It is with a sense of gratitude that I say goodbye to the community and exciting work that made my four years as Photo Editor of The News-Letter so special. Through taking thousands of photos and developing as a storyteller on the Homewood Campus, I am grateful to close this chapter with so many memories.
As a two-year editor for the Arts and Entertainment section of The News-Letter, I’ve received some flack for my approach to art criticism, especially in my coverage of Hopkins events. Though rarely said to my face, I’ve heard that my articles haven’t always been received well by certain student artists.
Dear Yana, I’m writing to you from my favorite couch in my four-person apartment that I share with some of the best friends I’ve ever had. It’s been a harder day than most, but I’ve looked after myself and managed to get some work done — and that’s a win in the university handbook.
I really wanted to make this article not sound cliché. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to avoid the five criteria listed up there, it started to meet all of them. So everyone, buckle up and get ready to be bored. Here is my clichéd farewell letter.
My best friends and I met at a birthday party in sophomore year for a girl named Tina. Did we know Tina? Absolutely not. But there we were, huddled in a stranger’s basement, eating cheap cupcakes. The hours spent laughing together came naturally, almost as if we were supposed to find each other that night.
Dear Freshman Dalila, Remember that first day you walked across campus, backpack heavy on your shoulders, heart even heavier with doubt? The morning sun cast long shadows of the century-old buildings across manicured lawns that seemed too perfect for someone like you to walk upon.
The branching-worlds theory posits that every decision we make splits our universe into separate parallel realities based on the potential outcomes. So sometimes, when it’s late at night and counting sheep just can’t force me to fall asleep, I think about the past — what would I do differently if I knew my future?
Dear Freshman Samhi, Welcome to Hopkins! As I was writing this letter, I really had to think back to who you were, what you were worried about, what you were experiencing — a lot has changed since you first stepped foot on the Homewood campus.
As the 2024–25 academic year comes to a close, we want to share our deepest gratitude to everyone who has helped the paper thrive. The past year has had unprecedented implications and impacts on higher education and students, and The News-Letter’s critical work would not be possible without the support of the Hopkins community.
I know that I’m a sentimental person. I tend to hold onto the very bits of all my memories, littering my room with the edges of ticket stubs and plane tickets, books that have been bent in a million ways and bills from dinners out with friends. As I add to this collection, I find that my last semester at Hopkins has made me feel more nostalgic than usual. I’m thinking back to all my memories — from all the seemingly insignificant ones that now define who I am to the tears and frustrations that I think have made me more resilient. However, at the end of the day, I think my four years here will hold a special place in my heart.
When I look back at child-me, it’s easy to see what has changed. I’ve gotten taller, older and less clumsy (arguably). My hobbies have shifted from playing with Barbies and American Girl Dolls to reading, watching movies and exploring new restaurants. I’m not as picky of an eater anymore and have expanded my palette to different cuisines and foods I would’ve previously shunned.
I’d like to think that I’ve done many hard things in life: I moved to a new country; I learned to speak English fluently in a household that did not; I got accepted into the college of my dreams as a first generation student. But learning to love myself was the hardest thing I’ve ever learned to do.
Looking through my favorites, it’s easy to think of my bookshelf as a biography. In reality, it is a mirror. Each time you revisit a book, a small trace of yourself gets snagged between the lines, the smudges accumulating like heights marked on the walls of a childhood home.
I think people spend too much time talking about who they want to be and not enough time talking about who they already are. It’s always about the next step; the next goal; the next milestone. Nobody ever asks, “What’s your favorite thing about yourself today?”
Through my veins runs a liquid similar to everyone else's, but as a Philadelphia Eagles fan, the sustenance has a unique color and composition we sum up as “green.”
As I approach the end of my undergraduate career at Hopkins, I’m looking forward to new adventures and novelty. I wanted to share some recommendations for places that have become some of me and my friends’ favorite spots in the city, in hopes that they will help you explore and better acclimate to your new home.
If I had to define my life, I would choose to define it not by what I’ve accomplished, but rather by the books I’ve read. I’ve spent my whole life passing from one story to the next. To me, it isn’t a choice to pick up the next book but, rather, a need to consume words.
Let’s start small: I’m sitting at my desk in Baltimore. It’s piled full of books I’ve been reading for classes: stacks of novellas and chapbooks, a linguistics textbook, and a handful of children’s books. Beside me is an oven-safe ceramic; within it sits a raw, frozen chocolate croissant, ready to thaw and rise while I sleep.
I just had some of the driest chicken of my life at Hopkins Cafe, and now I’m in the overcrowded Brody Reading Room having just spent 30 minutes playing Brawl Stars instead of studying. Classic.
I always knew that I wanted to be a princess. Golden castles, sparkling gowns and a kingdom that adored me: What more could a little girl want?
