Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of jhunewsletter.com - The Johns Hopkins News-Letter's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query.
52 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
My best friends and I met at a birthday party in sophomore year for a girl named Tina. Did we know Tina? Absolutely not. But there we were, huddled in a stranger’s basement, eating cheap cupcakes.
I was told it’s time to start saying my goodbyes in Baltimore.
I’ve spent the last few months of college lounging in my roommate’s room. Her walls are full of tidbits, posters, postcards and two photo strips: one of us and the failed attempt right before. As I lazily lay in her bed and stare at her sitting cross-legged on her giant gray chair working on her laptop, I feel a sense of longing despite only being a few feet away.
I will forever be a momma’s girl.
I probably have around 10 tabs open on my laptop at all times. As I write this, I have a record low of eight: today’s Wordle (3/6 — great starting word), a 30-page reading for class, a video essay on Kafkaesque, LinkedIn, a guide on simple living, Outlook, an assignment that was due last week and an article on high protein vegetarian recipes that I will never look at again. Each tab feels like a microcosm of the chaos in my life.
I recently got coffee with a professor and I was, of course, ranting about school, classes, friendships and family. With a voice thick with frustration, I said, "People act like they're entitled to your time and energy.”
While I personally don’t recall the exact moment my parents told me I was going to have a younger brother, I laugh every time I watch the VHS tapes. I was so upset — almost in tears. At the time, I was deep in my Barbie era, and all I could think about was not having a sister to dress up and play with; though, to his dismay, my brother, Krish, did end up going through that phase with me anyway.
I remember sitting in my English teacher’s room during the last week of senior year, on the verge of tears. I was having an absolutely horrible day; I was exhausted, my limbs hurt a little more than normal and I could feel a stress headache from the subtly creeping impending doom.
I remember being 10 or 11 years old, sitting in front of my family’s desktop computer, staring at a picture of a girl. She was maybe 17, wearing a red varsity jacket with matching red Converse shoes and big gold hoops. Her hair was long, straight and blonde. She was sitting cross-legged on a baseball diamond, a bat casually resting on her shoulder.
Growing up, I didn’t spend much time with my dad. I’d see him early in the mornings, sitting with his cup of chai and a book, before he made his way to work and I made my way to school. He’d come home from work around 9 p.m., which was well past the time when my brother, mom and I would eat dinner, but we’d all sit with him at the dining table — he would eat dinner while the rest of us picked at a bowl of dates. At night, he’d be doing work in the study or living room, and I’d be watching my own shows on my laptop a few feet away. My dad is not a particularly talkative or open person, so our relationship developed at a distance and moved in silence.
Growing up, the History Channel was my family’s absolute favorite thing to watch on TV. My grandparents’ version of an ideal Sunday night wasn't spent watching football: it was reruns of Decoding the Past. While I was always a bit disgruntled having to watch shows about cults and Armageddon, the History Channel gave me one of my favorite childhood fixation eras: Extreme Collectors.
It seems as if every time I write, all I can think about is aging. As 2024 begins, I am on the cusp of my 21st year. This milestone comes with its own set of hassles, yet 20 is a big year for most. For some, it’s the first time they are living away from home; for many, it’s a moment of self-discovery and finding their identity; and for most, it’s the start of accumulating existential dread for what’s to come (kidding, kinda).
My grandma, my baa, is the strongest, most beautiful woman I know. She married young, didn’t finish school and immigrated from India with her six children. We jokingly called her a family man. She made time for her 14 grandchildren, spent her days calling each of us before and after school and would ask for updates on our well-being and our friends. She was, and continues to be, my dearest friend.
And, as quickly as ever, a new year at Hopkins has begun. It feels as if summer never happened — the Hopkins Student Center construction looks the same as it did in April, the sun still shines relentlessly (maybe too relentlessly) and the campus bustles with new and familiar faces.
On Dec. 31, I laid in my bed and typed out all my New Year's resolutions. I had spent nearly thirty minutes looking for my journal — all to no avail — so my notes app had to do.
According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s (USDA) 2021 report on household food security in the U.S., 13.5 million households are food insecure.
Vice President for Public Safety Branville Bard sent an email to the Hopkins community on Dec. 2 announcing the final draft of the Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) between the Baltimore Police Department (BPD) and the University for the implementation of the Johns Hopkins Police Department (JHPD).
Hopkins affiliates and community members engaged in a series of events to protest against the Johns Hopkins Police Department (JHPD) on Nov. 29. The event started with a walk-out at 12:30 p.m., followed by a protest march from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. and ended with a vigil at 5 p.m at the Homewood Museum. The march took place around the Homewood campus, starting at Gilman Hall and ending at the Beach, with checkpoints at Homewood Field and Wyman Park.
Students, faculty and staff gathered to celebrate the official grand opening of the Imagine Center for Integrative Learning and Life Design on Nov. 14. The center, which has been open to students since September, is home to the University’s seven career and professional development departments.
These past few weeks have felt like an ensemble coming-of-age miniseries. For most of this semester, I have been practically living in some of my closest friends’ dorms and apartments.