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Pasta is my go-to comfort food. So when a friend suggested this past Saturday that we treat ourselves to dinner in Little Italy, I agreed. It had been a long first week back, and I’d spent too much time on campus. There was also a festival that she wanted to go to, which sounded nice, but I didn’t really know what that was about.
Editor’s Note: This is a developing story and will be updated as more information becomes available.
I am not your Korean fetish.” That was the Tinder bio I wrote last summer, which came with some decent pictures of myself and a surprise painting of Judith slaying Holofernes. A not-so-subtle finger to the patriarchy.
In high school I nursed wild ambitions of publishing a fantasy novel. The plot was muddy, but I knew my heroine. Her name was Elizia. She was a woman of color, and she spoke with all the outrageous, cringeworthy angst of a Brontë character. She was brave and intelligent and a born leader, a liberator of women and the poor who also dabbled with sorcery.
“Ever to confess that you are bored means you have no inner resources.” This is a line in John Berryman’s “Dream Song 14” that I kept scrawling on pieces of scrap paper this past winter. My dad had once told me almost the exact same thing when I was seven, sitting in the back of the car and whining about how bored I was. Since then, I can’t remember a time I admitted to him that I was bored.
Sometimes it helps to set everything down and stare into space for a few minutes. If I’m at home, I like to open the window, sit on my bed and focus on something aesthetically pleasing in my room, like my succulent, Luna. I’d listen to something instrumental to slow down my heart rate and breathing: Studio Ghibli soundtracks, Hilary Hahn’s Bach recordings, Schumann and the “Peaceful Piano” playlist on Spotify are always helpful. Afterward, I always feel more grounded, alert and focused.
“I’m not into Asian men.” I can attribute this quote to several friends and acquaintances, and the funny thing is, many of them were Asian.
Shortly after the 2016 U.S. presidential elections, I was sitting in the FFC when I overheard someone confessing that she didn’t vote. She was unhappy with the election results, and she was registered to vote in a swing state.
Megan Twohey, one of the two investigative reporters at the New York Times who broke the story of the Harvey Weinstein sexual assault allegations, kicked off the Milton S. Eisenhower (MSE) Symposium lineup on Wednesday night at Mudd Hall.
Unless you’re a die-hard Republican or Trump supporter, chances are you believe in climate change. And if you’ve managed to tear your eyes off the disheartening flood of “Kavanaugh wins!” headlines, you’ll know that it’s escalating faster than we thought it was.
If you think you’re safe under the Trump administration, think again.
This year, I’ve gotten better at taking care of myself.
When I learned that there was a movie called Crazy Rich Asians hitting theaters, I decided that I was going to love it.
In an interview with The News-Letter on Thursday, April 26, University President Ronald J. Daniels discussed his views on the proposed campus police force; the University’s response to sexual violence; resources for low-income students; and mental health.
Bishop Douglas Miles, a native Baltimorean and one of the original founders of the Black Student Union (BSU), gave a presentation in the course Lectures on Public Health and Wellbeing in Baltimore on Tuesday afternoon.
Jennifer Weiss-Wolf, J.D., gave a talk on her book Periods Gone Public: Taking a Stand for Menstrual Equity, at Hodson Hall on Tuesday evening. Hopkins Feminists and the Diverse Sexuality and Gender Alliance (DSAGA) co-hosted the event.
After Maryland lawmakers announced that they would not support a bill authorizing Hopkins to create its own police force, Students Against Private Police (SAPP) organized a rally at Garland Hall to celebrate on Tuesday afternoon. SAPP, a coalition of 11 student groups, used the rally to voice opposition to future plans for a Hopkins police force.
Before #MeToo, I did not take a very close look at the personal lives of artists whose work I admired. I was naive enough to think that in the 21st century, I could not possibly have been conditioned to respect sexual offenders.