Hopkins is a diverse university where an incredible mix of cultures, academic interests and personalities coexist and thrive. Here is the section where you can publish your unique thoughts, ideas and perspectives on life at Hopkins and beyond.
My absolute favorite ‘first day of school' activity was drawing self-portraits. Nothing beats the freedom to scrub down crayons to the stub and draw your favorite outfits and accessories, all for the teacher to hang them up in the hallway.
Have you ever heard song lyrics so true you felt like the artist stole them from your soul? I feel this when I hear Taylor Swift’s “Nothing New.” The lyrics, “How can a person know everything at 18 / and nothing at 22?” an anthem for my college career.
Recently, I have been faced with a heavy onset of self-doubt. The excitement that typically precedes the beginning of a new semester has been replaced with worry. Although I have always been somewhat of a worry-wart — the easily stressed out, Type A kind of person — this time my anxiety seems rooted in someplace entirely new.
I picked up my first foster cat, Tippy Montana, from the Maryland Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) nearly three weeks ago. I didn’t know much about Tippy when I agreed to foster him, just that he was thirteen years old, a tabby cat and that he was extremely depressed in the shelter.
Like many Hopkins students, I entered as a pre-med student, with visions of myself as a great and famous doctor captivating my eyes and echoes of accolades ringing in my ears. I thought for sure that medicine was the career path for me and that no obstacle or setback would stop me.
Three hours and 36 minutes. Three hours and 36 minutes, that is, with no traffic, no stops for gas and no wrong turns. That’s the amount of time it takes for me to drive from my home in New York to campus, or at least that’s what the GPS tells me.
Upon arriving on campus, we have not been able to ignore the void where the Crepe Studio once stood. Our favorite triple threat Daniel with his delicious crepes, flatbreads and sandwiches is missing from our campus. The Crepe Studio’s absence tugs at our heartstrings.
The COVID-19 pandemic has changed numerous things since it first shut down Hopkins in March 2020. One of those many things has been the outdoors program at Hopkins, a program I am proud to be a member of.
One professor almost succeeded in having me kicked out of Hopkins. He denied me disability accommodations, ostracized me, violated my privacy under federal law and bullied me. And I believe he was still given the power to make a decision that nearly resulted in my dismissal.
Throughout my childhood, I spent every summer at home in Key Largo, Florida, save for a few weeks spent on vacation. Summers at home have several constants: oppressive heat and humidity that necessitates cooling off in the water, swarms of mosquitoes and a town overflowing with tourists.
Checklists, bullet points and post-its cover my notes. Maps and pamphlets are sprawled out on the table. Sitting in Barnes and Noble with a yellow notepad in front of me and a stack of travel books to my left, I rapidly write down ideas for my upcoming trip.
It’s almost spring in Baltimore, and the sun has started to ward away the chill winds. Now, I can sit in Keyser Quad and read my favorite books on the weekends.
It’s crazy how much changes in a year. Last April in a Zoom breakout room, we found out that we would be leading The News-Letter through its next chapter. After over a year of pandemic life, things were looking up — businesses were re-opening, masking restrictions were loosening and we were #vaxxed and ready.
Just like that, another year at Hopkins has come to a close. Recently one of my friends asked me the following question: “How would you rate your college experience so far?”
Darkness, solitude and the echoes of hyenas shrouded me, trapping me inside the tent where I sat, overwhelmed by the past events of my trip to the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania. It was 3 a.m., and I could not stop scratching my head. I was wearing three pounds of hair extensions that had not been washed in almost half a week.
Upon arriving at college, I wasn’t so sure about how I felt living with a roommate — or, in my case, three roommates. Growing up an only child. I had never shared a room or lived with people my age before, and understandably, I was nervous.
One thing we can say we have always done together are the firsts. What firsts, you may ask? Well, most recently, making fried eggs in the Fresh Food Café (FFC). In typical Laura-and-Diksha fashion, we managed to score a first experience even during the final stretch of our freshman year. It would not be a typical column from Laura and Diksha if we didn’t share it with you.
It always feels like one of those crossover episodes when my friends in college meet my friends from high school. The friendships, though all very special to me, still feel somewhat unique and separate from one another since they represent very different parts of my life.
I have a complicated relationship with spring. I love it when the tulips shoot like rockets between rowhouses and mansions alike. When the perfumed magnolias scatter around campus, only opening once in their delicate surrender, just to fall to the cobblestones like late March snow. I most love the sunny days when the temperature breaks 60 degrees and everyone’s sprawled out on the Beach.
When my plane landed on Long Island, it felt like spring break had officially commenced. I was experiencing an immense craving for Rosa’s Pizza, a staple of my hometown, but the pizza was going to have to wait. My mother had been hinting at “making a stop” on the way home from the airport.
