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(05/03/25 7:03pm)
When the sky is pouring with a certain degree of violence, everything smells sharper. One explanation for this is logic: Other senses blur — the thunderous noise of a downpour muffles our hearing, water gathers in the way of vision, touch is overwhelmed beneath cold wet clothes; the sense of smell gains clarity. The muddy asphalt falls under a sudden, water-pressure cleanse. The dampened leaves on low-hanging branches take on a sharper smell. And there’s that clear, fresh scent of dirt. Another explanation: memory.
(04/10/25 4:00am)
Every evening during our trip to New York, my friend asked me for the highlights — what she defined as the best parts of our day, or the worst. The stories we’d want to tell our friends and family.
(04/02/25 7:00am)
By a bustling, pie-scented kitchen, The News-Letter spoke with small business owner Mary Wortman about her journey from teaching first grade to running Dangerously Delicious Pies in Canton, soon to be rebranded as B-More Pies and Sweets.
(04/10/25 1:52pm)
Dear Kaitlin,
(02/27/25 5:00am)
Allegedly, moving slowly is yet another way to calm the nervous system. I think I first came across this idea in a short-form video where a flash of text crossed the screen, hovering over an image of a person going about their day. This text would say, “slow down,” after which, the individual would be relieved of all this tension – their shoulders would drop, they would unclench their grip from the steering wheel (how they were filming while driving, I still don’t know).
(11/14/24 5:00am)
Around this time of year, we get busy. When we get busy, we get tired. And when the busyness doesn't stop, we work through our exhaustion — then comes burnout, the beast of burden. This sad sequence feels like such an accepted series of events that I initially didn’t even want to write about it. In my hesitation, I swung between two thoughts: the first, that everything intensifies and nothing can be done about it; the second, its opposite, sprung from doubt, that I was the only one not taking it all in graceful stride.
(11/14/24 7:54pm)
I used to say that I was from nowhere, everywhere or from the South China Sea. All were true enough.
(10/29/24 4:00am)
In an interview with The News-Letter, Judah Akers, lead singer of indie folk band Judah & the Lion, said that they make music, “for people… to point people to hope.” Their newest album, The Process, is a journey through the five stages of grief. Twenty-four tracks guide listeners through the thick of denial, anger, bargaining and depression all the way to acceptance.
(10/20/24 4:47pm)
More often than not, I’m thinking about writing fiction. And, despite this column’s partial intention of being a way to document whatever’s been persistently floating around my mind, I realize that I’ve never written about writing. How odd.
(10/09/24 7:00am)
John Shields, the chef and owner of Gertrude's, has devoted his life to celebrating Chesapeake Bay cuisine. In an interview with The News-Letter, he reflected on his early culinary influences, the evolution of Chesapeake Bay cooking and how students can help protect the region’s food economy.
(09/23/24 1:50pm)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about time. More specifically, how the same volume of time can be compressed or expanded so that a morning can feel like twenty minutes or five seconds or a week, even when the clock is ticking by at the same pace. I’ve been thinking about whether we can control it — not time itself, but our perception of it.
(08/19/24 7:15pm)
Change is rarely easy, and the college transition is an extreme case. As a freshman first stepping onto campus, it can take a lot to simply be present. While it’s easy to anticipate the academic challenge that college might bring, it is also easy to overlook how freshman year likely is the furthest you’ve been from all of the people and places you consider home. But, even in that tangle of nerves and excitement, small intentional practices can help ease your transition to college. Here are a few pointers for finding your footing in your first year at Hopkins.
(04/03/24 3:09pm)
There is a strange peace to the sight of a beach town emptied.
(02/18/24 2:00pm)
There was a window nook in my bedroom growing up, a cold ledge about a meter wide. I filled it with pillows and a throw blanket. For months in high school, I’d wake up early just to sit there before school, reading by lamplight for a dim hour, then watching the sun leak into the sky with my forehead against the glass. I’d play music, quiet enough not to wake anybody. I’d listen to the building’s pipes and watch the street lamps blink off. Sometimes, I’d make myself a cup of tea.
(12/06/23 9:15am)
My grandfather has been asking me to write his biography for years. A tome, he said. Something hundreds of thousands of words long to capture his every struggle and triumph. I brushed it off as a joke, and though he would laugh along, there was always a somber undertone to his request. He wanted to be heard. He wanted to be remembered and seen and celebrated.
(11/02/23 4:00pm)
The other day, I watched myself age by scrolling through my camera roll. Picture by picture, video by video, I saw change and growth in ways I hadn’t expected. It spurred a little reflection.
(09/25/23 4:00am)
I spent the beginning of my sophomore year in a bit of a tizzy.
(02/22/23 5:00pm)
Chances are you’ve been faced with the college question — “Will you or won’t you go to university?” — posed by (hopefully) well-intentioned guardians, mentors or friends. Otherwise, you might be like me, someone from a community where college was never seen as an option, but as an imperative.
