Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896
October 7, 2022

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 JAE CHOI
Playing the violin has been an important pastime for Choi.

Dusting off my violin, Emmanuel

I’ve been playing the violin for as long as I can remember. I first picked it up around the time I was 7 years old, when my parents forced me to take lessons. These lessons continued through middle and high school, and daily practice was a mandate. 



COURTESY OF GABRIEL LESSER 
For Lesser, March 2020 began with Parasite and ice cream.

Remembering the movie theater

My March 2020 began at midnight on the steps of a movie theater. My friends and I had just gone to see Parasite. The five of us sat huddled side-by-side with enormous bags of popcorn and candy, enthralled by every twist and turn the movie had to offer. We even chuckled when one of our friends pulled out a disinfectant wipe to clean her theater seat. 



COURTESY OF ZUBIA HASAN
Hasan discusses her journey with the places around her.

Exploring my love for Karachi and Baltimore

I am a collector of stories, and Karachi was always the greatest love story of my life. I constructed a narrative in my head, a running script. I was a girl so entangled in the streets of my city that every time I left, it was as if the film reel was paused. It would only play when I came back to my city streets again. For the longest time Karachi felt real; everything else was just an imitation.


COURTESY OF JAE CHOI
Choi explores his relationship with Korean food and culture.

Reclaiming my "lunchbox" moment

In celebration of Lunar New Year, I helped one of my roommates prepare a hotpot dinner. When the pot began to boil, a rich aroma filled every crevice of the apartment. Fish balls and chunks of tofu, glistening with crimson streaks of fat, bobbed up and down in the beef tallow soup base. After allowing the soup to boil for a few minutes, we added beef and pork slices to the broth and waited. 


Reflecting on the arrogance of a recent encounter

Only five weeks ago, I was at a birthday dinner, sitting opposite a gentleman who was berating me endlessly about how useless coding and data science are. “In 10 years, we won’t even need humans because there won’t be computers. The computers will just run themselves,” he proclaimed. If anyone can make any sense of that sentence, do let me know. I’ll buy you a cookie.


Reconciling the past with the present

How do I stop present cruelty from marring the untouchable beauty of the past? There is something so romantic about the past. Something so beautiful, so untouchable, so untainted about past memories. They drift into your head like clouds and bring with it fuzzy thoughts of love, maybe a muted pain, perhaps even an enchanted sadness. It really is impossible to think about the past without some or all of these feelings because, as always, the past is gone, not belonging to us but to an approximation, an imitation of thoughts, a re-enactment of memories like a vintage film reel.


COURTESY OF ADDY PERLMAN
Perlman, a senior, is grateful for the friends who have shaped her college experience.

Reminiscing on the last four years of college

I feel like I’m treading water in the middle of the ocean during a storm, and my arms are getting mighty tired. I’m stressed. I’m scared, and I don’t want to graduate. I mean I do, but I don’t. The last four years have been transformative. All during middle school and high school, I told myself that I just needed to get to college and then my life would be exactly what I wanted. I was so wrong. It hasn’t been like the movies; it’s been better. 



SLOWKING4/CC BY-SA 3.0
Linda Pastan’s poem “Why Are Your Poems So Dark?” strongly resonated with Tuschman as a child.

The ups and downs in my journey with poetry

My love for poetry started in sixth grade. I think, before then, I believed I was too good for it. I thought poetry was the cheesy, sappy stuff of valentines and love letters. But that was the only kind I had been exposed to — the kind with red roses, blue violets and plenty of predictability.


PIXABAY LICENSE 
Li enjoys submitting to and reading pieces from literary journals.

Recognizing the value of literary journals

The first literary journal I ever submitted to was a student-run magazine called Aerie International, based in a high school in Missoula. Perusing through lists of student writing competitions and publications, I picked out Aerie because they published in print, and I was infatuated with the idea of seeing my work in physical form.


COURTESY OF ROSIE JANG 
Jang enjoys the company of her Squishmallows.

Self-love is so important

With Valentine’s Day coming up, I want to reiterate to all the singles, the not-single-but-not-takens and the couples that the best form of love is self-love. You can’t expect to find love in another person when you can’t find it in yourself.


COURTESY OF SANIYA RAMCHANDANI
Ramchandani will be taking time for herself this Valentine's Day.

Treating myself on Valentine's Day

I haven’t been alone on a Valentine’s Day in six years. From traditional dinners to dorm rooms creatively turned into makeshift restaurants, I’ve always had the most wonderful experiences being in relationships on this day. But this year is going to be a little different, and I’m really excited about that.



COURTESY OF MICHELLE LIMPE
Limpe writes about love and friendship in honor of her parents' 21st wedding anniversary. 

Cheers to 21 years

The earliest thing I remember about my parents is that they never missed their Tuesday movie date. No matter what, they always made it to the cinema; my dad would choose the movie and my mom would buy the popcorn and chips. It was their “Tuesdate” tradition, one that my brother and I would only occasionally join if we were free that day. 



COURTESY OF RYAN AGHAMOHAMMADI
Aghamohammadi reflects on the difficulty of talking about himself.

I don't know what to say

Glass breaking. A pebble in a pond. The hiss of an espresso machine. Scattered salts and lavender floating in the bath. A brisk walk home from the grocery store. The early morning. The moments as you wait for someone to respond to your text. The split second after someone tells a joke and before you laugh. Red flowers in the garden. Reading through a letter someone has written to you, investigating every loop and curve of each word. 


Letting go of the perfect life in college

Between 8 and 9 p.m. every evening, I begin my nightly routine. Those who know me know that texting me during this time almost certainly yields a response of “I’m about to go to bed, but...” I change into a big T-shirt, make a cup of tea and get under the covers, positioning my laptop, mug and phone all within reach.


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