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For my entire life, I have explained, to those asking, that while I have a Hispanic-sounding first name, my parents actually emigrated from the Philippines. For those sufficiently curious, I have further elaborated that I was named after my father’s maternal grandfather, whom we refer to as “Lolo (Grandfather) Miguel.”
As I enter my final year of university, I find myself in a never-asleep-but-always-tired world, where we have the power to summon the world's knowledge anytime at the tap of a finger. Instantly satiating our curious mind with an answer without letting it wander and dwell on the problem has its own pitfalls.
One thing I never predicted when I started at Hopkins is how much I would change throughout my time here. It sounds silly because “of course college changes you.” Yes, I am more independent. Yes, I am more disciplined. Yes, I trust myself more (and also not at all). So, it’s obvious: College changed me.
I’m sitting here writing my last piece for my column in The News-Letter, and I am at a loss for words. I’ve thought about this moment for a while: what I’d write in my last piece, where in my life I’d be and what closing words I’d share.
The last year and a half seems like a blur. I couldn’t keep up with life. My homesickness reached its peak and the pressures of graduate school crushed me — I was struggling to find a way to fit into this world.
Growing up, I never really played — or liked — video games. I didn’t get the point. Watching my 4th-grade crush play Portal in his bedroom was boring. Okay, you get to the next level, and then you get to the last level and then what? You just play it all over again? Never mind the fact that I didn’t particularly enjoy games that hurt people violently. Games on the Wii were more tolerable, but then whenever I’d win (or more likely, lose), I’d think, “What’s next?”
I studied abroad in Paris last spring and it still comes up frequently. Naturally, when people learn that I studied abroad, they ask me about it. Not wanting to kill the mood, I usually find myself lying, or, at least, oversimplifying the situation. Typically I’ll admit that I didn’t love Paris, but that I appreciated the chance to travel and my great trip to Poland. I’ll say I made friends from other colleges that I’m still in touch with, and I’m lucky to have them in my life. I won’t say that I regretted going, much less explain why.
I stand at a whopping 5 feet. That means I’m on my tiptoes for about half of each day, I fit comfortably in coach airplane seats and I have managed to end up with a list of “‘things in friends’ apartments that are taller than I am.” As a short person, it only makes sense for me to surround myself with other physically small things. I work three days per week researching microscopic cells and miniaturized environments, I have spent way too much time this semester figuring out molecular bonding and I love volunteering with little kids. Needless to say, I live a pretty fun-sized life.
Why do we even try? As a graduating senior, I’ve asked myself this question many times. Sleepless nights spent cramming for Chinese exams and finishing English papers have left me wondering why I bother to put so much effort into my work and whether this effort will be worth it in the end.
Reading old journal entries is difficult to begin. If you’re a person who has never been good at facing failure, like I am, it is dreadful. For the last couple of weeks, even the thought of rereading my old entries was enough to make me nervous. However, a few days ago, I radically turned off the switch in my head that was keeping me from doing this. I wished to reflect. I wanted to see my growth, the steps I had taken forward, if any.
I remember being 10 or 11 years old, sitting in front of my family’s desktop computer, staring at a picture of a girl. She was maybe 17, wearing a red varsity jacket with matching red Converse shoes and big gold hoops. Her hair was long, straight and blonde. She was sitting cross-legged on a baseball diamond, a bat casually resting on her shoulder.
Like many other residents of Baltimore, I woke up on Tuesday morning to the news of the Francis Scott Key Bridge falling overnight when it was hit by a massive ship that was exiting the Port of Baltimore. It goes without saying that this was a devastating incident for the city, and our thoughts and prayers are especially with those who lost loved ones.
There is a strange peace to the sight of a beach town emptied.
When I was seven years old, I started to learn the piano. I had a wonderful (albeit strict) teacher, who taught me a lot about how to place my hands on the keys, read bass clef and approach three-octave scales. I graduated from intro exercises to sonatinas after a couple of years and started performing annually at my teacher’s recitals.
While sitting at dinner during my class trip this past intersession to Brazil, I ordered a drink with a small yellow note attached to it. It said in Portuguese, “não espere ter tudo pra aproveitar a vida, se você já tem a vida pra aproveitar tudo.” Don’t wait to have everything to enjoy life, if you already have life to enjoy everything.
Over winter break, my family’s activity and conversation revolved around a TV series called Blossoms Shanghai. Set in the ‘90s in Shanghai, the show interweaves stories of young Shanghainese fighting for their future in their own ways as the city undergoes tremendous economic changes.
While running the risk of taking the name of this column too literally, it's time we talk about the sounds of Baltimore. While it may be famous for its crabs, Old Bay and Natty Bohs — its glistening harbor, picturesque parks and breath-taking sunsets — the voices of the city hold a special place in my heart.
Working with cells requires knowledge, dexterity, time management and an absurd amount of confidence.
When I was younger, I was a voracious reader — that’s the word my mum used to describe me. I read on the breakfast table, on the way to school, during break and lunch time, in between classes, during classes, at the dinner table and under the covers at night. I was always reading. I actually got prescribed glasses because I would wake up before the sun had risen and read in the dark.
As I scarf down my usual rushed lunch at Hopkins Cafe, it occurs to me that I no longer enjoy eating. I eye my plate: cauliflowers, carrots, green beans, chicken, macaroni and cheese and breadstick. An M&M cookie lies to its left, resting on the napkins I sloppily collected from the dispenser. My mug is filled with soy milk and I’m watching my Physics 2 pre-lectures on my computer.