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.
It’s been a long semester and, apart from sleeping, there was one main thing I looked forward to during our glorious week off: Stardust Video & Coffee.
I’m sleeping on a narrow twin-size bed with one mattress stacked on top of another, holding two thin polyester pillows and a singular bed sheet. The fan above me spins slowly, creating the slightest breeze to ease the humidity, and the morning sun begins to creep in through the reflective windows.
I have a confession to make. I’ve been truly awful at maintaining contact with my high school friends. Other than a month in the summer when I worked out at Crunch Fitness with a few of them (spoiler alert: I am horrendously out of shape), I have barely talked with any of my old compatriots since graduation.
Over a plate of too-salty fried rice and oily bún bò huế, my friend watches me cry. We’re getting lunch at a little Vietnamese eatery after church on a particularly muggy day. The waiter comes by every once in a while, awkwardly refilling our glasses with lukewarm tap water and avoiding eye contact with me. The couple next to us is trying their best not to listen in.
This new year, I made a personal commitment to make a change in my life: Be more positive. Even if this seems simple, developing a positive mindset was something that I always struggled with over the years and never made a priority. Upon reflecting on my 2021 and setting goals for the new year, I realized that cultivating positivity does not have to be a drastic change but rather should be incorporated into my everyday actions and outlook on life.
After finishing a rather turbulent first fall semester, the first thing we thought to do for our first article of spring semester was reflect on all the good and the bad.
The Decembers of my childhood shared one constant: a weekend trip to my aunt Dolores’ log cabin in New Hampshire. Years ago, the house was built by my great-grandfather, grandfather and other relatives of mine, and it has maintained its place in the family ever since, hosting many annual gatherings during which all of my relatives pack into the cozy kitchen and living room.
After a month-long vacation and my first break since starting graduate school, I am back from India. Last year passed so quickly, I still cannot believe that I am a graduate student.
For the very first time in my life, I am living on a different continent than everyone I have ever known. The more than 5,000 miles between myself and all my loved ones have definitely proven that saying Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Dear Me, You’ve just finished a semester abroad in the Netherlands. Congratulations! It finally happened despite the continued global pandemic and unprecedented times.
This year I blew out my birthday candles a week early. It’s the first time I’ve been away from my family for the big day, so before I left for Baltimore, we sang around a Publix cake on the kitchen island.
On a morning walk with two of my best friends, bundled in our winter coats like pigs in a blanket, we realize that this year, we all have Valentines. It’s almost hard to believe. How could we all be happy at the same time? Is there enough space in the atmosphere for all our smiles?
My first boyfriend was an interesting man. He was a phenomenal cellist that never really practiced, a swimmer that hated the way chlorine made his fingers feel and the biggest foodie I had ever met (that has very much changed since getting to Hopkins). We were very similar; everyone made it a point to tell us and we knew it, too.
As an International Studies major, I am required to take a foreign language. For freshman fall, I signed up for Intermediate French I, feeling excited for what was ahead in college but nostalgic for my experiences with French before college. Namely, the six years of French I took in Huntington, N.Y.
Among the many things in life that have been affected by the pandemic, my Christmases are one of them. Rather than whisking away to the winters of China to spend Christmas Day with family there, our first pandemic holiday last year was spent at home under the Philippines’ heat due to travel restrictions and COVID-19 surges. At that time, I was still taking online classes on a nocturnal schedule.
The iconic American writer Joan Didion passed away on Dec. 23. Didion was known not for storytelling, but for changing the very craft of storytelling; she was documentarian of America’s conscience during an era in which we struggled to hold onto one.
Last semester, I experienced the first of many lasts as a senior. I know. Weird. The thought that I am going to graduate in less than six months is beyond fathomable right now because I’m still not over how fast last year went by.
Once when I was young my mother brought home a bag of kumquats, a dozen of them, small and ripe, picked from a friend’s tree. I ate quickly, swallowing chunk after chunk of fruit until one of the chunks was a little too large for my throat.
My life savings are stored in seven 5.5 x 8.5 faux leather journals. A bit odd, but it’s true. When I was a child, and someone asked me the classic “If you had to save three things during a fire, what would they be?” my answer was always (in this order) my dog, my glasses and my journals.
A pain surged in my chest when I saw the pictures side-by-side on the wall. Even though I transitioned years ago, I tend to be very protective of that old self because of the backlash that I experienced at Hopkins in going from one state of being to another.
