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I’m sitting here writing my last piece for my column in The News-Letter, and I am at a loss for words. I’ve thought about this moment for a while: what I’d write in my last piece, where in my life I’d be and what closing words I’d share.
The last year and a half seems like a blur. I couldn’t keep up with life. My homesickness reached its peak and the pressures of graduate school crushed me — I was struggling to find a way to fit into this world.
Growing up, I never really played — or liked — video games. I didn’t get the point. Watching my 4th-grade crush play Portal in his bedroom was boring. Okay, you get to the next level, and then you get to the last level and then what? You just play it all over again? Never mind the fact that I didn’t particularly enjoy games that hurt people violently. Games on the Wii were more tolerable, but then whenever I’d win (or more likely, lose), I’d think, “What’s next?”
I studied abroad in Paris last spring and it still comes up frequently. Naturally, when people learn that I studied abroad, they ask me about it. Not wanting to kill the mood, I usually find myself lying, or, at least, oversimplifying the situation. Typically I’ll admit that I didn’t love Paris, but that I appreciated the chance to travel and my great trip to Poland. I’ll say I made friends from other colleges that I’m still in touch with, and I’m lucky to have them in my life. I won’t say that I regretted going, much less explain why.
I stand at a whopping 5 feet. That means I’m on my tiptoes for about half of each day, I fit comfortably in coach airplane seats and I have managed to end up with a list of “‘things in friends’ apartments that are taller than I am.” As a short person, it only makes sense for me to surround myself with other physically small things. I work three days per week researching microscopic cells and miniaturized environments, I have spent way too much time this semester figuring out molecular bonding and I love volunteering with little kids. Needless to say, I live a pretty fun-sized life.
Why do we even try? As a graduating senior, I’ve asked myself this question many times. Sleepless nights spent cramming for Chinese exams and finishing English papers have left me wondering why I bother to put so much effort into my work and whether this effort will be worth it in the end.
Reading old journal entries is difficult to begin. If you’re a person who has never been good at facing failure, like I am, it is dreadful. For the last couple of weeks, even the thought of rereading my old entries was enough to make me nervous. However, a few days ago, I radically turned off the switch in my head that was keeping me from doing this. I wished to reflect. I wanted to see my growth, the steps I had taken forward, if any.
I remember being 10 or 11 years old, sitting in front of my family’s desktop computer, staring at a picture of a girl. She was maybe 17, wearing a red varsity jacket with matching red Converse shoes and big gold hoops. Her hair was long, straight and blonde. She was sitting cross-legged on a baseball diamond, a bat casually resting on her shoulder.
Like many other residents of Baltimore, I woke up on Tuesday morning to the news of the Francis Scott Key Bridge falling overnight when it was hit by a massive ship that was exiting the Port of Baltimore. It goes without saying that this was a devastating incident for the city, and our thoughts and prayers are especially with those who lost loved ones.
There is a strange peace to the sight of a beach town emptied.
When I was seven years old, I started to learn the piano. I had a wonderful (albeit strict) teacher, who taught me a lot about how to place my hands on the keys, read bass clef and approach three-octave scales. I graduated from intro exercises to sonatinas after a couple of years and started performing annually at my teacher’s recitals.
While sitting at dinner during my class trip this past intersession to Brazil, I ordered a drink with a small yellow note attached to it. It said in Portuguese, “não espere ter tudo pra aproveitar a vida, se você já tem a vida pra aproveitar tudo.” Don’t wait to have everything to enjoy life, if you already have life to enjoy everything.
Over winter break, my family’s activity and conversation revolved around a TV series called Blossoms Shanghai. Set in the ‘90s in Shanghai, the show interweaves stories of young Shanghainese fighting for their future in their own ways as the city undergoes tremendous economic changes.
While running the risk of taking the name of this column too literally, it's time we talk about the sounds of Baltimore. While it may be famous for its crabs, Old Bay and Natty Bohs — its glistening harbor, picturesque parks and breath-taking sunsets — the voices of the city hold a special place in my heart.
Working with cells requires knowledge, dexterity, time management and an absurd amount of confidence.
When I was younger, I was a voracious reader — that’s the word my mum used to describe me. I read on the breakfast table, on the way to school, during break and lunch time, in between classes, during classes, at the dinner table and under the covers at night. I was always reading. I actually got prescribed glasses because I would wake up before the sun had risen and read in the dark.
As I scarf down my usual rushed lunch at Hopkins Cafe, it occurs to me that I no longer enjoy eating. I eye my plate: cauliflowers, carrots, green beans, chicken, macaroni and cheese and breadstick. An M&M cookie lies to its left, resting on the napkins I sloppily collected from the dispenser. My mug is filled with soy milk and I’m watching my Physics 2 pre-lectures on my computer.
Growing up, I didn’t spend much time with my dad. I’d see him early in the mornings, sitting with his cup of chai and a book, before he made his way to work and I made my way to school. He’d come home from work around 9 p.m., which was well past the time when my brother, mom and I would eat dinner, but we’d all sit with him at the dining table — he would eat dinner while the rest of us picked at a bowl of dates. At night, he’d be doing work in the study or living room, and I’d be watching my own shows on my laptop a few feet away. My dad is not a particularly talkative or open person, so our relationship developed at a distance and moved in silence.
I have never been one for school spirit.
At the end of 2023, I felt very burnt out with writing. I love writing, but I felt as though I had spent the fall semester writing excessively as I drafted, edited and often scrapped one short story after the next. To combat this, I decided it was time to seek out new inspiration. I often pull from my own life in my work (and I will continue to do so), but I wanted to work to make sure that I always had material, even if there was nothing in my personal life currently interesting to me as a writer.