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.
In my last column, I discussed the opportunity gap at Hopkins for low-income students, like myself. However, in doing so, I feel as if I misrepresented myself, so I want to make one thing clear: I am an extremely privileged person.
I briefly touched upon what it can be like riding a bike last week, in the delightful city of Amsterdam, along with its trials and tribulations, but it was far too brief. Cycling is what makes the Netherlands tick. One cannot possibly talk about this country without mentioning the way its people roam the streets and take ownership of this space.
You’re with your friends, and you wash your hands thoroughly to get the Dorito crumbs out from under your fingernails. You humorously blurt out, “Sorry guys, I’m really OCD.”
I’m liberal, yet I recently went to the pro-Trump Mother Of All Rallies (MOAR). I’m gay, yet I recently went to a rally where many of the attendees supported a president whose statements and actions have consistently attacked the LGBTQ community. I’m Jewish, yet I recently ventured into a space full of individuals who support a president who has empowered Neo-Nazis.
I never thought I would be able to say I’ve danced (and won) the “In My Feelings” challenge in front of Kevin Plank, the CEO of Under Armour. I did not exactly volunteer with the intent to do so, either; in a classic story of overenthusiastic-intern-volunteers-for-literally-everything, I did not even know what I was signing up for before the spotlight was burning a hole through my forehead.
I don't know how to write this. I have been wanting to write it for a very long time, but there's always something wrong with the words that flow – at some point it was that I wasn't ready – still too close to the problem to write about it. Then, I was too emotional, too unstable. And at every point there was something or the other that prevented me from writing.
As we approach the one year anniversary of the bombshell reports on Harvey Weinstein’s decades-long reign of sexual terror over Hollywood and the global explosion of the #MeToo movement, the press and social media are burgeoning with questions of redemption.
1. Meet somebody in the back of the bus – the place where three seats face three seats. Your friends and you will fill up one row and two boys will sit down in the other. After a few minutes on the circulator, Stanford sweater will ask if you girls go to Hopkins? Your friend should say yes. The other boy has cauliflower ears and you wonder if he’s a fighter like you, he is a pale man with a ginger beard and rough hands.
A few years ago, I went to a concert with two of my close friends. It was a punk festival at the Ottobar that featured a few different performers, but we were most excited to see the local band Snail Mail, who only had one EP out at the time. After some bizarre sets during which we all almost got punched in the face by a flailing guitarist and listened to a woman remix her screams on an electric keyboard (my one friend still jokes that I was the only person able to dance to the rhythmic screeching), Snail Mail came out.
Nobody warned me before I went to The Book Thing of Baltimore that it would be at least an hour-long endeavor in pacing and scanning shelves for anything that caught my eye.
Earlier this summer, news of Starbucks’ decision to eliminate plastic straws sparked celebratory progressive cries, cynicism about banning a little piece of plastic and a healthy number of memes. Internet buzz aside, are our straws truly endangered? They’re on the decline, but the wave of progress isn’t as rapid as it may seem.
Last spring I was talking to a friend, who has already spent years in Europe and Asia, about all the places we’d like to be able to visit some day.
Hello there! I am writing to you today from almost 4,000 miles away, in a charming café on the bank of a gorgeous canal, among the busy chitchat of the everyday Amsterdammers (the café is called De Drie Graefjes — would definitely recommend their red velvet cake!).
Next week, I’m going to be having my head shaved. Not by choice but, rather, as part of a medical procedure. I’ve never been one to put too much effort into my hair, usually just letting it air-dry overnight and wearing it down.
1) This is non-negotiable: You must fall in love. Find someone you’re attracted to, maybe someone from Jiu-Jitsu with chiseled eyes and cheesy dimples who smiles at you from across the room.
Why do you do what you do? Seriously. Most of us spend our days just going through the motions; we get up, go to class, study and sleep only to repeat the cycle again.
My junior year, I decided to try birth control. Predictably, sexual health is often not addressed in booklets and presentations prepping kids to go off on their own. Things like birth control and physical exams are assumed to fall under the umbrella of general student health services.
“When you look down from the top level of Brody Atrium: I wonder if a fall from this height would be enough to kill me.” This is a typical meme post on the “Hopkins Memes for My Lost Hopes and Dreams” Facebook page.
