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.
So it’s been a stressful week (as every other week at Hopkins tends to be) and all you want to do is curl up on your couch with warm cider and watch a movie. But it’s a Monday night and you have an early morning class tomorrow that you just can’t skip and a quiz on Wednesday that you just have to spend the whole of the next afternoon in Brody studying for.
In case you haven’t seen Ratatouille, let me tell you how much the French love their food. Unlike in the States, where people juice their breakfast to drink on-the-go, in France, meal time is a serious part of the day. Most working adults take at least an hour to stop working, sit in a restaurant and eat a multi-course lunch.
Although Sasha looked upset, I grasped her hand in mine and pulled her up to stand. Herr Neumann gestured for our orchestra of odd instruments to take a bow. Lights flooded the church hall as families stood to congratulate their children. As an exchange student, I didn’t expect my own, but I still smiled and scanned the audience for familiar faces. I turned to congratulate Sasha on her solo in our adaptation of Schubert, only to be met with unfocused eyes to the floor, her lips downturned.
Lots of people talk about self-care — “time for a self-care night” or “you should spend time on self-care” — but people tend to not always know what it is or to not think it’s that important. So this is a) a bit of advice about how to do self-care well and b) a reminder to go take care of yourself.
It’s been about three years since I fell off a horse in a village in Peru. When I went to the hospital, they didn’t have a doctor in the building, so they just cleaned up the bleeding and sent me on my way.
This week I’ve decided to get back to my roots a bit and talk about why I do this godforsaken column in the first place. Since my time as Art & Entertainment Editor of The News-Letter came to an end last semester, I had an art-shaped hole in my heart that I needed to fill. I’d been wanting to start a column for a while, and suddenly I found myself with some extra time and a dream.
With my December graduation fast approaching (and my senioritis hitting hard), I’ve been sitting with nostalgia and reflection on the past 3.5 years at Hopkins. I never expected to devote as much time as I have in college to policy and politics, but I’m so thankful that my experiences at Hopkins guided me in this direction. Consider this week’s column both a “thank you, Hopkins community” and a “wow, I made it!” note.
I’ve always wanted to study abroad in Paris. In high school, I chose French even though I was living in Los Angeles and should have chosen Spanish. I always held on to the idea that one day I would be walking along the Seine, eating a croissant, holding hands with a real live French man.
This week I held a document from 1976. What did you do? Have you ever noticed that glass room in the library with all the leather-bound books and the old-fashioned Hopkins sweater? I didn’t until this year, when I finally started exploring the archives. And then I came across an article written by April Moreno, a senior at Hopkins in 1976, so here is my response.
This article was going to be many things, but what it was not going to be was this nostalgic throwback to my freshman-year-fresh-out-of-high-school-self. But a Snapchat memory, some hasty scrolling back to 2017 and some three hours later, here I was thinking about how much has changed and how much has stayed the same.
Let’s begin with some context: When I was 13 years old, all I wanted to be in life was a corporate lawyer. No, seriously — beyond just watching Suits, I read LSAT prep books and even joined Model United Nations (because there was no mock trial) to get some experience formulating arguments and public speaking. Then I turned 15 and was introduced to astrophysics; I’d always loved physics, but I really didn’t want to spend my life looking at hypothetical frictionless ramps, and at that point I didn’t even really think there was more to it.
It’s potluck season. Depending on your tolerance for your roommates’ drunk friends and slices of desiccated turkey breast, that may be a good or a bad thing. But like it or not, the next week or so holds the sure promise of a Friendsgiving Facebook invite rudely interrupting the Tasty video you’re watching in class.
My mother instilled a love of traveling in me at a very young age. She had me embark upon my first transoceanic journey while I was still in the womb. In January 1999, a mere month before I was born, I – without much of a say – accompanied her on a trip from the U.S. to India and back.
It was 2:16 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. I was hunched in front of my computer in a baggy T-shirt, no pants on, furiously pounding away at my keyboard. Line after line after line of angry, black text appeared as fast as my acrylic nails would allow me to type them.
These days seem like a high-water mark for minority political representation. It seems especially so for Asian Americans, with prominent Asian American figures like Andrew Yang and Kamala Harris running for president and record numbers of Asians getting elected into office. But that’s all at the top — how much does that translate to my own experience as a politically active Asian American?
I am back at it again! Self-care. Just as important this time as last. These tips and tricks never grow old. It’s just up to you what you want to make work for you. And with that, here is the second half of the self-care alphabet for you:
This week we’re gonna take a deep dive into my childhood. I’m kidding (kind of). I threw it way back and listened to the weird Halloween songs teachers played for us in elementary school, only half of which are actually Halloween songs.
Everybody seems to love puppies and kittens and animals of all kinds — they’re cute, vulnerable, funny, companionate — yet so many people have misconceptions about how humans interact with animals. As someone who grew up with animals, spent most of her life as a pescatarian and vegan and volunteers at an animal shelter, I wanted to highlight some of these misconceptions and actually explain the truths behind them.
I) I grew up with my great-grandmother and the taste of her mayujie, a crepe-like delicacy from Dachen Island. I remember long nights sitting beside her, my chubby hands against hers, as she guided me in folding my first roll. And so we sat, that Saturday in 2004, rolling hundreds of mayujie at the dining room table.
I feel as though I was happier in high school than I am now, and there are probably a number of reasons for that. One I’d like to discuss, though, is the fact that I’ve stopped giving credit to my lollipop moments.
