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.
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.
Frankly speaking, one of this University’s most unrealistic expectations of upperclassmen students is that they should cook for themselves. Most of my peers, far braver than I, have indeed begun attempting to hone this life skill. Some of these peers include my roommates, whose pots and pans piling up in the sink are a reminder of this learning process (If you’re reading this, it’s NOT too late to clean up!).
My days begin early. At 5:15 a.m. my alarm wakes me. This is the only way I can spend a few precious minutes with my wife in the morning before she begins work at her preschool. Our routine is the 45 minutes of coffee and news we have together before the marathon of each day begins.
Over the past few months, I’ve had so many X-rays and other imaging done that I’m a little disappointed the radiation hasn’t yet given me superpowers. They all happened during the 20 or so ER trips, doctor’s visits and physical therapy appointments that I had as a result of two injuries last semester.
One of the trickier parts about growing up is figuring out what to do with money. In high school I worked at an ice cream shop and got paid 10 dollars an hour. To me, money directly correlated with time. When I would buy something, I didn’t ask myself, “Is this cup of coffee worth five dollars?” but I would ask myself, “Is this cup of coffee worth 30 minutes of scooping ice cream?”
If your student organization has a retreat, go. Many are scheduled for all day, and at Hopkins, an all-day activity during the weekend immediately induces a heart attack. But you should go. Spending a whole day with people helps you bond with them.
I came to Hopkins in 2016. That year, artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning (ML) were making waves around the world. It seemed like yesterday when we saw machines like IBM’s Watson triumph over humans. Self-driving cars, AI-augmented medicine and smart cities were among the many applications promised to save millions and bring prosperity to many more.
Adulting: (noun) The practice of behaving in a way characteristic of a responsible adult, especially the accomplishment of mundane but necessary tasks.
The sun has not been out in days, the rain seems to never stop and the dull ache in your heart is a constant, ceaseless pounding. Letting go is one of the hardest things a human being has to experience, but letting go is probably also the most universally human experience. It is not possible to navigate life without loss or grief — so one day or another we all have to let go of something or someone.
In the wake of the Oscars and the incredible wins for Parasite and Reneé Zellweger’s amazing performance in Judy, I decided to take this week to think of some of the worst acting I have seen. A name that comes to mind — and I will stand by this — is Adam Sandler.
It’s always nerve-wracking to approach your crush, especially when your intentions are to clarify their feelings toward you by asking them out. Ultimately, everybody has their own style, and so, the way that you ask out a specific crush will differ. However, here are some helpful things to consider.
Last month, I came across a New York Times essay by Ann Napolitano. In her piece, Napolitano shared that she had been writing letters to her future self since the age of 14. Every time Napolitano opened a letter from her past self, she saw how her values and self-understanding evolved over time.
Hello. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. And yet, in the irony of it all, we know each other. We’ve tasted the same agony and we’ve wept the same tears. Our story has consumed both of us like weeds, so much so that it is as if we have lived the same small life.
Say you get a promotion at work and, instead of saying, “Congratulations, you deserve this. Let’s celebrate you tonight,” your partner says, “I work just as hard as you do, why haven’t I been promoted?” Not only does this show that your partner does not support you and believe in you, but it also means that, over time, you can internalize these insecurities.
The pros to birth control pills are pretty obvious. Aside from not getting pregnant, the pill promises clearer skin, bigger boobs, predictable periods and the end to cramps. The side effects seem to pale in comparison — the possibility of light spotting between cycles, breast tenderness, fluid retention, nausea and mood changes.
Let me begin with this: I am not here to out anyone. That said, I sometimes have a thing for closeted men. Maybe it’s the element of forbidden love, maybe it’s self-sabotage, maybe it’s internalized homophobia, maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline. Not to flex, but I found myself kissing one in Uni Mini last spring while waiting for my mozzarella sticks.
This is the weirdest possible time to be in a relationship. We’re adults, but not really. Still kids, but not really. Totally independent, but not really. Mature, but not really.
As you may know, the Netflix show Sex Education is all the talk these days, and I am one of those disciples who swear by it. Just to clarify, I am not a TV person. I am not even that much of a Netflix kind of gal. What I am, however, is a huge fan of sex education.
About a year ago, I went vegan*. Consider the rest of this column the explication of that asterisk. At the time, I was working on a Barnstormers production that required baring it all (well, most of it, I guess) onstage. Aside from lifting weights six times a week, biking as often as possible and a few hours a day of choreography, I wanted to cut some calories in an effort to, um, tighten things up.
