If you look past the chaotic mess of a college student’s desk — scattered with free stickers, pens, the half-empty Brita and a plant that’s probably a couple of seconds from death, you’re bound to see something that looks like “trash.” For my roommate and me, that trash takes the form of a round plastic box filled with cookies.
Fall always feels like a pause I didn’t know I needed. It feels like a change that pulls me back to focus on myself and escape the chaos. Between long study nights, half-finished conversations and the constant rush to keep up, I forget what it feels like to just be.
I firmly believe that all you really have to do to get to know someone is to look through their bag (with consent, of course). The contents of a college student’s backpack tend to be fairly uniform: a water bottle, lunch (maybe), pens, pencils, an iPad — but the weight of those objects is not immediately visible.
I see her before she sees me. She lifts me from the desk, fingertips brushing the smudges from my lens, and for a moment, the world sharpens. We’ve done this before: she presses a button, and with a mechanical click, I capture her world.
I wrote a poem once titled “The Modern Prometheus,” one that had to do with Victor Frankenstein and the curse of ambition. I don’t mean for it to be as dramatic as it sounds — even though I tend to play into the tortured genius angle too much sometimes.
I sat on the floor a lot as a kid. I would often sit in front of our family television — a smaller, chunky VIZIO model at the time — and watch whatever episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA) was airing on Nickelodeon.
Welcome! Sorry the elevator took so long — it tends to do that. You can take your shoes off by the door. One of my favorite things about this room is the window straight ahead. Since the whole space is shaped like a long hallway, the afternoon sun really floods in — over my desk chair especially.
When I signed up to write an article about what my Spotify receipt reveals about me, I didn’t really think about how embarrassing it might look. When I saw what it looked like, I realized there was a lot in there: a lot about me, what I like, who I am.
“You’re a Taurus, right?” I stared at my classmate as she guessed my Zodiac sign right on. I had always loved comparing my Zodiac sign with those of my friends for fun, though never seriously. In that moment, I was forced to confront myself as I thought, “Maybe this astrology thing is accurate for me after all.”
In a desperate attempt to procrastinate on my dreadfully boring report on the microstructure and nanostructure of 304L grade stainless steel (sorry, Dr. Gracias), I navigated to the promised land of BuzzFeed quizzes. Soon, a few holy pixels found their way to my eyes: a quiz promising to tell me what kind of a potato I was.
My favorite part of visiting someone’s house for the first time is seeing their bedroom because it’s often very personalized — a preview into who they are and what they like. For a long time, I was very curious how people curated their rooms in a way that felt so perfectly catered to them without unraveling into complete disarray.
The moment I touch down at Istanbul Airport, my first stop will most likely be a duty-free shop. I search for the shiny red “DUTY FREE” sign right after passport control and drag my extra-large suitcases until I notice the fragrance section and eventually locate Yves Saint Laurent to acquire a new bottle of perfume.
A tornado spins around me. The world moves fast, chaotic, unpredictable, loud, and I’m somewhere at the bottom of it, trying to hold still. Lately, I’ve been drawn to the idea of spirituality, not as a distant or abstract thing, but as a practice of living.
You’ve just arrived at Hopkins, where you're meeting a lot of new people and getting bombarded with endless information. While all this may seem overwhelming at first, you’ll get into the swing of things eventually. Here are a few things that helped me, and might help you, settle in and make Homewood Campus your home.
In the end, every “first” I met at Hopkins taught me something about who I was and who I could become. I didn’t expect a campus, a group of strangers, a pile of dirty laundry or a lost friendship to matter this much. And that’s the real secret of firsts: you don’t get to choose which ones last.
Welcome to Hopkins! One of the first things you’ll pick up is our campus slang. While it’s not an entirely different language, the nicknames for buildings and spots can be confusing at first. To help clear up the confusion, here’s a quick list of common terms you’ll want to know.
Transitioning to college and beginning that “new college chapter” can seem daunting, especially for those unfamiliar with the University’s surrounding areas. Hopkins is nestled between Charles Village and Hampden, two bustling and charming Baltimore neighborhoods. With such a convenient and lively atmosphere comes an assortment of essentials to ensure your Hopkins experience is safe and worthwhile.
By the end of my first semester, I had what I wanted. But instead of intense joy and satisfaction, I felt an ineffable emptiness. When I finally paused to reflect, I realized that chasing academic success alone as a marker for personal fulfillment was unsustainable. So I decided to change.
As a Hopkins student who has gone through five course registrations, I know this can be a complicated process to navigate, but you’ll get the hang of it. Here are my very best tips for a smooth, painless course registration that leads to a great semester.
Freshman year at Hopkins: something I’d dreamed of saying all throughout high school. When it finally became real, I was thrilled, ready to experience college in the way I’d always imagined. But after a tough first week, things didn’t get easier. Week after week, I found myself struggling, more than I ever expected.
