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.
In two hours, I’m going to be logging in to my last class, which is going to be the last class I ever attend. It feels like a milestone in my life — leaving the comfort of academia to finally venture out into the unknown.
Our semesters were cut short almost five weeks ago. Since we received that first email announcing that classes wouldn’t resume until April 12, I had been struggling with the decision to go home to Singapore. The uncertainty surrounding when the University would reopen and the perils of airports and airplanes at a time like this were some of the reasons that this decision was extremely difficult.
I want to start by saying that this is completely natural to feel after a breakup. Your ex-boyfriend was at one point a significant part of your life and someone you cared for, so it’s natural to wonder what he’s up to now. Sometimes even years after we sever a relationship with someone, we wonder what or how they’re doing. This is common, but that doesn’t make it any easier; it’s a tough temptation to get over.
My mind feels like a graffitied wall. Emotions are scribbled diagonally and circularly in curlicue font and bold typeface. The neon colors are the random FaceTime calls from friends I miss. Black ramblings are the moments right before I go to sleep and right after I wake up and I remember why I’m in the room I left behind three years ago. Why is it that when it is mandated to stay home I want to leave the most?
I’ve communicated with one friend since the shutdown. He’s my only friend. The roads outside are barren, the blossoming flowers and warm rays of sunshine an insult. Beyond our neighborhood, soccer fields and playgrounds are plastered with apocalyptic signs that read, “Indefinitely closed for COVID-19. KEEP OUT!” coupled with a marginally more romantic, “Practice social distancing and wash your hands :).” These days I have so much time to write and reflect upon my life.
I have, like the rest of us, been feeling a mushy amalgamation of lethargy and unease. Each endless Sunday I wake up anytime between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m., eat whatever meal feels the most appropriate, and weave in and out of Zoom meetings, naps, Netflix binge sessions and schoolwork.
My French has faltered many times, especially in rather unforgiving environments like Paris. Yet I have always felt more confident speaking it than Hindi, the language I grew up hearing. My parents, who are Indian immigrants, have always spoken it at home, but never pushed me to when I was growing up.
It can be difficult to practice self-love while in quarantine. Despite what Instagram and TikTok will have you believe, most of us are not doing daily high intensity interval training, baking bread or cleaning our rooms. Many of us are actually just sitting at home losing academic motivation, panicking about summer internships and contemplating whether or not to go outside that day.
Senior set. Many dance groups do it — Eclectics, Korean Pop Motion, SLAM — as one of those college traditions filled with pride and mystery. At each annual dance showcase, the seniors of the club perform a special set of their own, the result of months of practicing in secret and a capstone to our four years at Hopkins.
In this tumultuous yet simultaneously tedious time at home, I have to keep reminding myself that there is a light at the end of tunnel. Though we sadly do not know when we will see the light, how bright it will be, if it is actually there or not, whether or not it will reschedule graduation, if our government is really doing all they can, whether we will even get to vote this year or...
Gaslighting, coined from the 1938 play Gas Light, is defined as the psychological manipulation of someone such that they begin to doubt their own sanity and beliefs. In doing so, the “gaslighter” can more easily control and influence their victim. ] This isn’t a story about how I was gaslighted. This is a story of what happens after.
On my 20th birthday, at the end of March, I had been planning to dress up real cute, round up my closest friends, buy dinner, and then go out and party. It probably goes without saying, but that of course was not what ended up happening. And honestly, I’m fairly sad about it.
Have you ever felt like you are faking it? More often than not, I find myself deeply concerned that someone will find out who I am really am. Not that I am bad, but rather, not as intelligent or as talented as someone would initially believe.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind rollercoaster of emotions. I’ve felt everything from ecstatic to guilty to so upset that I found myself sobbing uncontrollably on the floor.
March 11 (the day before) 1 p.m.: I struggled through Mythos, a mystery board game based on H.P. Lovecraft’s writings, with my Storytelling Workshop: How a Narrative Works classmates. It was pretty scary; or maybe I’m just easily scared by horror stories.
I sleep funny. While it has varied in severity over the course of the past eight or so years, I can’t ever remember a time where I had a normal sleep schedule.
This is a question we are all facing today: How do we maintain the close friendships we’ve made during our time in college? It’s tough to stay in touch when you can’t see your friends face to face and are unsure of when you’ll be back together in person.
The other day, I entered my room and heard the faint sounds of birds chirping. I, of course, immediately assumed that I had forgotten to turn off a Spotify playlist, “Nature Sounds,” which I often listen to as I do work.
Two weeks and two days after making it official, my boyfriend (my first ever!) and I moved in together. Needless to say, our relationship is moving rather quickly. Our very first date was on Feb. 14; I suppose I sort of lied in my last column when I wrote that I was destined to be single on Valentine’s Day — “barring any unlikely developments.”
On March 18, 2020, exactly four years after most seniors received their acceptance letters to Hopkins, we received an email detailing the University’s tough decision to suspend all in-person classes for the rest of the semester.
