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Pakistan was long warm nights. Pakistan was roadside cafes. Pakistan was pebbled streets and pavements merging into one another. Pakistan was friends and family and colored, dirty cloth on a table. Pakistan was chai made right. Pakistan was greasy nutella paratha and greasier fries. Pakistan was eating food that you knew would give you an upset stomach.
Some weeks, it feels like I spend every waking hour writing. Whether it’s for The News-Letter, a class paper, or even just for fun, it still blows my mind that some weeks at Hopkins I write more than I would have done in the entirety of my hardest high school semesters. I can’t blame anyone but myself for this. In my four semesters here, I’ve taken eight writing intensive classes. I don’t have to write nearly an article a week for The News-Letter, but I want to. Even on weekends, when I find a new album or movie I’m really into, I will write a review only to delete it. Even though nobody reads these pieces, through them I gain a greater understanding and appreciation for the art I’m consuming, which is what matters to me.
Before you read this article, I want to provide you with a content warning if you are someone who might be affected by reading about sexual assault. I wrote this article after I got to a point where I stopped blaming myself. Through it, however, I work through my own negative and destructive experience with graphic self-blame. So if you’re someone who can relate, I hope reading this can help you — but please make sure you’re at a place where you feel like it will help and not hurt you.
For the past few months, I’ve really enjoyed writing this column. Being able to engage in open conversations about the things and moments that have impacted me most these past four years has been a very fulfilling experience. But unfortunately, as we get closer to the end of the semester and I prepare to graduate and head off to get my MFA, I’ve decided to bring this column to a close.
After writing about hook-up culture on campus for Valentine’s Day, I didn’t think twice about it being published... at first. Then I had some people tell me they really enjoyed it, and then it dawned on me that people had actually read it. I started to think of my parents and of my hometown.
Let me tell you a few facts about myself. I am a junior studying Computer Science at Hopkins who sometimes writes for The News-Letter, and as of this writing I don’t have an internship.
Oftentimes when you are talking to a friend, it’s about how your day is going, what you’ve been up to recently and vice versa, all that surface level stuff. If we are being honest with one another, that’s just small talk. Once you tap into your feelings, then you really start to listen to what the person is saying and understand how they are feeling.
Female college graduates have outnumbered males for decades. In Fortune 500 companies, women make up 50 percent of the workforce; however, women only make up 25 percent of executive positions. Despite an increase in board gender diversity, there are still very few women in executive leadership positions. Only 4.8 percent of Fortune 500 CEOs are women. These numbers are not only shockingly low, but, in 2018, the number of female CEOs also fell by 25 percent. In corporate America, women are losing ground.
I first started experimenting with my mom’s Peloton bike after she got one for Christmas my sophomore year. I was initially a skeptic – sure it looked cool, but was it actually going to be a good workout? More importantly, would it be enjoyable enough that I would find myself actually wanting to do it?
In late February, I deactivated my Instagram account for about a week. On Monday, I said goodbye to my lovely 1,449 followers and pulled the plug. I might reactivate it in a week, either out of FOMO or a desire to showcase a cute picture but definitely more for the latter reason than the former. And in a month from now, I’ll be kissing my account goodbye for another week.
At the beginning of spring break last year, I visited New York City for the first time. After hopping off the 5 a.m. train with my friend, we started our journey through the city by visiting landmarks such as the Empire State Building and Grand Central Station. Eventually we became frustrated with the cold and spent a couple of hours touring the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We made our way to Times Square, and by a great stroke of luck we even got to see my team, the Charlotte Hornets, play my friend’s New York Knicks later that night before heading to his house upstate.
Since childhood, art museums were my safe space. They were hushed and contemplative, a place for solitary reflection as well as interesting (murmured) discussion. It started with encouragement from my parents. My dad is an artist and my mother an avid art lover, so they made it a priority to expose me to art as early as possible.
An acquaintance recently told me I was the personification of suburbia. She said that I was very clearly from Long Island, that I fit all the stereotypes.
1. Waking up an hour before you start your day will change your life. So will eating breakfast! It’ll give you a chance to recharge and mentally prepare yourself for the day.
While working with Habitat for Humanity in West Virginia over spring break, Steve, one of the supervisors at the work site, told me, “That’s the great thing about volunteering — it just needs to make you happy.” It was easy for me to understand Steve’s sentiment.
What do you look for in a political candidate? Voters often consider a candidate’s past policy work, their campaign platform and social identities they value. As election season gears up, prospective supporters should account for yet another factor: how a politician leads their own team.
Last summer, I bought The Idiot by Elif Batuman — partially because of its interesting title and partially because it had a buy-one-get-one-half-off sticker. It was collecting dust on my shelf until a month into the fall term. There couldn’t have been a better time to start reading it, given that it’s a book about the narrator Selin’s experience as a freshman.
I was always a secret romantic. I wanted the love we saw in movies: the passionate kind, the heart rumbling, fire sparking, all-consuming love that is glorified in Hollywood movies. But what I didn’t realize in my early teens was how similar this “all-consuming” love was to emotional abuse. How behind the romantic gestures made by the male actors was a deep rooted objectification of female bodies.
Spring is here (at least in my mind). It’s that time of jazz quartets and daffodils, iced lattes, and new romances. Do I sound like Gossip Girl? GOOD. Carrie Bradshaw? EVEN BETTER. I want to sound like her, she was super talented. Rest in peace, Carrie. (I like to think she was trampled by a camel after the second Sex and the City movie ended.)
Although I’m writing this column a few days before its publication and I’ve learned to remain wary of weather forecasts (just as I don’t trust Roombas, wall-safe tape and people who don’t like anchovies), I can’t contain my excitement at the prospect of a 64-degree day. Even if it will be mostly overcast and rain will arrive in the evening, this Thursday is expected to be relatively warm, and I can’t wait.