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(11/13/25 10:39pm)
When I signed up to write an article about what my Spotify receipt reveals about me, I didn’t really think about how embarrassing it might look. Signing into Receiptify a few weeks later, however, I can’t deny I was a little nervous: This would be published for everyone to see. And usually, when I’m listening to music, I’m not thinking much about public perception. When I saw what it looked like, though, I realized there was a lot in there: a lot about me, what I like, who I am. A lot that wasn’t actually embarrassing (with the exception of The Last of Us soundtrack, but let a girl have her TV shows).
(11/13/25 11:06pm)
I see her before she sees me. She lifts me from the desk, fingertips brushing the smudges from my lens, and for a moment, the world sharpens.
(11/14/25 12:14am)
I don’t remember when exactly I wanted to learn how to make food, but I do remember why (other than the fact that I thought it was a useful skill and more economical). I liked eating tasty food, so trying to make it was the natural progression in my mind. My journey began with cooking.
(11/14/25 12:26am)
It’s common knowledge that the job of Hopkins students is to complain about every exam and administrative decision ever made. I’ve found myself starting to participate in this culture as well. “Why was the orgo exam harder, even with the increased grade boundary? Why are my portions at Nolan’s so much smaller this year?” These questions have the tendency to burrow themselves into my mind and distract me from my goals. So, the skill I want to develop is not physical, but more of a mindset of gratitude and awareness: the ability to both appreciate and scrutinize my current situation. I want to always start by appreciating how lucky I am to be in the particular time and place I exist in — a university brimming with opportunities, research and innovation — no matter how many stressors are taking up my headspace. Secondly, I want to be aware of the way I spend each moment and have the question of “Is this really worth it?” present in my mind. I can absorb endless books and videos about the effective use of time, but none of these ideas will gel if I don’t constantly remind myself of them. With this mindset, I will be able to direct my time to my needs instead of being directed by the ticking clock.
(11/14/25 12:02am)
Cooking is a friend that doesn’t hold your hand.
(11/13/25 10:13pm)
The moment I touch down at Istanbul Airport, my first stop will most likely be a duty-free shop. I search for the shiny red “DUTY FREE” sign right after passport control. Eventually, my eyes meet with (seemingly) infinite boxes of chocolate, bottles of liquor and cartons of tobacco, yet none of them (even discounted Valentino bags or deals on Benefit Cosmetics makeup products) distract me from my target. Instead of paying attention to such trivialities (including my back pain from a 9-hour-long flight), I drag my extra-large suitcases until I notice the fragrance section and eventually locate Yves Saint Laurent (YSL) to acquire a new bottle of perfume. I notice Black Opium’s glittery exterior and the golden logo on Libre, but neither of them is what I’m searching for.
(11/14/25 12:10am)
Maybe from the 4,000 photos in my “Sky” photo album or the fact that I have always enjoyed researching deep-sky objects, you’d think that I am a sky enthusiast. However, I did not realize how much joy I find in the objects in the sky until this summer.
(11/14/25 12:03am)
Ms. Toomey, my IB Arts teacher, introduced me to the idea of the gratitude journal. She asked students in our class to identify three things we felt thankful for in our lives. We started with standard answers like parents, friends and pets before the list grew unbounded: water bottles, phone cases and the school cafeteria, which served the crowd-favorite chicken tender box. Soon, students began competing to see who could be more inventive with their gratitude after realizing that even the most mundane objects could be worthy of a thank-you note.
(11/14/25 12:24am)
Most people dream of sunlit beaches or bustling cities for their next adventure, but I want to go where TikTok only shows the most terrifying whiplash: the infamous Drake Passage Cruise to Antarctica. The Drake Passage connects the Pacific, Atlantic and Southern Ocean. The location explains the clips of the 40-foot waves causing fine silverware shattering and passengers constantly holding on for dear life on the railings sailing through what it is coined as the “Drake Shake,” making it known as the dangerous waters in the world. Yet, I want to face the chaos and find comfort in the uncomfortable. After the chaos lies a stillness that feels otherworldly, surrounded by icebergs shining in the soft light, reminding you of the untouched beauty that’s still left in the world.
(11/13/25 11:16pm)
If you look past the chaotic mess of a college student’s desk — scattered with free stickers, pens, the half-empty Brita and a plant that’s probably a couple of seconds from death, you’re bound to see something that looks like “trash.” For my roommate and me, that trash takes the form of a round plastic box, filled to the brim with cookies.
