Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896
July 2, 2025
July 2, 2025 | Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896

Voices

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.



COURTESY OF LINDA HUANG
Huang reflects on her first time voting in the 2024 election. 

More than a sticker: where my first vote took me

Politics always felt distant, like an endless noise I wasn’t supposed to question. I had always treated politics as something I chose not to participate in or educate myself in. To me, it represented polarity, difference, argument, conflict — nothing of a good connotation.


TIM EVANSON / CC BY-SA 2.0
Finkelstein criticizes the politicization of transgender rights and shares her sibling’s story.

Trans kids need you

This year, my younger sibling Ellis was finally able to start receiving gender-affirming care to support their journey as a transgender individual. Ellis has always been their own fiercest advocate, using their voice to fight for their right to existence in a society that has extended unspeakable amounts of hate to children who just want the basic right to live authentically as themselves. 


COURTESY OF GABRIEL LESSER
Lesser finds himself distant from his loved ones following graduation, yet manages to keep them close to him.

Pieces of home everywhere I go

A few weeks ago, I walked into CVS and printed out 114 4x6 photos. My intent was to make a photo wall in my apartment, but given that I am indecisive, I decided to just print a huge chunk of my favorites folder without truly thinking about the sheer quantity that I had selected.


JIYUN GUO / DESIGN AND LAYOUT EDITOR
Koldas writes her farewell to the Milton S. Eisenhower Library and reminisces about the last time she was there.

A goodbye to Milton S. Eisenhower Library

Recently, I’ve been thinking about the things that I’d done for the last time without knowing it. My dad put my hair into a ponytail for the last time on one random school morning in 2014. I played my final solitaire game on our crusty computer in 2016 right before it shut down for good, never to be opened again.


COURTESY OF SARA KAUFMAN
Kaufman describes the journey of finding her voice and developing her public speaking abilities.

To speak or not to speak? My journey from whispers to speeches

Last week, I caught a particularly annoying cold and lost my voice. As I showed up to class armed with masks and copious quantities of hand sanitizer, I noticed that I wasn’t raising my hand during lectures nearly as much as I usually do. I wasn’t asking my professors questions or answering theirs because of my voice; I didn’t bother trying to speak because I knew it wouldn’t work. Its silencing effect was annoying, and it was particularly irksome because this wasn't the first time my voice had held me back.


COURTESY OF RILEY STRAIT
Strait shares his experience of voting (and getting called a “libtard”) for the first time.

Am I a f***ing libtard?

Over fall break, I voted in my first election. But that wasn’t the biggest “first” I experienced. That week, I was also called something I had never been called before: a “fucking libtard.”


BLAKE BURKHART / CC BY 2.0
Swindle names the intangible obstacle standing in her way of connecting with others as a concrete wall and acknowledges its presence through her writing.

An insurmountable concrete wall

I have a wall inside of me that I think is made of concrete. It has taken me 17 years to recognize it, 18 to acknowledge it, and 19 to write it all down in a Voices article for The News-Letter.


COURTESY OF BUSE KOLDAS
Gonzalez describes how losing her childhood friends changed her for the better and allowed her to discover her true self.

Sometimes friendships can be A Nightmare on Elm Street

I’ve never been good with change; in fact, it terrifies me. More specifically, I’ve never been good with letting people go. Throughout orientation week at Hopkins, I would wake up in my dorm wishing I could go back to my childhood bedroom and listen to my parents’ voices drifting in from the living room.


COURTESY OF AYDEN MIN
Min explains her wish to explore the unexperienced yet questions if a one-way ticket is what she truly desires.

Airplanes are scary but not because of heights

Something about free-floating 35,000 feet in the air watching the sun come up or city lights sparkle down below is oddly calming. Sometimes, I wonder how much time I’ve spent untethered to anything except for whatever metal tube with wings I’m currently sitting in, and, coming from the opposite side of the country, it’s probably quite a lot.


COURTESY OF YANA MULANI
Mulani ponders a future where she will no longer identify as a “student.”

