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Sometimes it’s not clear — the way forward. Sometimes it’s not there anymore — it’s a dark foggish slug, and it just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Sometimes you are so encapsulated in the fog that you lose the big picture — and that happens to me almost every day.
People often focus on breakups as a romantic concern, but friendship breakups can cut just as deeply. Through my 20 years of life, I have bonded deeply with dozens of people. It feels almost like an adrenaline rush — meeting someone and suddenly, miraculously, clicking. You have the same sense of humor. You belt out the same songs at camp karaoke. You both love Broadway musicals and Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
I’m sure many of you have been sporting Hopkins attire while off campus somewhere and have been asked about school affiliation by strangers. A few weeks ago, this happened to me. About 15 minutes later, another person asked me the same question, only to recognize me as someone they’ve seen around.
Last Thursday I sat in the Interfaith Center’s reading room munching on a Milano. I was taking a break from my banal routine of studying for midterms to participate in the weekly Chai Chats, a discussion group for Islamic women at Hopkins. Chai Chats isn’t exactly a forum or even a debate. Mostly, we just sit around and talk animatedly about any given topic pertaining to Islam or to Muslim identity. (We also have snacks — hence the Milano.)
I was the one who actually made the poison order. I went online, researched my options, was disgusted by the cost and then promptly mentioned my little problem to my aunt who then graciously offered to buy it for me. And though I didn’t pay for anything, it was my name on the box that everything arrived in. However, in the end, I was the one having the hardest time accepting that we may have killed our little rodent resident.
One of my favorite things to do in life is to eat, and another is to stay in bed. It is therefore inevitable that I would like eating in bed. I’ve been surprised by the disgust people tend to express when I say I eat in bed. I clean up any crumbs I might spill.
A friend told me recently that someone she knew was applying to transfer out of Hopkins. “Even if I absolutely fucking hated it here, I don’t think I’d ever transfer,” I said to her. “I refuse to relive the stress of the college admissions process ever again.”
It’s time for engineers to stop researching weapons development. When I say engineers, I don’t only mean large organizations. I’m also talking about us — Hopkins students. We are part of a community which hopes or expects to get jobs in the defense industry. This line of work sucks an incredible amount of resources out of potentially revolutionary industries, which is harming our country and the world more than having less guns ever could.
Now that I am solidly into my second semester here, I’ve naturally been reflecting on my time in America thus far and have decided that now would be a good time to share some of the things that, six months into living here, I find (for lack of a better word) weird.
When you come out, you get a lot of things. You get an ID card from the Human Rights Campaign. You get a welcome basket with a gift card for a free body piercing. And you get a fuckton of expectations about your gender expression.