(11/13/25 10:50pm)
I sat on the floor a lot as a kid. Our hardwood floors were the perfect temperature to escape the heat of the summer daylight, and I would spend many afternoons starfished out on the floor, zoning out, or playing with my older brother’s LEGOs while waiting for my mom to finish cooking lunch. I would often sit in front of our family television — a smaller, chunky VIZIO model at the time — and watch whatever episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA) was airing on Nickelodeon. I would sit there and watch episodes with my brother until the screen got hot and my mom told me I was sitting too close to the TV; that my vision would get worse. Only then would I tear my eyes away from whatever waterbending battle Katara was up to and scoot back, maybe three inches, still cross-legged.
(11/14/25 12:05am)
2012 was an odd year for me. There were ups, and there were downs, and there were many moments in between.
(11/14/25 12:27am)
On most nights, I’ll probably be returning from yet another 1 a.m. Brody study session, my headphones in, listening to whatever fits the vibe. Recently, I’ve been listening to Daniel Caesar, because he released a new album, Son of Spergy, on Oct. 24. Caesar’s been quiet for so long that just seeing his name on a new album feels unreal.
(11/14/25 12:29am)
I want to spend my New Year’s in Boise, Idaho, watching a giant potato drop. At the start of every year, a 17-foot-long spud made of foam and fiberglass — over 17,000 pounds of Idaho pride — makes its way down from the sky in our city’s quirky twist on the Times Square Ball Drop. As the countdown begins, my friends and I press closer to the crowd and brave the cold together while the potato starts its descent. After spending my first semester of college more than 2,000 miles from home, I’m looking forward to this New Year’s potato drop not for the spectacle itself, but for what it represents: a return to where I grew up, to hometown friends and to the familiar feeling of sipping on a pineapple Jarritos from the taco truck down the street.
(11/14/25 12:27am)
Over the summer of 2025, I decided to brave the hundred-degree heat of my hometown near Las Vegas (and its surrounding desert) to return to a hobby that, although dormant for years, has been vastly important over the course of my life: hiking. Among the highlights are the twin Teutonia and Kessler Peaks, situated in the middle of the Mojave National Preserve roughly 70 miles from my home. Although I managed to summit both peaks with a fair share of scrambling, slipping and sightings of the occasional mule deer, I forgot to search for the survey marker — a metal installation in the summit marking government survey records — at the top of Teutonia Peak. These survey markers are a capstone of sorts for hikers and mountain climbers, and it’s customary for mountaineers to take a picture with the marker to show that they came, they saw, and they conquered the peak. In 2026, I’m excited to make the long drive out from Henderson to the Mojave NP and surmount Teutonia yet again; this time, however, I’ll make sure to capture its survey marker in my camera roll.
(11/14/25 12:21am)
IKEA. Meatballs. ABBA. That is usually what you think of when Sweden is mentioned. Honestly, I did too at first, with the bright yellow and blue signs, tiny pencils to write record aisle numbers and a food court of Swedish meatballs as a reward after getting lost in endless showrooms. But beyond the furniture stores and dancing queens, Sweden holds a different kind of charm for me. It is a country that has seemed to figure out happiness, balance and living life at a slower and more intentional pace.
(11/14/25 12:16am)
I want to theorize that no one actually likes flowers. People swoon over the lovable stage: a beautiful bouquet bloom — a proud, delicate beauty perched in front of them, pleasing their senses. To them, a bursting bouquet represents specialty, as if to say, yes, you deserve the beauty that surrounds you now. I am one of millions of girls who swoon over any pink rose bunch delivered to my door, carefully wrapped in a brown paper casing and a matching pink tinted ribbon. But truth be told, flowers require consistent attention to remain in their embellished state. Whether they’re on their bush or already cut, they are temporary by nature. Their beauty exists in an intermediate stage, suspended briefly between life and death. People love flowers when they’re blooming; few love them when they start to fade.
(11/13/25 11:08pm)
I firmly believe that all you really have to do to get to know someone is to look through their bag (with consent, of course). The contents of a college student’s backpack tend to be fairly uniform: a water bottle, lunch (maybe), pens, pencils, an iPad — but the weight of those objects is not immediately visible to an outside observer.
(11/13/25 10:52pm)
I wrote a poem once titled “The Modern Prometheus,” one that had to do with Victor Frankenstein and the curse of ambition. I don’t mean for it to be as dramatic as it sounds — even though I tend to play into the tortured genius angle too much sometimes. Victor and I share a bad habit: we can’t stop creating things that destroy our sleep schedules. While Victor made a monster, I make Word documents. His creation terrorized villages; mine terrorizes Google Docs with track changes and coffee stains.
(11/14/25 12:19am)
I have a horrible habit of really only ever writing about writing. Every Voices piece that I write somehow incorporates some part of my love for literature, and my characteristic diction bleeds into every aspect of my life.
