In the midst of a global pandemic, it’s important to find and appreciate the little sources of joy in our lives. And not only that, but the cozy fall season usually calls for one thing: Pumpkin-inspired coffee.
Coming back home on March 12 was a very surreal, and ultimately very boring, experience. The final three days of school that were supposed to launch us into spring break were instead filled with long hours where I spent more time on YouTube and Hulu than should be legal. As my eyes glazed over during my 200th consecutive episode of Chopped, I knew there had to be something more to this life of captivity than met the eye.
I took a class this semester on Emily Dickinson for a very simple reason: I, like many people my age, was really into John Green in high school. Green, who is really into Dickinson, introduced me to what has been my favorite poem since 2014 — “’Hope’ is the thing with feathers.”
My mom’s name is Ellyn Joy Weisfeldt Margulies. From the day she was born, she was stuck with joy being a part of her life whether she wanted it to be or not. As a consumer of mass media, I know that the classic response to such a prescriptive name would be to live in lifelong defiance of her so-called destiny.
Science and love are thought of as two concepts that exist virtually separate from one another. While science uses facts and data to conduct experiments for the purpose of explaining the paradigms of the world, love is a feeling that is unpredictable and unique to each person experiencing it. Never mind the scientists who try to attribute love solely to a series of biochemical reactions in our brains — we know that that isn’t all there is to love. The 36 questions, however, are an idea that brings both science and love together.
In my freshman year at Hopkins, I did my first service project through Baltimore First. Every other week I would visit Carmine Gardens, tend to the crops and maintain the landscape for sustainable growth. I befriended Hopkins alumni who taught me about the value of civic engagement and working with the community.
The basic premise of the game Among Us is simple. You are a crewmate on a ship with 4-10 other players and one or two of the individuals is an imposter trying to sabotage the ship and kill the rest of the players.
I used to do guided meditations almost every day. Square breathing — breathing in for the count of four, holding for the count of four, exhaling for the count of four, holding for the count of four, repeat — became second nature.
I initially had a bit of trouble trying to think of a concept or action that really resembles joy — especially during this quarantine period, it’s much easier to fall back to negative emotions and feelings. Eventually, I realized that what got me through these past nine months and brought joy into my life while I was physically isolated were the interactions I had with my friends online.
It’s impossible to nail down the exact percentage of memories I have that are explicitly tied to music; in fact, it might be necessary to add a qualifier in order to get closer to a more concrete answer. If I adjust the question to ask, “What percentage of my happy memories are tied to music?”, it becomes easier to figure out a precise number.
The edges don’t move ‘cause the edges don’t move. The edges never really gave a damn about you. The ocean and the sand, the beach and the land — If you ain’t ever been then you’ll never understand. Will Wagner, my bandmate, the pink to my yellow, sent me this hook some six months ago.
2020 has been a year of social distancing and mask wearing, of avoiding the common elevator in my apartment and keeping six feet away from passersby in public. While I was stuck in America, not only was I constantly stressed about the ever increasing COVID-19 cases here, but I also found myself in emotional solitude.
I don’t care about the planet. I have no sense of compassion toward the rocks and minerals that make up this gravitational mass. I have no sense of duty to the gases and elements that collect to form our atmosphere.
Several months ago, I had the idea for an article. My initial plan was simple: three trash-free days. I’d prove that the challenge, which has popped up occasionally on my social media, is interesting enough to write about. However, I didn’t think much about what that pledge actually entailed.
This Intersession, I took a course titled Poetry and Climate Change, taught by English graduate student Alex Streim. I’d initially thought that the class would entail penning sonnets to stop the ice caps from melting.
Last year, the University unveiled a new initiative that would require two-thirds of all campuses’ electricity nationwide to come from solar power. This was the next step in the University’s 2010 pledge to reduce its carbon emissions by 51 percent by 2025.
I am a history buff. Lucky for me, I am not the only student here that has adopted historical research as a pastime. To quote Mark Twain, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” The past can thus serve many purposes, and for our contemporary world, the best we can do is, well, learn from it.
When we consider the question of why climate change is bad, we tend to think of a number of reasons. These may include greater frequency of wildfires, threats to agriculture, ecological damage, decreased air quality, more hazardous weather conditions due to anomalous ocean temperatures and greater frequency of vector-borne diseases, just to name a few.
At first, all was quiet on Homewood Campus. In the weeks since students and faculty fled due to the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, campus security reported few disturbances, save for a few intoxicated students wandering the premises.
In an email sent to the student body on Monday, University President Ronald J. Daniels announced that commencement for this year’s graduating seniors will be conducted virtually on the multiplayer online game, Minecraft.
