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(21 hours ago)
I’ve always found peace in the sky. When I was younger, I’d look up at the clouds during long car rides and let my imagination go wild with stories of a fictional man jumping through the clouds. Even as I got older, my appreciation and admiration for the sky only grew stronger. I am from an area known as the Sun City. As such, I’ve always been able to define my home through beautiful sunsets and sunrises. When I came to Baltimore my freshman year, I was surprised by how different the sky was — sunny days felt like a cage and cloudy days were only dreary. I felt as though I was caged up by an unseen force that prevented me from being able to relax and take in my environment.
(15 hours ago)
When I was a child, I thought that eating turkey on Thanksgiving was a historical myth, like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow on St. Patrick’s Day or getting hit by Cupid's arrow on Valentine’s Day. Each November, I would make as many hand turkeys as I could possibly fit in my sparkly pink backpack, and then go to my Abuela’s house to eat a traditional feast of pan de bono, empanadas, ajiaco, mazorca, platanos, arroz con leche and jugo de maracuya. Like we all do every year, right?
(12/23/25 12:00am)
As expected, my first semester at Hopkins yielded a welcome amount of intellectually stimulating conversations. Yet one that occurred recently has stuck in my mind. It prompted a thorough self-examination of my beliefs, which is a place I didn’t think I would reach after only a few months on campus.
(12/23/25 4:00am)
When I was little, I always made sure to turn on my nightlight before heading to sleep. From the concept of monsters hiding under my bed to other unknowns in the darkness, I had my fears and suspicions. However, a tiny, dim light capable of warmly illuminating my whole bedroom was all that I needed to give me the assurance that it was probably just my mind trying to play tricks on me and that if a monster were really hiding underneath my bed, I would at least be able to foresee it instead of being blindly frightened by it.
(12/23/25 8:00am)
Another sunset seeps through my windows, staying for a moment. It paints my white walls with an orange and pink tinge, the type of color you think of when a warm hand rests on your shoulder. Each ray of sunlight finds its place: on the mirror hanging from my door, on the boxes filled with my belongings and on the suitcases leaning against the wall.
(12/23/25 8:00am)
The person I am today was beautifully woven and built piece by piece by my mother; she built my wings to fly. The transition from having my mom right beside me to being 8,000 miles away from her is tough.
(12/22/25 5:00am)
There’s a poem I keep thinking about: “Replica of the Thinker.” In it, a copy of Rodin’s famous statue sits at a museum, hunched over that familiar pose of “deep thought.” But he isn’t thinking. “His head is filled with iron and bronze,” the poet writes, “not neurons and God.” He looks like a thinker, but is he actually thinking?
(12/22/25 1:00pm)
“What’s going on here?”
(12/22/25 2:00am)
Yesterday I took the MBTI test again for the first time in eight months: ISTJ-T. I didn’t think much of the four letters themselves — I’ve seen them enough times by now. What caught my attention was the last letter, a subtle change from A (assertive) to T (turbulent). It made me stop and think about when I became more worried and prone to overthinking, not because I believe in a personality test like it’s my Roman Empire, but because some of the prompts in the test do reflect my current feelings toward my own stage of growth. For context, assertive people are usually calm and self-assured, while turbulent people tend to be more anxious and self-critical.
(12/21/25 11:18pm)
I recently finished the latest season of Dancing With the Stars. For those who weren’t keeping up, Robert Irwin and his professional ballroom partner, Witney Carson, brought home the highly coveted Mirrorball trophy.
(12/20/25 9:00pm)
Tangshan was ravaged by a 7.6 magnitude earthquake on July 28, 1976. An earthquake report written years later said that within minutes, “85% of the buildings collapsed or were rendered unusable, all services failed, and most highway and railway bridges collapsed or were seriously damaged.” An article in the Building Safety Journal described how, because the earthquake struck during the humid midsummer season, “survivors scrambled out into the open naked, covered only in dust and blood, to see the entire city levelled.”
(12/14/25 9:00pm)
Hey Alan,
(12/15/25 7:00pm)
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.
(12/15/25 3:00am)
In high school, they put you through every career exploration website in the book with endless surveys to fill the time. What are your hobbies? Are you a social person? A visual learner or auditory? After these life-changing questions, small colorful blurbs would appear, possible careers ranging from travel agent to journalist, salesman to entertainer. Over and over, you complete these surveys, for four years. But at the end of the day, the core question is the same one we were given as children for icebreaker worksheets. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” My question in return, stated or not, was often “Can I pick more than one?”
(12/15/25 12:00am)
“Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other,” Danusha Laméris avows in her short poem “Small Kindnesses.”
(12/16/25 3:00am)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve worn my heart on my face. Joy, love and contentment glimmer in my eyes even when I attempt to hide my smile. The lump in my throat when I’m hurt shows up in the set of my lips and the hoarseness of my voice. My hands move more when I’m excited and shake into fists in anger.
(11 hours ago)
There are few things so contagious as Christmas in Manila. The streets come alive with spiraling lights and glowing parols. Mariah Carey reigns in every mall and, out from each corner of every barangay spills the sound of belting karaoke and sappy ballads. With everyone home for the holidays, the usual city crowds multiply. People pour out onto the church steps at mass, some so far away as to only hear the sound of the sermon from outdoor speakers, keeping the heat at bay with abaniko and pamaypay fans. The city stays awake for Noche Buena, with whole pigs skewered on the table for lechon, pancit and lengua and platters of baked kakanin ready for grazing throughout the night. Temperature aside, the Philippines warms even more at Christmastime.
(12/14/25 11:00pm)
It is 6 a.m. and my roommates and I have had a total of eight alarms go off from 6:00 to 6:40 a.m. for the Freshman Cohort’s Spring Semester Registration. (Can be read as: none of the alarms actually got anyone out of bed, but all of them successfully jump-started the kind of frenzy that feels like work even though it accomplishes absolutely nothing).
(12/07/25 10:00am)
Every morning I wake up with an ache in my body that makes me wonder if monsters really do exist under my bed, and if they take turns using me as a trampoline through the night. If I turn my head slightly the wrong way, I fear it’ll just break clean from my neck; when I sit still in class for any longer than five minutes, my back will creak and crack loud enough to scare my classmates around me.
(12/07/25 9:00am)
I plop onto my seat in Hodson 110, flipping the light gray foldable desk over and laying my favorite mechanical pencil and eraser on top, catching the pencil with my index finger as it threatened to roll off the edge of the table. There are 30 minutes until the first ProbStats midterm.
