Do you also have those words, phrases or idioms that exist in your native tongue that you could never translate to another language? When I moved to the U.S. last year after living in Turkey for 19 years, I had plenty: I still remember the first few weeks of being here and how naked I felt without my witty Turkish vocabulary.
I grew up in the world of films and Hindi tunes, colloquially termed “filmy music,” a world that extended beyond wedding Sangeets and obligatory family-friend parties. No nightly meal was complete without my parents’ favorite childhood songs quietly filling the room with their nostalgic rhythms and beautiful words, and no car ride was truly perfect without playing either the Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara or Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani soundtracks with the windows down. I can still recall three-year-old me falling asleep to my dad singing Aa Chal ke Tujhe, a song I still know every word to despite not having heard it in years.
I used to say that I was from nowhere, everywhere or from the South China Sea. All were true enough. I spent my childhood between places. When I was visiting my grandparents in the Philippines or in Malaysia, people would ask me if I was happy to be back home. I never quite knew what to say. I’d experienced both places for a maximum of several weeks out of a year.
My journey started in a bit of an unusual way. I was born prematurely, and, after talking to a doctor, my mom was told that exercise would help with my development. So, she took me to a nearby pool. Before long, I was really making a splash. I got pretty good and ended up spending about 10 years swimming competitively. But I was just a little girl, and, after a while, I got bored; swimming laps can only hold your attention for so long.
In Irish, “sláinte” is the colloquial term used for toasts and other cheers. My Irish grandmother often uses it at birthday and holiday celebrations to start a meal and celebrate our family’s togetherness. This summer I had the incredible opportunity to travel to Ireland for two and a half weeks. Going into the trip, I was relatively nervous because it was my first time traveling alone internationally, but I was mostly excited for the chance to experience a foreign yet familiar culture in such an immersive way. So I boarded an Aer Lingus flight with my suitcase and guitar, looking forward to the time I would spend across the pond.
“What does zhong 忠 mean to you?” I scrambled for words when asked. Every strand of eloquence I gained in high school Model United Nations disappeared when I searched desperately for it. I hated admitting it, but I simply didn’t know. I hated that I didn’t know how to pronounce nor understand words in a class where everyone else seemingly knew everything. Later I found out it meant “loyalty.”
I was halfway through Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist when the Black Sea appeared outside my plane window. The hills of Istanbul soon joined the view of the soft silhouette of the morning sun. Knowing the plane was approaching its destination, I decided to stow the tray table and put away the book. I smiled when I thought of how the young shepherd boy in The Alchemist was robbed of all the money he had on him right after he landed in Africa for his great adventure. It was probably a bad sign for me. But like the shepherd boy, I found it too late to turn back.
Today, I share with you some experiences from living in Brooklyn, China and Hong Kong: three places that have shown and given me a greater appreciation of my own life and the meaning of home.
This summer, I had the opportunity to study abroad for two weeks in Germany. As a pre-med who’s always wanted to study abroad but has always had obligations preventing her (I’m looking at you, Organic Chemistry and Physics), I jumped for joy when I realized I’d found an interesting program that fit into my schedule and took me to a country I’ve always wanted to visit.
Little did I know that what I had crashed into was only the tip of the iceberg. Languages are a double-edged sword, enabling communication but also miscommunication. Another day presented another realization of how I was being misunderstood — or perhaps semi-understood.
If you are a cuisinomane (a Quebecoise amateur food connoisseur), look no further than this recipe of apple turnovers cherished across generations, made with many hands and ingredients chosen with love and enjoyed with family, old and new.
During my time in Cape Town, I was able to navigate the country of South Africa for six weeks with seven other Hopkins students. As I reflect on my time, I think about the memories I gained at CampusKey, the residential site I stayed at. CampusKey is home to many South African students studying at the University of Cape Town. There, I was able to be vulnerable and compassionate and, most importantly, learn from those around me. No matter if they were raised in the townships or in mixed (Coloured) communities, they treated us as family and welcomed us with open arms.
Coming to Hopkins as an international student during the pandemic, I really had no idea what to expect. We were still under some pandemic restrictions, especially on the Homewood Campus, and I had barely met anyone who would also be attending Hopkins that fall.
Spicy stir-fried squid is one of my favorite Korean meals – it’s a good pairing with rice, simple and heartfelt. This recipe is from my maternal grandmother. This squid dish is one of the many Korean dishes she made for a number of reasons: My dad is a seafood lover, the dish is diverse in ingredients and nutrition, and it’s a perfect blend of spicy and filling. To be completely honest, it was difficult for me to get this list of albeit simple instructions, because it was the first time she had to put into words something that had always been second nature to her.
Sharing my own South Korean culture and seeing how it fits in to the puzzle of the world has been a constant undercurrent both in my life and at my time here at Hopkins, and so I wanted to share some of my favorite pieces of Korean media with all you dear readers of this edition of The News-Letter’s Magazine.
I began my journey at Hopkins less than two months ago, and I find it hard to fathom how many new and rewarding experiences I got to add to my memory in merely these few weeks. It is, quite frankly, an absolute and extraordinary pleasure to be here. Dear Baltimore and Hopkins, thank you so much for having me.
Being African in the mid-2010s earned me rude comments on my appearance, my food and my way of communication. I used to evade inquiries into what I wore to Nigerian parties out of fear that people would see pictures and deem my clothes ugly.
As a Brazilian-American Jew, being Jewish is something that has always transcended my nationalities. I am American, and I am Brazilian, but before either of these things, I am Jewish.
If you told freshman-year me that I would be the editor-in-chief of my college newspaper, I would've looked at you in disbelief and questioned if you were talking to the right person.
Indulge your passing curiosities. If you have always liked going to museums, take an art history class. If you are passionate about feminism, take a class on reproductive rights. If you have ever wanted to know what torture feels like, take a physics class. Maybe what you learn will be useful, maybe it will not, but you will have fun. And I promise that one photography class is not going to ruin your chances at medical school.
