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I’m still a virgin,” someone told me. “We haven’t had penis-in-vagina sex yet.”
For me, the process of coming to terms with my sexuality was long and unpleasant. I was isolated during eighth and ninth grade, so when I finally came out as a high school sophomore it felt like I had figured it all out. That was it. No more identity struggle.
I have been dating my girlfriend, Sydney, since Valentine’s Day in the eighth grade. Yesterday marks our seven-year anniversary. (There were two relatively short breakups mixed in there, but we don’t have to talk about those.) You’d think that asking a girl out on Valentine’s Day is corny, and you would probably be right, but eighth-grade me thought it was quite clever and that it would be an easy way to remember any anniversaries.
The friend zone. The proverbial Sunken Place in which people hate to be caught. For some, it could be the worst possible thing that could ever happen.
This Wednesday, as couples celebrate their love and single folks unify in shared independence, another humble holiday transpires below the surface — the beginning of Lent.
There was this girl once who had been sexually assaulted by someone she knew. This girl hid from it for a very long time. She pushed it down, down, down so that it did not exist and the memory was just a dream. She forgot though, that reality has a way of making itself apparent to her.
I can think of three reasons why people not from America might want to watch the Super Bowl. First is an actual like for American football and a desire to watch the game. In my humble opinion, that’s the least compelling reason to watch, but what do I know?
“At Hopkins, people are not defined socially by their Greek affiliation.” That’s what prospective students are told when they are just getting to know Hopkins. However, for freshmen drunk off an entire semester of Greekrank and hearsay — and not actual information from real-life sorority members — the opposite is true.
With the Super Bowl over (and me feeling like the only person on campus upset about the Pats losing), it may feel like time to forget about the lovely distraction that sports provide from more pressing issues. Fortunately, that isn’t the case this year. The 2018 Olympic Winter Games, hosted in PyeongChang, South Korea, begin in only a few days. The Olympics may be the one competition that students from nearly all walks of life can feel excited about- with so many countries represented, everyone has somewhere to root for, or at least somewhere to root against. But it’s strange to realize that, although the Olympics, always highly publicized and usually with a few fun controversies thrown in, occur every two or four years, most of us have no idea how or why the competition came about.
A month ago, I woke up to the worst text I had ever received in my life. It was a suicide note from a close friend. A few hours later, when another friend and I found him, it was far too late.
I was probably about five or six when I first learned that my parents were considered to be “middle aged”. Naturally, I started preparing for their deaths. I vividly remember storing away palm-sized pictures of my mom and dad, faintly reminiscent of yearbook photos, in a jewelry box. I would sometimes take them out and, with a real sense of urgency, try to memorize my parent’s faces. Back then, I only thought about death in terms of its physical aftermath - the photos being a representation of my parents after they go, my memories of their faces being all I needed to keep them with me. A fairly practical way to confront the faint beginnings of my understanding of mortality.
We spent weeks trying to figure out what we would call this column. We tried out a lot of ideas. We still aren’t sure that we’re happy with this one. But eventually, we just had to put ourselves out there.
Hopkins is failing its mission statement and failing us as students. The University claims that cultivating “the capacity for life-long learning,” is the core of their mission and, in the words of Daniel Coit Gilman, that the goal of the school is making students “strong, bright, useful and true.” With the current required curricula in engineering majors, creating such students would be nearly impossible.
So today is Monday, the first week of spring classes and, for graduating seniors like me, the start of our last semester as undergraduates. Some might call this “the beginning of the end.”
Many students at Hopkins, myself most definitely included, regard a snowstorm as the perfect photo op. Flocks of snowflakes descend from the sky and blanket the architecture, trees and fields of the Homewood campus in an aesthetically pleasing manner, masking our lost hopes and dreams with a fluffy white veneer. They fashion the contents of our Hopkins bubble into an idyllic backdrop.
If you are a woman, how do you navigate a male-dominated industry? That was the question on my mind when I decided to take the stand-up comedy class last year during Intersession. I was interested in seeing whether I could make people laugh, and testing that out in front of 800 people seemed like a good idea.
Baltimore Restaurant Week really couldn’t have come at a better time for most Hopkins students, since it was smack in the middle of Intersession. Classes during this time only had pass/fail grades and generally involved either light workloads or none at all. Most importantly, they were actually fun to take.
Marvel’s Runaways, a Hulu original series, centers on a group of teens with emotional issues, superpowers, serial killers for parents and a genetically engineered, telepathic pet dinosaur. It pretty adeptly checks the boxes for as many genres as possible, aside from musical theater (although the soundtrack is lit).