Hopkins is a diverse university where an incredible mix of cultures, academic interests and personalities coexist and thrive. Here is the section where you can publish your unique thoughts, ideas and perspectives on life at Hopkins and beyond.
My sister always does the deep frying. Unafraid of the hot oil, she lays two egg-and-flour-covered pork chops into the wok. They sizzle and solidify into crunchy golden pucks after which she stacks them on paper towels to allow the excess oil to drain.
When you listen to a vinyl, it is both the first and last time you’ll hear it. As the needle traverses the record it creates new grooves, subtle nicks here and there, like a co-producer editing the musical content beyond the control of its original artist.
Whenever my brother and I are back home in Manila, Philippines for break, we have a mission: to eat at all of our favorite restaurants. From the crepes of Café Breton to pasta at La Nuova Pasteleria to steak at Mamou, we have created a formidable list of places to go, always delighting in picking the restaurant of the day every time we eat out.
Attending a college as rigorous as Hopkins requires an extensive amount of time spent going to classes, completing assignments and studying for a never-ending stream of midterms. Because our days are filled with unceasing schoolwork, it can feel as though there is no time to do anything else.
One of my favorite photos of me as a child was taken in the kitchen of the house I was born in — I’m standing at a cabinet that’s taller than me, unopened packages of pasta strewn on the floor, wearing a red onesie that says “Moose!” that was later passed down to both of my sisters.
At 3:30 p.m., I finally received the phone call. Every Wednesday around three in the afternoon, I anticipated a phone call. I was expecting to hear back from a medical school that I interviewed at. On the day of my interview, they told me I would receive my results within six weeks.
As college students, we don’t always think a lot before having sex. We are so excited to explore all possibilities in life that we forget about the consequences of our actions. We go with the flow and do what feels right.
During my last week of studying abroad in Seville, Spain, I finally had the opportunity to go rowing in the canals of the Plaza de España, something I had been looking forward to for the entire semester. Even though I lived a five-minute walk away from the Plaza, I somehow hadn’t carved out the time to go rowing until the last possible moment.
Three out of four members of my family love watching Korean dramas. The one member, my father, who doesn’t like watching dramas always argues that, at the end of the day, it's fiction and we gain absolutely nothing from it except warm fuzzy feelings. Is fiction really that irrelevant?
I have been in France for just over three weeks. It’s still just the beginning of my time here, as my study abroad program runs until mid-May, but it’s incredible how much my life has changed in a few short weeks.
I am much better at buying notebooks than I am at finishing them. In fact, I have a sizable collection of half-used notebooks, journals and diaries filling my bookshelf at home and my desk drawer here in Baltimore.
On Dec. 31, I laid in my bed and typed out all my New Year's resolutions. I had spent nearly thirty minutes looking for my journal — all to no avail — so my notes app had to do.
The century ride. 100 miles, straight. It’s a milestone that many cyclists hit at one point in their lifetime. However, as an amateur cyclist only two years into the sport, I never thought I would hit the milestone so soon.
I cut twelve inches of my hair off a couple of weeks ago. Well, not intentionally. I walked in to the salon, said that I wanted it as short as it could be without my resembling Dora and thought I was going to get a chic Vanessa Hudgens bob out of it.
I dread winter. Snow-covered street lamps and snowflakes are anything but beautiful to me — the snow has always had a habit of dampening my clothes just enough to intensify the bitterness of the air until it is maddening. And, rather than declare the season of joy and fellowship, Christmas lights have only signified a time of frozen extremities and suffocating layers of clothing.
So, where’s your hometown? It’s one of the most typical and easy conversation-starting questions. Yet, it can be a hard stump for someone with a multicultural, multi-regional background. The Merriam-Webster dictionary’s first definition of home is “one’s place of residence.” However, as a college student, I technically have two residences: one where my parents and siblings live and the other here in Baltimore. Plus, my physical home has changed quite a lot growing up.
Can you believe it? It’s that season of the year when we all joyfully sing holiday songs and Christmas carols. The lyrics that come to mind right now are “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.” I literally sang those words out loud and did a happy little dance right in the middle of the library!
2022: a year that everyone looked forward to after COVID-19. Leading up to this year, I made a list of things I wanted to do, and like most other people, only ended up opening it once or twice throughout the year. Now when I look back, I realize 2022 had totally different plans for me than I originally thought.
Rationally I know that “being forgotten” is an inevitability. With over eight billion people on this Earth and millennia of generations past, I am ultimately just another number, another statistic in the world. My studies in Public Health, with its focus on population-level impacts and statistics, serve to strengthen this rationalization.
My China is China, and Carson’s China is China. I don’t think that one is better than the other. My China is precious and full of familial ties, but there is yet another version, maybe thousands of versions, that are equally as important. Carson’s foreigner perspective didn’t corrupt this place; it just looked at it from a different angle, seeing walls and mountains that I had never noticed before.
