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There are three types of freshmen who enter Hopkins.
Well, it’s finally here. I am officially halfway through my time at Hopkins, as much as I would love to scream “LALALALA” at anyone who dares to bring it up.
If you’re reading this, know before you even start, that you are about to learn one of my best-kept secrets. If you already knew this, know that this means I trust you beyond belief. If I already told you this, know that you mean the world to me. You listened, and you didn’t treat me any differently because of this. If you didn’t know, all I can hope for is that this doesn’t change the way you see me. I’m throwing it out in the open.
Over spring break, my cousin got married. It was terrifying, really, because I’m at the point in my life where people come up to me at the wedding and go, “You’re next,” in their singsong old-people voices and smirk at me while I shove food into my face so I don’t have to respond.
I got very sick a few weeks ago. Understandably, my friends would sit one seat away from me in class because I was phlegmy and gross, and none of them could afford to catch whatever my bug from hell was. But for some reason, I found myself growing increasingly upset every time this happened.
Around this time last year, I attended my first sports game at Hopkins, a baseball game. I had friends on the baseball team who had been encouraging me to come to a game for weeks. It just never ended up happening because I’d always find some excuse.
My roommates and I get into daily, 20-minute long arguments about who’s going to undertake the great exertion of grabbing the TV remote to tell Netflix we’re still watching. I had never camped before or even hiked, but there I was about to do the whole peeing in bushes and not showering thing for five whole days. Needless to say, I was completely and utterly unprepared for the insanity that was about to descend on me.
Every Thursday afternoon, the old newspapers in their stacks all around campus vanish and new ones appear like magic. What you don’t know is what happens the night before. For the Chiefs, Managing Editors, News & Features Editors and the all-important Copy Editors (disclaimer: one of them is me), Wednesday nights are a different world.
1. Pretending like everything’s fine
A few weeks ago I had a friend ask me whether I was going to attend the Hopkins Diwali celebration. I said no because “I had work.” That wasn’t necessarily true. I could have made time if I’d really wanted to; I was just looking for an excuse not to go because I knew going would hurt too much.
It’s the first day of a small class. The professor or TA starts that dreaded round of icebreakers. “Give me your name, major, hometown and a fun fact!” they say excitedly. It comes around to me.
You guys, I’m getting old. A few days ago I visited my high school and suddenly all those kids have just magically turned into seniors. So I’m now going to do what all old people do — give you advice on how to lead your life because apparently spending a year as a freshman at college makes me wise.