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.
“I really liked spring semester as a whole. You’ll hear a lot of older students telling you that second semester is better than the first. They’re right. First semester is cool because you get introduced to a bunch of new and amazing people, but it’s also difficult because of all the adjusting."
Congratulations! You’re a Hopkins freshman! Get ready for the next four years to be filled with… well, what do you want them to be filled with?
Of all of the things that can overwhelm incoming freshmen, the academic rigor of Johns Hopkins is one of the more common ones. Even though the students here are among the best and brightest that high schools have to offer, it’s no secret that a prestigious university like Hopkins is a challenge for everyone. Grades are a popular fixation among students everywhere, and there’s really only one way to get the ones you want: studying. Whether you’re a student who studied well in high school or a student who hasn’t had to study in their life, preparing for tests in college can be intimidating. So, to hopefully make studying less scary, I’ll share some of my tips for more effective test prep.
Whether you’re still wearing your lanyard (please take her off), vomiting illegal liquids into the communal bathroom sink, or facing newfound commitment issues with romantic partners and extracurriculars, this year is sure to bring a multitude of missteps and debacles. But fret not! How else will you mature from a collegiate fetus into a wise Blue Jay?
“Are you planning on going to medical school?” This question has plagued me since my decision to attend Hopkins. The University is known primarily as a science, technology, engineering and mathematics — or STEM — school. We have an outstanding, world-renowned medical school, fantastic research opportunities at various labs around campus and no shortage of a multitude of science and engineering advances made by Hopkins researchers.
After 13 years of dying to leave Korea, I spent much of my first semester at Hopkins wanting to go back.
Dear Freshman Jessica, I have decided to take the time and effort to write you this letter because I know you need it. Really. You think you know better but you’re wrong. I can see through the smiles and the small talk and the social media posts and “everything-is-great-why-would-you-think-otherwise” facade. You’re homesick. You’re stressed. You dread large social gatherings. You sleep five hours a night (on a good night). You really hate calculus. You hate the rain and the humidity and the snow and are really starting to regret not going to sunny UCLA with the rest of Glendora High School.
The Beach Behind the Hopkins sign lies a large grassy expanse. Though nowhere near the ocean, this field is called “The Beach.” In warmer weather, students hang out and have picnics. In colder weather, students build snowmen, go sledding and have snowball fights.
These past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. I guess you could call it a mid-undergrad crisis. Then again, it is kind of the opposite of a mid life crisis. In its typical upper-middle class description, mid life crises usually involve someone with expendable capital, plenty of skill and experience, who nonetheless struggle to find meaningful experiences for themselves as they pass the ‘peak’ of their life.
The semester is coming to a close and so is my time as a trainer for A Place To Talk. I am most proud of my co-trainer and trainees who have all done such an excellent job over these many weeks of training and grown so much. The good news is that I will be the Internal Training Director next year! So, if I have convinced you to become a great listener, apply. Spring or fall, you are most welcome. Reading this column will have definitely taught you a thing or two.
A Pakistani male artist Ali Zafar was recently accused of harassing another Pakistani female artist Meesha Shafi. Shafi claimed that the harassment had occurred on several occasions, and she had chosen to stay quiet about it because she had blocked it out.
A few days back, I found an LA Times article online: “To fight K-pop’s influence in China, a club teaches young boys to be alpha males.” Intrigued, I read it. The author explains that a masculinity crisis has developed in China, thanks to the kinds of celebrities that were on Chinese media. After all, if you ever saw male K-pop stars, you would know how feminine their makeup is, how pretty their dyed hair is, how un-manly their style of dress is! Surely they are the opposite of what a real man is!
It’s not often that you get to lead with your best friend. The summer before this year — our senior year — we road-tripped up to the Jersey shore and stood on the beach with no idea of the year that was ahead of us as Editors-in-Chief. We had been close for a long time, but this was the year that we became inseparable. Twenty-plus-hour News-Letter work weeks, bookended by weekends full of laughter, reflection and nights in Baltimore and Brody. And now, with only a few weeks until graduation, we can’t help but look back on this whirlwind year and marvel at how it’s all coming to a close so soon.
About a week ago, I was sitting down in Brody Cafe interviewing another student for an upcoming feature about Earth Day in the News & Features section of The News-Letter. He explained that he and some of his peers were working on planting a butterfly garden outside the FFC. They were going to plant milkweed in that little patch of land so that migrating Monarch butterflies could stop and feed while making their long journey home.
Everybody has music that defines their childhood. Maybe if your parents were massive dead-heads, you’ll think of The Grateful Dead. For a lot of people, it was whatever was on the radio, or what their older siblings were into; usually some combination of The Killers, The Backstreet Boys or Destiny’s Child.
We don’t talk about what makes us uncomfortable, but we should. Sexual assault is not a new phenomenon. It is not, and never will be, a result of the way someone dresses or the way someone acts. Burkas and ball gowns know assault just as booty shorts do. The male gaze is as pertinent as ever; the powerful gazing upon the marginalized as if their stares can strip autonomy. It’s the 21st century and survivors are just now finally gaining space to be able to share their experiences.
As a busy Hopkins student, I’m guilty of joining my peers in a familiar refrain: “I wish I had more time to read the news!” Throughout high school, my family always had cable television news or the news radio station as a backdrop to our daily lives. Without this passive flow of information in my college routine, I’ve had to adjust how I consume my news in order to stay up to date with the latest political happenings.
In the weeks following spring break, I’ve been struck, yet again, by constant hankerings for the flavors of home. As I’ve already written in this column, these cravings include the meals my mother and the other phenomenal home cooks in my family dish out to my clamoring cousins and me. However, I also find myself longing for my favorite bites from mom-and-pop businesses all over North Jersey.
I’m not the type of person who opens up. I don’t have a lot of experience letting the people around me know how I’m feeling at any given moment. I often feel like I’m caught between who I am and who other people think I am. As a result it feels like I’m constantly walking on eggshells to be the person everyone expects me to be. That’s always been difficult for me, but I thought it was just normal. I thought walking on eggshells was human nature.
This morning I emerged from the shower, fully prepared to dress myself in the clothes I had picked out last night, and paused. “What am I getting dressed up for?” I flashed back to 16-year-old me picking out high-waisted black pants from my uniform and remembered hearing, “You’re going to school, it’s not a fashion show.” Slightly reluctantly, I zipped up my red knee-high boots, wrapped my sparkly black, white and red coat around me, and tossed my tote bag on my arm.
