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 not that I’m ashamed of being Vietnamese — now at least. Growing up was a different story. I really don’t want to frame this piece like another “I grew up in a predominantly white area and I had no one that looked like me,” because that’s not real.
Last year around this time, I shared the secret weapon I had discovered in my lifelong battle with a stutter: the beat. The relentless, driving rhythm of a hip-hop track was more than music — it was a blueprint for fluency. I could speak with a force and clarity that felt both superhuman and, somehow, like the most authentic version of myself.
There are 8.5 billion people on planet Earth. It is, thus, astonishingly unlikely ever to find your true soulmate: that elusive other half, that person who makes you feel whole.
I picked the show because I didn’t want to watch anything I’d get too drawn into and want to binge, and it didn’t look like the kind of thing I’d actually want to watch. Four years later, I spent this summer at the edge of my seat, worrying that the main character would pick the wrong brother.
To anyone else who feels like they’re drowning in deadlines: You are not alone. This place can be heavy, yes, but it’s not just about the pressure. It’s about the people who stand beside you in the dining hall after a brutal exam, the friend who texts to check in, the quiet moments of laughter that cut through the noise.
The highly unusual pursuit of baring one’s soul to a machine might not be the most adventurous way to spend a Saturday afternoon, but it may very well have been the most rewarding. With legs lazily propped up on the wooden bench accompanying the Mudd Hall windows, I anxiously anticipate the logic behind my greatest weakness. I received a succinct, even personal response.
Am I doing this right? This question trailed me throughout high school, as I revised a single email twelve times or stared blankly at my math test. As an overthinker, I let that mantra play on repeat.
I wait outside of Remsen 101 at 9:49 a.m. Once the clock reads 9:50 a.m., the students from the room flush out, some munching on their breakfast, sipping their coffee, talking to friends, some waving at those waiting in the hallway. I patiently wait until I can trickle inside, then I find my seat and set up my laptop and tablet.
Scattered amongst the alleys of my hometown’s characteristic brick houses are its numerous hole-in-the-wall convenience stores. Finding them requires a good eye and a lot of patience. With their rusted storefronts and yellowing strip curtains, they’re often built as extensions of family homes, and even referring to them as “stores'' is rather generous. Instead, we affectionately call them “Xiao Mai Pu,” which translates to “small concession stand.”
As I wait for the exams to be carefully distributed row by row, I remain patiently seated; at least, that is how it appears on the outside. However, internally, my heart is pounding as if it wants to break through my chest, and my mind is at war, scrambling thoughts running frantically around.
It seems like most everyone tried out new hobbies during the pandemic to fill up their time, and many left them behind once “real life” started back up again. But as someone with a creative streak and an overconfidence in trying new things, I’ve stuck onto my various useless activities, and I fashion myself into a bit of a hobby veteran.
Linda McDaniel is a giver. As she puts it, the day she had her firstborn, she set her own needs down on a chair and devoted the rest of her life to making her children happy. In my first few hours with her, I already felt welcomed like her own grandson.
I want a Labubu desperately. Ever since I saw those furry creatures adorning bright pink backpacks while scrolling through Vietnamese TikTok, I knew I had to have one.
In biology, a key method for determining the function of an element in a complex biological system is, perhaps counterintuitively, to inhibit it. See, when an element is working as normal, it is near impossible to separate it out amidst the jumbled and interconnected cocktail of life. Yet when once inhibited, its absence is unmistakable and only then does its longtime role clearly emerge.
The first time I was ever complimented for my spoken Chinese was about two months ago as I sat cross-legged on my maternal grandparents’ bamboo rug.
This year’s Hispanic Heritage Month feels different. It is filled with not only the joy and orgullo of celebrating our culture, but also the weight of fear, this fear of being othered, of being silenced, of being chased.
As it turns out, good things are supposed to come in pairs. That’s what they tell you. Two sweet cherries sharing a stem. Two shoes that make a set. Two sides of an argument. Or, as Dr. Greenberg recently educated us in Introduction to Organic Chemistry I, even molecules seem to prefer balance in pairs: enantiomers, mirror images that only make sense alongside each other.
This summer, I had the wonderful opportunity to study abroad in Shanghai. And while my mind was preoccupied with the exciting prospect of being in a new city, learning and growing from this month of exploration, there was still a nagging hesitation in my heart.
She sees her classmates quietly reading and writing while listening to the random classical music the teacher left playing from her Pandora playlist. But what about her? She just sits there, eyes on the gray page. She can barely make out a word on that dull piece of paper.
Unpopular opinion: I don’t like warm drinks — whether that’s tea, coffee or the like. They never feel soothing, and if I have a sore throat, I would prefer to down a glass of ice water, letting the coldness spread throughout me and numb the pain. When I came to Hopkins, that didn’t change about me.
