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(11/11/25 3:00pm)
I ask myself this question nearly every day. Ironically, back in December, I had nearly convinced myself that I would get in. My favorite procrastination strategy was to pull up the graph for Hopkins on Scoir, see my star land in the green-ish area, and think, “Maybe I have some hope.” Then I would mull over my essays and Common App activities in my head (I was too scared to actually read them), and perhaps gain a bit of hope.
(11/12/25 5:00am)
A few years ago, I figured that if I never wanted to feel anxious again, I could simply force myself to do things that make me nervous over and over again — until my hands no longer shook, my voice no longer trembled and my heart no longer sank.
(11/09/25 8:00am)
The first time I feel the freshman blues, it’s 7 p.m. in Baltimore, but 5 a.m. back home. My phone lights up with a text from my mom. It’s nothing fancy, just a photo of her standard morning cup of chai (tea). She has always been an early riser. I know she doesn’t expect a reply. She just wants me to see something familiar, to be reminded of what home feels like.
(10/29/25 5:00pm)
We have reached that point in the semester yet again.
(11/22/25 6:08am)
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.
(10/27/25 7:00am)
It’s not that I’m ashamed of being Vietnamese — now at least. Growing up was a different story. I really don’t want to frame this piece like another “I grew up in a predominantly white area and I had no one that looked like me,” because that’s not real.
(11/10/25 10:00am)
While I like to consider myself an honest person, I’ve realized lately that I’m often dishonest with myself. If a near-stranger were to ask me about my fears or my childhood, I’d hardly hesitate before answering with the truth. I’ve never been one to fear saying too much. The trick, that I’ve noticed recently, is that I’ve left a backdoor open. I consider myself honest so long as I believe the truth of what I’m saying, but there remains a subtle caveat: my own thoughts are not always reflective of what I mean. Let me explain.
(11/08/25 9:28pm)
Fifteen minutes a day. That’s it. After that time elapses — whether it’s all at once or in smaller, two minute segments — a gray hourglass fills up my screen and white sand trickles through. No more scrolling for today.
(11/05/25 3:32am)
A statistic from the Department of Homeland Security estimates that “Two million illegal aliens have left the United States in less than 250 days, including an estimated 1.6 million who have voluntarily self-deported.”
(12/07/25 4:30am)
The morning I lost my voice, I thought it would be a minor inconvenience — a sore throat, maybe a quiet day or two. Nothing I hadn’t survived before. I had forgotten that I was in college now, where when I’m sick, I can’t rely on the comforts and silence of my home. Speaking, something that had always felt like such an effortless task, was more imperative than ever, so I guess it took losing it to understand its value.
(12/07/25 4:00am)
I used to think closeness was a grade I had to earn. If I were easy, uncomplaining, funny on demand and bent to their interests, then friends would keep me. On bad days, I'd check notifications as if they were emergencies. On good days I told myself I didn’t need anyone at all. Between those two postures, constantly anxious or apathetic, was a yearning: I wanted to feel safe with people, and I wanted to feel safe with myself.
(10/23/25 3:00am)
What happens when the fantasy of college life collides with deadlines, midterms and pressure?
(10/22/25 5:00pm)
Everything you know about me: miss nothing. Use all your memory and understand me completely. I need one word reflecting my single most significant flaw.
(10/24/25 12:00pm)
Last year around this time, I shared the secret weapon I had discovered in my lifelong battle with a stutter: the beat. The relentless, driving rhythm of a hip-hop track was more than music — it was a blueprint for fluency. I could speak with a force and clarity that felt both superhuman and, somehow, like the most authentic version of myself.
(10/23/25 5:00am)
I clicked on The Summer I Turned Pretty out of mild curiosity as I was starting my junior year of high school. I was having a hard time adjusting to school and the infamous junior year workload. I’d just spent six weeks in the Berkshire Mountains surrounded by nature, music and people who shared similar passions, and now I was dragging myself to early morning Biology and Latin classes. To get myself out of bed faster, I decided that I would watch a few minutes of a show every morning while I was eating breakfast. This would persuade me to a) get ready for the day faster, b) actually eat breakfast and c) be a little less upset about school. I picked the show because I didn’t want to watch anything I’d get too drawn into and want to binge, and it didn’t look like the kind of thing I’d actually want to watch. Four years later, I spent this summer at the edge of my seat, worrying that the main character would pick the wrong brother.
(10/20/25 4:00am)
As I wait for the exams to be carefully distributed row by row, I remain patiently seated; at least, that is how it appears on the outside. However, internally, my heart is pounding as if it wants to break through my chest, and my mind is at war, scrambling thoughts running frantically around.
(10/21/25 12:00pm)
Am I doing this right? This question trailed me throughout high school, as I revised a single email twelve times or stared blankly at my math test. As an overthinker, I let that mantra play on repeat.
(10/21/25 4:00am)
I wait outside of Remsen 101 at 9:49 a.m. Once the clock reads 9:50 a.m., the students from the room flush out, some munching on their breakfast, sipping their coffee, talking to friends, some waving at those waiting in the hallway. I patiently wait until I can trickle inside, then I find my seat and set up my laptop and tablet.
(10/24/25 1:00am)
There are 8.5 billion people on planet Earth. It is, thus, astonishingly unlikely ever to find your true soulmate: that elusive other half, that person who makes you feel whole.
(10/07/25 10:00am)
The first time I was ever complimented for my spoken Chinese was about two months ago as I sat cross-legged on my maternal grandparents’ bamboo rug. I had been in bed most of the day trying to entertain myself with my new Taobao copy of Mario Kart and whatever morsels of YouTube my international plan could push through the Great Firewall. After a couple of hours of filling myself with various xiaochis and lounging around with my younger brother, there eventually came a knock at the door. Answering the door was really the only real responsibility I had that day.