Some disjointed thoughts on the fear of graduation

As the end of my college experience draws closer, I’m forced to think about what comes next. And what does come next? I, for one, have no idea. I’m doing all the right things (I think): applying to jobs, reaching out to alumni, leveraging my experiences, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. But it’s really scary to leave academia. 


COURTESY OF AASHI MENDPARA
Mendpara reflects on her changing relationship with her little brother.

Home in two halves

While I personally don’t recall the exact moment my parents told me I was going to have a younger brother, I laugh every time I watch the VHS tapes. I was so upset — almost in tears. At the time, I was deep in my Barbie era, and all I could think about was not having a sister to dress up and play with; though, to his dismay, my brother, Krish, did end up going through that phase with me anyway. 


COURTESY OF MOLLY GREEN
Green reflects on the friendships she’s forged over the years while watching her roommate slice a peach.

White peaches

After the clock ticked past midnight and my friends force-fed me cake and it was officially autumn and the beginning of my 22nd year, one of my roommates asked me to share what I was thinking of, being the first to turn 22 and therefore older and wiser than the rest of my friends.  


COURTESY OF KAITLIN TAN
Tan shares her dilemmas about writing and attempts to make peace with their existence.

Why I don’t write about writing

More often than not, I’m thinking about writing fiction. And, despite this column’s partial intention of being a way to document whatever’s been persistently floating around my mind, I realize that I’ve never written about writing. How odd.


COURTESY OF HAILEY FINKELSTEIN
Finkelstein highlights the toxic struggle culture at Hopkins and points out that depriving yourself of your basic needs to succeed shouldn’t be normalized.

I hate struggle culture

There is nothing inherently dark or toxic about the girl who has signed up for too many student orgs, the boy who wins a new prestigious award every week, the person who consistently sets the curve in your most difficult class. What is dark and toxic  — and scarier than any horror movie you may watch this month — is how we talk about these hectic schedules in the language of prideful struggle.


COURTESY OF KAYLEE NGUYEN
Nguyen tells the story of how she found the balance between imagery and purpose in her writing.

Making peace with improving my writing

When I first began writing, I had an unfathomable obsession with imagery. For hours, I would park myself at my favorite table at Barnes and Noble with my latte in hand and write pages upon pages of descriptions. Taking in the senses around me, I’d let my mind wander to places that I could only dream of.


COURTESY OF RILEY STRAIT
Strait composes an ode for his second-hand car and commemorates their history together.

Ode to a 2001 Buick LeSabre Limited

Used 2001 Buick LeSabre Limited 4dr Sedan For Sale $5,000 cars.com. I guess you would call that our meet cute. My family tried to keep us apart: “A smoker’s car, really? You can’t get the smell of smoke out, you know.” I never had a keen sense of smell. 


COURTESY OF ANNA NIKISHINA
Nikishina explores the privilege of worrying about physical insecurities and recognizes that women of previous generations had more serious troubles.

We think too much about ourselves

I often try to imagine what my grandma’s teenage years were like. I myself will turn twenty soon, and in my final year of being a teenager, I have been given the grace to do what she never could when she was my age: worry about something as frivolous and fleeting as my appearance. 


COURTESY OF LINDA HUANG
Huang writes about how her perspective changed on sharing her emotions with others after reading an emotional wellbeing book.

Permission to feel

I’d mastered it: pretending that I was fine. Because the general expectation from us humans is quite straightforward: We cannot display sadness. We shall not reveal our vulnerabilities and weaknesses. No, we must present ourselves to others as optimistic, happy and motivated: always driven, always okay.


COURTESY OF RILEY STRAIT
Strait describes the experience of leaving Kansas and reflects on his changing feelings towards his home state.

We're not in Kansas anymore

I did not learn to love the land that raised me until I had already left. In every introduction during my first week of college, that land haunted me. Like a scar, it was irrefutable proof of where I had been, and it clung to every artifact of my life: my area code, my driver’s license and (most regrettably) my introduction.


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