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.
The other day, I entered my room and heard the faint sounds of birds chirping. I, of course, immediately assumed that I had forgotten to turn off a Spotify playlist, “Nature Sounds,” which I often listen to as I do work.
Two weeks and two days after making it official, my boyfriend (my first ever!) and I moved in together. Needless to say, our relationship is moving rather quickly. Our very first date was on Feb. 14; I suppose I sort of lied in my last column when I wrote that I was destined to be single on Valentine’s Day — “barring any unlikely developments.”
On March 18, 2020, exactly four years after most seniors received their acceptance letters to Hopkins, we received an email detailing the University’s tough decision to suspend all in-person classes for the rest of the semester.
I keep asking myself this question as I begin to lose track of what day it is, begin to forget the feeling of stress and begin to plan my days around taking walks. Recently, I went grocery shopping. The experience of doing something productive outside was exhilarating.
We’re catchin’ gators, whatcha y’all doin? Perched on a red Kawasaki, my mom and I watched as two young guys baited their lines to catch more gators. They were making gator tail to freeze in order to keep them from leaving the house for food. Staying a safe distance, we saw worm after worm hit the water, but they couldn’t get the gator. One guy tried to tell the other that his casting form was off, and he smirked and said, “it’s not like you’re catchin’ anything.”
Eclectics showcase 2020 was going to be lit. Twenty pieces that my peers choreographed, to be performed on the first Saturday of May. From gravity-defying rolls to six-steps and top rocking and epic shuffle choreography, this year was gonna have it all.
Like most people, I have had a lot of time to think and reflect lately. One theme keeps coming back to me. What will the world be like after the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic is over? Tragedies and national emergencies do change the nation, the world and the way we live.
For those who don’t know me, I am well versed in divination, especially tarot cards. While I do use them to predict the future, they also allow me to reflect on the universal themes each card speaks to.
As I write this, it’s day nine of spring break, one day until online classes begin and more days than I feel like counting until I return to Baltimore and the life I love there. I’m sitting on my couch at home in Brooklyn, wondering how the hell I got here and have been forced to stay here.
This past summer I signed up to be a sitter on the app Rover and take care of dogs in Baltimore City. I love dogs and have always had at least one in my home while growing up, so it seemed like a natural side hustle.
It is time to stop pretending that finances do not matter. That America is a land of equal opportunity. That anywhere in the world is a land of equal opportunity. We have heard that “with great power comes great responsibility,” but never that with money comes the greatest responsibility of all.
I love to fill out my iCal with blocks of things to do. It gives me the peace of mind that I have set a time for that particular task. Unfortunately, as Introduction to Psychology taught me, and as I have personally experienced, humans overestimate their productivity. Often I end up shifting my plans around because life likes to throw curve balls. For example, last week I took a spontaneous day trip to Paris to visit my friend.
It’s tough to figure out a plan for your life: It involves risk, decisiveness and commitment. Hopefully the following points give you a good starting place in helping you figure out what you want to do with your life, but know that the process is highly subjective. Only you can know what you want to do with the rest of your life, and no one can give you those answers.
Ayo, I’m back with more of my opinions! This week I’m tackling the one and only Canadian dreamboat turned criminal turned whatever he is now, Justin Drew Bieber. I must preface this by telling you one of my more embarrassing traits: I was a Justin Bieber Fan Girl. I feel like there should be a support group for all of us now college aged people who had to ride that crazy rollercoaster with our boy.
The University’s panhellenic sororities have an annual tradition of pairing their newest members, “littles,” with a mentor, known as a “big.” Once paired, the big meticulously plans a “secret week” of surprises for the little, leading up to their exciting reveal at the end of the week.
I did something I thought I would never have to do last semester: I withdrew from a class. And God do I wish I had handled it differently. I don’t mean I wish I hadn’t withdrawn, odd though that may seem; I mean I wish I hadn’t let the withdrawal screw over how I handled the rest of my semester.
Evening meant clutching Amma’s hand and crossing Kachi Gali to reach the neighbors’ houses. After visiting Mehwish, it was Akbar ki amma’s (Akbar’s mom), as she was referred to, turn. We would stop by her house and the dusty living room, filled with placards she had embroidered herself. (“Welcome,” and, “Have a good day!” they proclaimed.) Akbar ki amma was old, and I never knew her name; she was always just Akbar ki amma, and her house seemed very lonely and empty. Amma reminded me that is why we must always visit her.
Over this past leap-weekend, I attended the sixth annual IvyG at Cornell University, a conference for first-generation and low-income (FLI) students that attend so-called “elite” or selective universities and colleges. While this was the second or even third time that some of the other students I went with were attending, this was my first time. Naturally, I was really excited (and equally stressed) for a three-day respite from Hopkins, but the conference ended up being more of a mixed bag — I was really appreciative of some aspects of our scheduling, but felt others fell short and failed to create an inclusive environment.
About 15 years ago, in December 2005, my dad first came to America. I had just turned eight, and it was the first time in my life that one of my parents had been gone for an extended period of time like that. He was going there to start the process of becoming a U.S. permanent resident, which is the only reason I even can apply to be a citizen today.
For the longest time, my relationship with food has been something that I’ve wanted to write about. I’ve wanted to bring it up in conversation, but I have never known how.
