When I first moved to Baltimore, I began to notice the city’s street art but initially reduced it to vandalism — a trademark of crime I had become accustomed to in Chicago. I never expected a symbol of crime to become a window to understand and appreciate culture.
The Sparrows Point Steel Mill, once the largest in the world, was a Baltimore institution that shaped workers’ unions, housing and cultural dynamics in the city for more than 100 years, from 1887 until its final closing in 2012.
Is Baltimore romantic? Perhaps not in the same way Paris is, but there are still soft, rosy moments that can make your heart skip a beat.
My first semester of college was nothing like the made-for-TV movie I’d envisioned. I left my dorm door open like my mom told me to, but nobody stopped by. Students sat six feet apart in the dining hall, and, if you wanted to converse with a stranger, your only feasible solution was to shout.
It’s crazy to think that I’m writing the article that will bring to an end my time at Hopkins. Some of you may relate to this sentiment, but when I was applying to colleges, Hopkins was a dream. As this chapter closes, here are some of the Greatest Hits™ from my time at the Nest!
When I was gearing up for my freshman year of college, I thought I had everything under control. When I laid everything I needed for college out on my bed, I was not afraid. When my mom helped me pack two massive duffels with clothes, books, and enough K-Cup Pods to pollute a small island, I was not afraid.
I had my fair share of misconceptions about college. As a first-generation college student, I thought college was going to be like high school. I didn’t have anyone in my family who went to college to tell me otherwise. I got A’s easily in high school; I coasted through classes that claimed to “prepare” us for college rigor.
It is with a sense of gratitude that I say goodbye to the community and exciting work that made my four years as Photo Editor of The News-Letter so special. Through taking thousands of photos and developing as a storyteller on the Homewood Campus, I am grateful to close this chapter with so many memories.
As a two-year editor for the Arts and Entertainment section of The News-Letter, I’ve received some flack for my approach to art criticism, especially in my coverage of Hopkins events. Though rarely said to my face, I’ve heard that my articles haven’t always been received well by certain student artists.
Dear Yana, I’m writing to you from my favorite couch in my four-person apartment that I share with some of the best friends I’ve ever had. It’s been a harder day than most, but I’ve looked after myself and managed to get some work done — and that’s a win in the university handbook.
I really wanted to make this article not sound cliché. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to avoid the five criteria listed up there, it started to meet all of them. So everyone, buckle up and get ready to be bored. Here is my clichéd farewell letter.
My best friends and I met at a birthday party in sophomore year for a girl named Tina. Did we know Tina? Absolutely not. But there we were, huddled in a stranger’s basement, eating cheap cupcakes. The hours spent laughing together came naturally, almost as if we were supposed to find each other that night.
Dear Freshman Dalila, Remember that first day you walked across campus, backpack heavy on your shoulders, heart even heavier with doubt? The morning sun cast long shadows of the century-old buildings across manicured lawns that seemed too perfect for someone like you to walk upon.
The branching-worlds theory posits that every decision we make splits our universe into separate parallel realities based on the potential outcomes. So sometimes, when it’s late at night and counting sheep just can’t force me to fall asleep, I think about the past — what would I do differently if I knew my future?
Dear Freshman Samhi, Welcome to Hopkins! As I was writing this letter, I really had to think back to who you were, what you were worried about, what you were experiencing — a lot has changed since you first stepped foot on the Homewood campus.
As the 2024–25 academic year comes to a close, we want to share our deepest gratitude to everyone who has helped the paper thrive. The past year has had unprecedented implications and impacts on higher education and students, and The News-Letter’s critical work would not be possible without the support of the Hopkins community.
I know that I’m a sentimental person. I tend to hold onto the very bits of all my memories, littering my room with the edges of ticket stubs and plane tickets, books that have been bent in a million ways and bills from dinners out with friends. As I add to this collection, I find that my last semester at Hopkins has made me feel more nostalgic than usual. I’m thinking back to all my memories — from all the seemingly insignificant ones that now define who I am to the tears and frustrations that I think have made me more resilient. However, at the end of the day, I think my four years here will hold a special place in my heart.
When I look back at child-me, it’s easy to see what has changed. I’ve gotten taller, older and less clumsy (arguably). My hobbies have shifted from playing with Barbies and American Girl Dolls to reading, watching movies and exploring new restaurants. I’m not as picky of an eater anymore and have expanded my palette to different cuisines and foods I would’ve previously shunned.
I’d like to think that I’ve done many hard things in life: I moved to a new country; I learned to speak English fluently in a household that did not; I got accepted into the college of my dreams as a first generation student. But learning to love myself was the hardest thing I’ve ever learned to do.
Looking through my favorites, it’s easy to think of my bookshelf as a biography. In reality, it is a mirror. Each time you revisit a book, a small trace of yourself gets snagged between the lines, the smudges accumulating like heights marked on the walls of a childhood home.
