There are over 400 student groups at Hopkins, many of which will be at the Student Involvement Fair on Sept. 7. We’ve highlighted a small selection here.
You’ve no doubt noticed the interconnected buildings behind the Beach, one older and shorter, the other newer and sleek. They’re empty now but they won’t be for long. These are MSE and Brody. If you’re a typical Hopkins student, they’ll become your second home.
I’m writing an article called “Advice from a senior to a freshman.” Has it really been that long? It doesn’t feel like that long ago I was walking onto Homewood for the first time, standing in the middle of the Gilman Quad utterly and completely lost. I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet.
As a new member of the Blue Jay nest, it is important for you and your new friends to spread your wings and fly beyond Homewood Campus.
During my first days at Hopkins, I was incredibly anxious about how I would fare and whether I would be happy. But after forging meaningful relationships with friends from diverse backgrounds and getting a taste of the undergraduate experience, I learned that the negative stereotypes concerning Hopkins are based more on fearful speculation than actual experience.
Among the go-to questions that you’re bound to be asked, not only as a freshman but throughout your years at Hopkins, are the ever-daunting “What’s your major?” or “What are you interested in?”
Clarissa Chen, president of Refuel our Future, explained that one thing she learned from her efforts to persuade Hopkins to divest from fossil fuels is the unique ability of Hopkins students to sway the University. She reminded future student activists to recognize and use this.
People often say that love makes you do crazy things. During the winter break of my freshman year — still sad about the end of my first high school relationship — those crazy things included watching clips of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on loop, crying in bed for hours and rereading old messages late at night. Needless to say, I was not the most fun person to be around.
Last September, I woke up early on a Thursday morning and took an Uber to the Planned Parenthood clinic in central Baltimore.
Clarissa was a passionate collector of the small toys that were dispensed in capsules from the gumball machines in front of grocery stores. Her first full collection, comprised of mini Sailor Moon bobbleheads, had been paid for by the quarters her dad collected from his addiction to vending machine snacks.
I’m a 22-year-old college senior, and I have never kissed anyone. It’s not for lack of attraction or for any kind of religious reasons. It just never happened.
Before I ever experienced romantic love, I spent years wondering how it might feel. From early 2000’s Taylor Swift ballads to my grandparents’ slow dance at their 50th wedding anniversary: The world around me was teeming with romance.
I have been dating my girlfriend, Sydney, since Valentine’s Day in the eighth grade. Yesterday marks our seven-year anniversary.
For better or worse, I’m mostly attracted to boys. But in the last few months I’ve started to think about other labels. And that terrifies me.
The friend zone. The proverbial Sunken Place in which people hate to be caught. For some, it could be the worst possible thing that could ever happen.
It was a particularly brisk day — the kind of fall day that teeters right at the edge of winter — when I crossed 31st Street last semester and made my way to the Counseling Center for my very first appointment.
It is nice, I suppose, to be told that as women, we don’t need men to kick ass. It would be nicer, though, if we women had the luxury of exploring our sexuality without feeling that our power would be somehow diminished.
