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(04/20/26 4:00am)
I’ve been listening to kids more lately. Maybe it’s because I’ve been teaching, but I don’t mean just listening to them literally — their higher-pitched voices and inflections of pop culture, which sound like a dead language to me. The content of their speech is what I’m hearing, perhaps for the first time. Have you ever met one of those not-so-rare elementary-aged philosophers? One of my students wrote, “happy is where the sun likes my future.” I do not think I could write a line so poignant if you asked me to. In dark clouds of jealousy, I feel relieved that my extra years have at least gifted me the executive function to weld together a greater number of mediocre sentences, and then I feel embarrassed for competing with an elementary schooler.
(04/16/26 6:00am)
You asked me if you could drive my car the rest of the way home and I said, “Only if you have your learner’s permit on you.”
(04/17/26 3:00am)
I’ve been thinking about my arrival at Hopkins a lot, especially because my amazing academic advisor Christine sent me an email talking about the big decision I will have to make soon: declaring my major.
(04/03/26 5:00am)
This is how to make the best matcha latte. Swipe. Come study with me for four hours straight. Swipe. Follow along for a day in the life of a… Swipe.
(04/16/26 2:00am)
I’ve spent too many years huffing and puffing up small flights of stairs. I wouldn’t know my way around a gym, so to spare myself some embarrassment and get in shape, I’ve decided to start taking long walks instead.
(04/16/26 1:13am)
We stood in the common lounge of our dorm, elbows brushing against each other as we huddled in a circle.
(04/15/26 3:15am)
As a second-time trainer for A Place To Talk (APTT), I’ve found myself spending the last two weeks sharing lifelines for the third time. For those who aren’t familiar with the term, giving a “lifeline” refers to telling someone your entire life story, from beginning to end, and it is how we kick off every semester of APTT training: by sharing whatever feels important to us about our lives with the members of our small training group. I did it as a trainee during my sophomore year, as a trainer during my first semester as a junior, and now again for a second semester. Each time, I am awestruck at how powerful it feels to witness another person’s life experiences in totality, but this semester, it might have had its most profound impact on me. Over the course of three days, my group spent fourteen hours sharing lifelines.
(04/09/26 12:00am)
This past spring break, I was lucky enough to travel to Hawaii with my lovely roommates, two of my favorite people. At the bag check line on our way out of The Big Island, standing beneath massive wooden ceiling fans that did next to nothing against the humid evening, one of my friends said to me, “I get it. I get what you’ve been trying to get me to do this whole time.” She said she’d brought her laptop to try and squeeze some work in, and every time she asked me when I’d do the same, I’d said some variation of wanting to forget it all and stay in the moment. Allegedly, I’d been trying to get her to be present — truth be told, I’d been giving my honest answer.
(04/06/26 5:00am)
In Foundations of Brain, Behavior and Cognition (FBBC), I learned about the idea of a place cell. There is this group of neurons in the hippocampus that represent location in the mind: perhaps some may fire — and therefore represent — a specific study space, while another group might fire and help us recognize the corner of the cafeteria we're sitting in. As with the rest of the brain, these place cells are intricately connected with other neurons that compute other things, such as sensory processing or word recognition.
(04/01/26 6:00pm)
In early spring, advertisements for dating apps start appearing everywhere. They promise efficiency. Compatibility percentages. Personality models. They reassure you that somewhere inside a black-box algorithm, someone has already calculated who could love you best.
(03/30/26 7:00am)
While brainstorming for my first Voices article this semester, I found myself rereading the pieces I wrote when college was still new enough to feel like something from a movie. One line from the first article I ever wrote stopped me: “I entered college believing in my ability to create and reinvent myself.”
(04/05/26 11:00pm)
I’ve been wanting to write an article for my mom, but never know where to start. An anecdote would be reductionist. A compliment would feel flattening. Any rendering would be static — and maybe that’s at the heart of it, that writing commits something to paper and necessarily asks us to draw pieces together into a neat picture. But people are not neat pictures, least of all those we know well.
(04/06/26 3:50am)
19 is such a “middle child.” You’re past that initial excitement you had at 18 of technically being an adult, but you’re also still mentally a teen because your age doesn’t start with a 2. Yes, I’m turning 20 in about three months, and it feels very strange, but let this piece be something I can look back on years into the future.
(03/25/26 3:44am)
Let me take you back to November 28th, 2025. It is 23:15 and to a group of friends, I text:
(03/25/26 3:39am)
There’s a sort of ineffable magic in my hometown.
(03/26/26 1:00am)
A little over two months ago, I turned twenty. Candles with beaming numbers had flared at me as their glossy pools of wax spilled over from the seismic shake of cake-bearing arms. I watched my mother’s eyes flicker closed as her voice took on the familiar cadence of a birthday tune.
(03/13/26 1:00pm)
For the longest time, the snow wouldn't melt, and we were all slipping around on ice-encrusted mounds of it. Half the sidewalks remained unshoveled for weeks, and the other half were mosaics of different colors of ice melt. There wasn’t a whole lot to do since any amount of time spent outside felt treacherous and unpleasant, so I took to spending as much of my time as I could inside.
(03/12/26 12:00pm)
Last weekend, I was convinced (read: dragged) to go out by a high school friend who was in town. So I left the comfort of my stuffed-animal-filled bed and put aside my sacred 9 p.m. bedtime to go out on the town and relive my undergraduate days for one night only.
(04/08/26 8:33pm)
Preface
(03/11/26 8:00am)
In the midst of the crowded Rec Center, there is one place that contrasts the noise of running treadmills, shoes squeaking on the court and weights clanging together: the pool. To find it, you must head downstairs, past the weight rooms, where you will find a narrow hallway that will lead you to it. As you enter, the scent of chlorine will greet you instantly, as if you’ve walked through a portal to another world. You’ll hear the sound of water dancing, an ambience so different from the rest of the rec.
