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This Easter, I went back to church. Sitting in a side pew with my roommate, bumping into unexpected friends in the basement and trading candlelight with smiling strangers had me thinking about faith.
In chemical engineering, we are taught the technique of process optimization. Simply put, any process — like making the adhesive for the dinosaur sticker on my laptop — can be analyzed and broken down to the various inputs, outputs and parameters involved. These variables can then be systematically adjusted to find some combination that produces the best result. Given a set of parameters, you can always carefully tune the knobs you are given to find an optimum.
With the end of my first year drawing near, I have taken it upon myself to explore and experience the little things: from entering the everyday buildings I pass by, but have yet to step foot in, to finally trying out the dining options at the student center. One such little thing I didn’t experience until recently was building a sandwich at the Hopkins Café deli bar. I’m not entirely sure as to why it took me almost the whole school year to finally decide to visit this station as it is a go-to for many students. In fact, it’s a little ironic as well because one of my favorite places to eat at is Panera Bread. I love getting their sandwiches, accompanied with a side of your choice, and I always without fail get their in-house chips. A sandwich and a bag of chips — it satisfies your appetite and is an easy grab-to-go meal. The perfect pairing. Unfortunately, there is no Panera Bread on Charles Street or St. Paul Street (it would be a dream come true if there were though!), so naturally it would make sense that the sandwich station would be the one I gravitate toward the most. Although that wasn’t so at the start of the semester, it is the case now.
Growing up, I knew that I loved music. This was not solely informed by piano lessons (never forced) or all the time I spent squeaking out “Canon in D” on my plywood violin. I had an affinity for the lyrical and melodic in life — and it was the first thing I looked for when I came onto campus.
I learned about traditional herbal medicine during the last year of my enrollment in Chinese school. I remembered feeling that most subjects covered in class were historically distant, like memorizing Confucian proverbs that more often doubled as tongue twisters, or reciting ancient poems contained in their perfect, rectangular stanzas. But herbal medicine felt important to become attuned to, as I had already begun to see a strange resurgence of such methods in contemporary culture, where shifting away from traditional Western medicine and toward Eastern “healing practices” had become popular. There appeared to be an appeal to using simple tools, such as stones, teas or cupping treatments, to achieve healthier complexions and detoxify the body. More notably, these means were rendered an enigma to the masses, making Eastern medicine compelling, while discourse grew questioning its empirical validity.
Disclaimer: This article is an in-joke for a small cohort of about 68 current students. If you are not one of those students, do not fret. At minimal cost to your wallet and your health, you can experience it for yourself at apply.jhu.edu before reading this article.
23-Across: “Congratulations on your ___!”
I. Club volleyball
Dear Dua,
Aug. 20, 2022. 6 p.m.
My first big move was from Taiwan to Baltimore for college.
The weekend before our final day of college classes, my friend Kate and I hopped on a bus to Brooklyn to volunteer at a literary ball. I’d been so excited to hear one of my favorite writers give a keynote speech (and Lauren Groff’s words on the importance of blues and all shades of life to the creative process were, we decided afterward, our perfect commencement speech). We spent the next day catching up with our graduated friend Ruvi, watching The Great Gatsby on Broadway, visiting bookshops and shopping, eating delectable ramen in piled hexagonal cubbies and getting soaked to the bone in spring showers. Though Kate also loves books and writing, I know that she would’ve come to New York with me for anything, ball or not. So, on the bus back to Baltimore, past those lengths of plunging tunnel shadows out of Manhattan, and on some tree-lined highway in New Jersey, I write on friendship.
A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.
Before coming to Baltimore, I had no empirical idea of what “seasonal” meant, as I spent my childhood and teenage years in Fuzhou and Los Angeles — two cities that seemed to have only hot days and not-so-hot days. I still remember how deceptive the weather felt during my freshman orientation week, so pleasant and fresh, until the savage winter made me surrender to gloves and ear muffs. Till today, my emotions still follow the weather. One day, the 80-degree temperature, hot air and glaring sunlight make my mood as light as a house music beat, and the other day, rain pours down, and my heart retracts to a bluish, contemplative envelope. But there is something beautiful I’ve learned in living here: to cherish the cherry blossoms and the tulips as they bloom and to feel the softness of snowflakes under my boots before they harden into ice.
Joining the Model United Nations (Model UN) was nowhere in my plans when I came to Hopkins. I did Mock Trial in high school and wanted to continue it in college, but as I was waiting in line for the thrift shop at the end of my freshman orientation week, a girl behind me started chatting and we got onto the topic of HopMUN. She talked about her experience on the Hopkins Model UN (HopMUN) team, hooking me with the perk of free travel. Despite not knowing a thing about what students do in Model UN, I decided to give it a try. I went to their jeopardy information session, where I was overwhelmed with a peculiar mix of students from the STEM, humanities and interdisciplinary fields. But what was shared across this group was a clear sense of community and “hyperactivity” that both intimidated and excited me. Soon, after a unique interview process and a funny welcome to the club, I found myself at weekly trainings with other new freshmen, learning the ins and outs of conferences, General Assembly committees and crisis arcs.
One of the most meaningful parts of my experience at Hopkins has been the opportunity to learn from professors who are not only incredibly knowledgeable but also genuinely invested in their students. Looking back, I realize that the classes I remember most are not just defined by the material, but by the people who taught them and the environments they created.
This show may not be suitable for incoming freshmen. Viewer discretion is advised.
Of the 45 pieces I’ve written for The News-Letter, every single one is written about or with love. Love as in passion to share my opinions; love as in the desire to talk about the science that I fell in love with; love for family, roommates, friends new and old, for moments remembered. What makes it easy is being surrounded by love constantly — I would not have the strength to write so deeply about my life were it not for the sheer capacity for love that can be found in my friends and family. It is this repertoire and the lessons I’ve learned from my loved ones in the past three years that qualify me to write, as my final goodbye to the paper and to the University, my own formal definition for love, in all its forms.
College has given me many things, one of which is a chronic disease. Not one that can be diagnosed or treated with medication, but one that quietly influences how you see yourself: impostor syndrome.
Dear Freshman Gabrielle,