularization of discussing cosmetic procedures on social media and the ways in which the female body has been turned into a trend. Ultimately, we had a meaningful conversation about what it means to powerfully embody or succumb to femininity, and how it has looked for us and those we care about as we enter our twenties. Let’s map it out:
(12/01/25 4:55am)
Amid the usual onslaught of midterms and essays, it becomes startlingly easy to lose your grasp on time. The clock hands turn a little too fast for our liking, hours slip away to Brody study sessions and anxious Gradescope submissions, and days become measured not by sunset or sunrise but instead how many energy drinks you’ve downed.
(11/16/25 12:00pm)
My phone buzzed with a reminder from my mom: “Aaj Diwali hai, haath jodh lena.” I looked around my sparse dorm — the string lights I’d never hung, two Bhagwaanji in the corner — and slipped out before the silence could settle.
(11/19/25 1:00pm)
For as long as I can remember, I would call my dadi twice a day.
(12/01/25 10:40pm)
Most days, you can find me in a child’s pose on a yoga mat either at the studio, next to my bed at home or on the hardwood stretching before my ballet class. It’s nothing extravagant, and often my stretching varies from a few quick minutes before class to an hour and half before bed. No matter what time of day or where I’m at, yoga and my stretching routine have given me stability and structure during times of tumultuous change.
(12/01/25 2:00am)
When my girlfriend visited a couple weeks ago, I suddenly became self-conscious of how bland and messy my room looked. Despite it being week six, moving boxes still sat unopened and the decorations I brought lay on the floor untouched. For the record, I think of myself as a clean person. But with my new apartment, I had excused myself because this space felt temporary.
(12/02/25 5:00am)
When I was little, I always hoped I would get glasses. I used to believe that somehow my vision would diminish enough for me to wear them, that my braces could match the lenses perched on my nose. Only with glasses, I thought, could I truly see who I wanted to become. Perhaps then, I could see the future clearly.
(11/22/25 4:00am)
I am sitting on a fuzzy pink pillow in the apartment of my trainer, Dua, and I am about to share my whole life story from beginning to end with a group of five strangers.
(10/28/25 7:00am)
Like a horse with a broken leg, I have come to face my own death sentence: I am a poet uncomfortable unpacking emotion.
(11/11/25 3:00pm)
I ask myself this question nearly every day. Ironically, back in December, I had nearly convinced myself that I would get in. My favorite procrastination strategy was to pull up the graph for Hopkins on Scoir, see my star land in the green-ish area, and think, “Maybe I have some hope.” Then I would mull over my essays and Common App activities in my head (I was too scared to actually read them), and perhaps gain a bit of hope.
(11/12/25 5:00am)
A few years ago, I figured that if I never wanted to feel anxious again, I could simply force myself to do things that make me nervous over and over again — until my hands no longer shook, my voice no longer trembled and my heart no longer sank.
(11/09/25 8:00am)
The first time I feel the freshman blues, it’s 7 p.m. in Baltimore, but 5 a.m. back home. My phone lights up with a text from my mom. It’s nothing fancy, just a photo of her standard morning cup of chai (tea). She has always been an early riser. I know she doesn’t expect a reply. She just wants me to see something familiar, to be reminded of what home feels like.
(10/29/25 5:00pm)
We have reached that point in the semester yet again.
(11/22/25 6:08am)
Letters Without Limits, founded by students at Johns Hopkins and Brown University, connects volunteers with palliative care and hospice patients to co-create “Legacy Letters.” These letters capture memories, values and lessons that patients wish to share, preserving stories that might otherwise be lost. By honoring these voices and preserving legacies, Letters Without Limits hopes to affirm the central role of humanism in medicine, reminding us that every patient is more than their illness and that their voices deserve to be heard. As you read these powerful Legacy Letters, we invite you to pause, reflect and recognize the beauty in every life.
(10/27/25 7:00am)
It’s not that I’m ashamed of being Vietnamese — now at least. Growing up was a different story. I really don’t want to frame this piece like another “I grew up in a predominantly white area and I had no one that looked like me,” because that’s not real.
(11/10/25 10:00am)
While I like to consider myself an honest person, I’ve realized lately that I’m often dishonest with myself. If a near-stranger were to ask me about my fears or my childhood, I’d hardly hesitate before answering with the truth. I’ve never been one to fear saying too much. The trick, that I’ve noticed recently, is that I’ve left a backdoor open. I consider myself honest so long as I believe the truth of what I’m saying, but there remains a subtle caveat: my own thoughts are not always reflective of what I mean. Let me explain.
(11/08/25 9:28pm)
Fifteen minutes a day. That’s it. After that time elapses — whether it’s all at once or in smaller, two minute segments — a gray hourglass fills up my screen and white sand trickles through. No more scrolling for today.
(11/05/25 3:32am)
A statistic from the Department of Homeland Security estimates that “Two million illegal aliens have left the United States in less than 250 days, including an estimated 1.6 million who have voluntarily self-deported.”
(10/23/25 3:00am)
What happens when the fantasy of college life collides with deadlines, midterms and pressure?
