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My junior year, I decided to try birth control.
People often say that love makes you do crazy things. During the winter break of my freshman year — still sad about the end of my first high school relationship — those crazy things included watching clips of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on loop, crying in bed for hours and rereading old messages late at night. Needless to say, I was not the most fun person to be around.
In high school, I was an arts kid. Theater, orchestra, choir — you name it, I did it. I also took classes in poetry and did a lot of that. To me, journalism seemed like another creative outlet that I hadn’t explored yet, and like any eager college freshman, I was itching to join new clubs the second I stepped foot on campus.
There are over 400 student groups at Hopkins, many of which will be at the Student Involvement Fair on Sept. 7. We’ve highlighted a small selection here.
You’ve no doubt noticed the interconnected buildings behind the Beach, one older and shorter, the other newer and sleek. They’re empty now but they won’t be for long. These are MSE and Brody. If you’re a typical Hopkins student, they’ll become your second home.
Roommates. A quintessential part of the College Experience™. Who your roommate is can have a big impact on the rest of your life — I mean you are living with this person for a year in pretty tight quarters. So if you don’t want to end up hating the person you’re living with two months into the semester, keep reading for roommate do’s and don’t’s.
Among the go-to questions that you’re bound to be asked, not only as a freshman but throughout your years at Hopkins, are the ever-daunting “What’s your major?” or “What are you interested in?”
Julia Pacitti, Senior
When I’m in Baltimore, I say I’m from Texas. When I’m not in Baltimore, I say I’m from Baltimore. Texas is a good place to be from, not a good place to be.
MOMENTS IN HISTORY
I’m writing an article called “Advice from a senior to a freshman.” Has it really been that long? It doesn’t feel like that long ago I was walking onto Homewood for the first time, standing in the middle of the Gilman Quad utterly and completely lost. I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet.
During my first days at Hopkins, I was incredibly anxious about how I would fare and whether I would be happy. But after forging meaningful relationships with friends from diverse backgrounds and getting a taste of the undergraduate experience, I learned that the negative stereotypes concerning Hopkins are based more on fearful speculation than actual experience.
Clarissa Chen, president of Refuel our Future, explained that one thing she learned from her efforts to persuade Hopkins to divest from fossil fuels is the unique ability of Hopkins students to sway the University. She reminded future student activists to recognize and use this.
Two months ago, my close friend Kelsey brought up the topic of female anger. She told me how she read a New York Times article about the ways in which men and women deal with their frustrations differently.
I am not a poet. My ideal afternoon of writing does not include hours spent agonizing over the meter of each word, the rhythm of each line, wondering whether a close rhyme is close enough to work or if I need to scrap it entirely.
Hey, Rollin and Sam here, just your friendly neighborhood Editors-in-Chief. As our time wraps up, we decided that it’s apt to reflect on and construct some notion of closure around the job that has consumed our lives for the past year.
Around this time last year, I wrote about how Supergirl had never given Kara Danvers (Melissa Benoist) a good romantic storyline. This season, she has fortunately not been forced into another cringey relationship, but that’s only because she’s been hung up on her most recent ex, Mon-El (Chris Wood), who never deserved her in the first place.
I’m not quite sure what burnout is, but what happened two weeks ago felt something quite like it. After weeks of what had felt like going through life on auto-pilot — running in and out of back-to-back meetings, slogging through a cappella practices, rubbing my bleary eyes in the morning and rushing to class — a bad grade on a midterm tipped the scale.
I’ve always loved both science and writing. During my senior year of high school, as I wrote my college essays, I tried to find a way to weave the two together into a feasible future for myself: to explain why I love poems that overflow with biological imagery; to try to articulate the parallels I saw in the processes of biology and creating literature. And then when I read the book The Lives of a Cell by Lewis Thomas, I felt like all my efforts were put to shame.