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Last summer, I bought The Idiot by Elif Batuman — partially because of its interesting title and partially because it had a buy-one-get-one-half-off sticker. It was collecting dust on my shelf until a month into the fall term. There couldn’t have been a better time to start reading it, given that it’s a book about the narrator Selin’s experience as a freshman.
I was always a secret romantic. I wanted the love we saw in movies: the passionate kind, the heart rumbling, fire sparking, all-consuming love that is glorified in Hollywood movies. But what I didn’t realize in my early teens was how similar this “all-consuming” love was to emotional abuse. How behind the romantic gestures made by the male actors was a deep rooted objectification of female bodies.
Spring is here (at least in my mind). It’s that time of jazz quartets and daffodils, iced lattes, and new romances. Do I sound like Gossip Girl? GOOD. Carrie Bradshaw? EVEN BETTER. I want to sound like her, she was super talented. Rest in peace, Carrie. (I like to think she was trampled by a camel after the second Sex and the City movie ended.)
Although I’m writing this column a few days before its publication and I’ve learned to remain wary of weather forecasts (just as I don’t trust Roombas, wall-safe tape and people who don’t like anchovies), I can’t contain my excitement at the prospect of a 64-degree day. Even if it will be mostly overcast and rain will arrive in the evening, this Thursday is expected to be relatively warm, and I can’t wait.
If listening was simply paying attention to a sound, such as what someone is saying, with great eye contact, nodding your head and with open body posture, it would be easy. At least, I would find it easier than it really is. However, people often come to talk to you about something and want you to say something in response. Sometimes this can be an affirmation of their feelings, telling them that you really hear them, but some people need more of a nudge to keep talking.
Dear Anxiety, I’ve never died before, but sometimes you’ve made it feel like I’ve been pretty damn close.
Before you dismiss this as a ranting feminist article, hear me out. Even in liberal, American cities about 23% of men find feminism unnecessary. Even 7% of women find feminism unnecessary. There are countless photos of women on the internet holding up signs which read: “If I’m wearing a top like this I want you to look” and “I don’t need feminism because I love men!” There are endless other examples of women who are not only complacent but adamant that their role in society is justified.
Why did I come here? This is a question I have been asking myself a lot recently. In a school that produces primarily STEM and Public Health majors, and especially those focused on boosting their track records for medical school, my Political Science major and pre-law aspirations have often felt a little out of place. Even in the world of the humanities, I’m vastly outnumbered by students in programs like the Writing Seminars and International Studies.
“My break up tally: Break ups = 20000+; Cancelled engagements = 70; Divorces = 80.”
Pre-Hopkins, whenever I was asked who my role models were, my answer was immediate; almost mechanically, I would respond with, “my mother and Audrey Hepburn.” One from real life who taught me what it is to be both strong and kind, and one who taught me what grace and elegance are but whose character I could only infer from others’ encounters.
For the past four years, I have been a part of the student-written, student-directed theater group on campus, Witness Theater. It was the first activity that I participated in my freshman year, and I have written, acted, and directed for them, sometimes all at the same time, ever since. I was even elected the Workshop Coordinator this past year, which means I got to help other students edit and polish their short plays.
We have all heard this story before. What we were in high school and what we imagined ourselves becoming in college. Our reality, unfortunately rarely matches up with our expectations. In high school, my work-load was never enough to fulfill me, so I always did more than the required amount. I debated and I wrote and I took Literature and Math and all of those AP classes that I’m sure half the population at Hopkins took.
So the Oscars were somewhat disappointing. Just three years after the #OscarsSoWhite boycott, just two years after the subsequent wave of pushing for more diverse voices in Hollywood began, the Academy has honored Bohemian Rhapsody and Green Book with some of the supposedly highest honors Hollywood has to offer. Especially as the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements continue to call on Hollywood to hold sexual assaulters accountable, these wins are pretty upsetting for a number of reasons, though, unfortunately, not all that surprising.
Sitting down at a miraculously vacant table in the Levering Café during that 12:50 to 1:30 lunch rush, I prepared my defense. “No, it’s totally cooked.” “You eat canned tuna, don’t you?” “Taste it, you really can’t tell the difference.”
Come each Thursday, I ask my columnists to commit to being vulnerable, to sharing what’s going on in their lives — be it the good, the bad or the ugly — with our readers. Time and time again they surpass my expectations.
I made a mistake last semester. Despite my terrible experience freshman year, I decided to take three writing-intensive classes again. Moreover, I began working with a new student organization, while doubling down on my commitment to another. Additionally, at my work-study job, a full-time employee was preparing to retire, so I accepted more hours in order to keep everything running smoothly in the office.
Call me Elizabeth.
As a member of A Place To Talk (APTT), a peer listening group on campus, I am very lucky to have learnt how to really listen to others in a way that can help someone tackle almost any problem. This doesn’t mean I can fix every situation that I hear about. On the contrary, APTT’s number one rule is that we do not give advice.
