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.
That night, that officer didn’t see two students but rather saw two suspects. His reason for stopping us related strongly to profiling. Considering that he didn’t even ask my friend for ID or proof of age, it was clear that even he knew his reason for stopping us had little to do with any curfew.
But like anything in this world, friendships cannot last forever. Whether through geographic distance or simply growing apart, I (like everyone) have lost so many friends through the years. It is a bittersweet reality I often ignore. But with the ever-thrumming churn of my brain, occasionally nostalgia pulls me back.
I’m tired of waiting for people to explain things that I already know. I’m tired of making sure that the ideas I raise and take ownership of don’t sound arrogant. I’m tired of caring about group dynamics and making sure I have all the right “soft skills.”
White feminism doesn’t account for the nuances in identity, particularly in race, but also in disability or sexuality. As one of my Muslim friends pointed out, white feminism was the feminist telling Muslim women to stop wearing a hijab because, “Don’t you want to be free?”
My feelings toward classic works of literature, or more specifically, toward British literature, have never been outstandingly positive. I never really enjoyed reading Pride and Prejudice or Wuthering Heights in high school, which wasn’t great because we had at least an entire year’s worth of English dedicated to British literature.
“What are you looking forward to most in college?” For any of who expected to party a lot, find your soul mate, achieve academic success or join a fraternity in good standing with the University: I’m sorry for the loss of your high school hopes and dreams.
As I sit on the floor of my room looking around for some inspiration about what to write about this week, I’m realizing that I’ve somehow managed to miss what is literally right in front of me, all around me and on me — not seeing the woods for the trees and all that, I guess.
Growing up, we face a lot of social pressure about the way we look. Spending hours staring in the mirror, agonizing over every little detail of our appearances is a trope of the modern middle schooler, but in reality that struggle continues far into adulthood.
This Thursday, I’m sure that many of you will be getting ready for the weekend as usual. But many of you will also likely be getting ready for a different type of day — International Women’s Day. Several groups across campus and Baltimore have been preparing to commemorate the event. But I’ll be honest, I’ve never heard of International Women’s Day before.
I was the one who actually made the poison order. I went online, researched my options, was disgusted by the cost and then promptly mentioned my little problem to my aunt who then graciously offered to buy it for me.
It’s time for engineers to stop researching weapons development. When I say engineers, I don’t only mean large organizations. I’m also talking about us — Hopkins students.
One of my favorite things to do in life is to eat, and another is to stay in bed. It is therefore inevitable that I would like eating in bed.
When I wrote my Common App essay, I had not yet achieved self-acceptance for being gay. But what if I had? Naturally, I turned to College Confidential.
In the past six months, a few people I vaguely know at Hopkins and a few Tinder boys who found my blog through creative Facebook searches sent me messages along the lines of: “Hey. I appreciate you and your writing. Want to go on a date?”
There’s a Marvel superhero you may have heard of if you’re into really obscure comics (like me). She’s sort of the Aquaman of the Marvel world, in that she’s often tragically underestimated to the point of mockery. Her wonderfully rhythmic name is Doreen Green. However, you might know her as Squirrel Girl.
Now that I am solidly into my second semester here, I’ve naturally been reflecting on my time in America thus far and have decided that now would be a good time to share some of the things that, six months into living here, I find (for lack of a better word) weird.
Despite living in “Seattle” all my life, in truth, there has always been a body of water separating me from authenticity. My hometown of Mercer Island, a suburb a few miles east of the Emerald City, is notorious for its culture of affluence — my preferred euphemism for snobbery.
ut to me, this book is relevant not just for its depiction of an ethically controversial medical procedure, but it’s also relevant for how it believably depicts the intricacies of family dynamics.
Another full week is almost over. But there’s something a bit strange about that statement. By now, many of us have likely forgotten this, but there was a national holiday just a few days ago. President’s Day went by with nearly no acknowledgement by anyone on campus, let alone a day off from classes
