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I’m a very anxious person. I worry about future finances, the weather tomorrow, my talent as a writer, how much people will like me — and of course, the possibility that the world will end by the time I’m 28.
As I start my senior year at Hopkins, I’m already thinking about the end of it. It feels like I reached this year in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time, high school feels a million years away.
Everything you do has an opportunity cost. More time studying means less time with friends. Going to office hours might mean missing a club meeting. Rather than feeling overwhelmed with all the options while trying to do it all, think about what matters to you most and prioritize those.
Speak Out Now is a socialist group that advocates for active participation in ending capitalism through revolution. According to their website, a socialist system means the “common ownership and sharing of the world’s resources and productive capacity under the democratic control of the world’s peoples,” rather than the exploitation of labor and the ownership of profit by a small number of capitalists.
At some point in every Writing Seminars class I’ve taken at Hopkins, the same thought has crossed my mind: What if I’m actually bad at this?
My sister always does the deep frying.
I am much better at buying notebooks than I am at finishing them. In fact, I have a sizable collection of half-used notebooks, journals and diaries filling my bookshelf at home and my desk drawer here in Baltimore.
Since the Hopkins Symphony Orchestra’s (HSO) return from pandemic restrictions in fall 2021, I’ve had the pleasure of attending almost every one of its concerts. Although the reason for this has more to do with my friends’ participation in the orchestra rather than any particular affinity for classical music, the viewing and listening experience has been extremely enjoyable.
For most of middle school and high school, I thought I was going to be a doctor.
This past summer, I watched a matinee with my mom every Monday at our local AMC Theater.
As a rising junior, I wish I could say that I’ve overcome imposter syndrome and have somehow reached full confidence in my abilities, but of course, I still compare myself to others all the time.
Over a plate of too-salty fried rice and oily bún bò huế, my friend watches me cry. We’re getting lunch at a little Vietnamese eatery after church on a particularly muggy day. The waiter comes by every once in a while, awkwardly refilling our glasses with lukewarm tap water and avoiding eye contact with me. The couple next to us is trying their best not to listen in.
Once when I was young my mother brought home a bag of kumquats, a dozen of them, small and ripe, picked from a friend’s tree.
A friend of mine once told me that the health of one’s relationships with others is often the strongest indicator of one’s personal happiness at that moment. Regardless of the truth of this statement, it’s been very relevant to my life, especially recently.
For most people, the COVID-19 pandemic constituted an upheaval of regular social order and a reworking of existing patterns and habits. While this manifested in my life in many ways, it was especially distinct in its effect on my relationships, considering the important transitionary period I was entering during the pandemic. I and the others in the graduating class of 2024 had the displeasure of starting college fully online, without the same experiences or opportunities that incoming college freshmen are usually granted.
In my old house, above the cabinet with plastic bags and a large sack of rice, was a drawer with a stack of used printer paper. Every time my parents no longer needed a printed document or form, they added it to the stack in the drawer rather than throwing it away. This scrap paper stack was available for anyone in my family to use, but it was primarily meant for me. After noticing how I frequently used her printer paper to draw and write, my mother began making this stack to keep me from wasting blank sheets.
The first poem I ever loved was a monologue from William Shakespeare’s As You Like It, delivered by the character Jacques and known by its opening line, “All the world’s a stage.” The poem explains the seven stages of a man’s life from birth to death, framed in a performative and lively manner meant for the theater.
For Lent this year, I have chosen to fast from boba. One of the traditions of this religious season is offering up a Lenten sacrifice, a luxury or comfort that one deems difficult to give up. For me, that sacrifice is boba tea.
The first literary journal I ever submitted to was a student-run magazine called Aerie International, based in a high school in Missoula. Perusing through lists of student writing competitions and publications, I picked out Aerie because they published in print, and I was infatuated with the idea of seeing my work in physical form. I diligently wrote and submitted a short story about a young girl navigating the cultural conflict between her heritage and the world around her. To my shock and elation, the work was accepted for publication.
The summer before junior year of high school, I found my old library card buried under a stack of coupon clippings and junk mail. The edges were slightly bent and misshapen, and the colors had faded to a grayish blue, but it was a treasure nonetheless. The card was not only a ticket to a place of knowledge and imagination but a valuable memento of my childhood.