On April 8 - the same day that the University spokesperson confirmed the revocation of the initial dozen of visas - Teachers and Researchers United (TRU-UE) sent a letter with five demands to President Ronald J. Daniels, Provost Ray Jayawardhana, Vice Provost Sabine Stanley, University Deans, and the Board of Trustees, calling for the University to take actions to oppose the Trump administration's policies affecting research, academic freedom and non-citizen students.

The letter was co-signed by UNITE HERE Local 7, the Hopkins Justice Collective (HJC), Hopkins Graduate Students for Justice in Palestine, the Graduate Student Association at the School of Medicine, CAIR Maryland and the executive committee of the American Association of University Professors at Hopkins.

The demands included that the University be declared a sanctuary campus, which includes prohibiting any law enforcement officials from accessing campus to enforce immigration laws and University Public Safety and the Johns Hopkins Police Department (JHPD) from complying with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), Customs and Border Protection and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). According to the letter, the University should also implement a campus-wide notification system to inform Hopkins affiliates of the presence and location of federal law enforcement.

Broadly, TRU-UE also demanded abolishing the JHPD due to the recent cooperation between university police forces with ICE and/or DHS officers at other schools, which they argue threatens students.

"The recent collaboration of other Universities' private police forces with federal immigration agencies, including (but not limited to) raids on student housing on and off-campus, demonstrates the increased vulnerability of students and workers to police repression. The presence of the JHPD threatens our wider community, severely lacks popular support, and only serves the interests of Hopkins and not of its community," TRU-UE stated.

Additionally, TRU-UE called on the University to end surveillance and data collection of students and workers in regards to protest and student conduct incidents and/or disciplinary records, educate the community on non-citizen rights and legal support, and commit to funding research projects and providing support for doctoral candidates.

The letter further demanded that the University stand behind their core values by publicly establishing itself as against the politicization of research through participating in legal action against the administration, as well as broadly providing legal and policy resources and support to targeted researchers. Specifically, the letter contended that there has been a lack of action from the University relative to other institutions.

"Even as peer institutions like Yale, Princeton, and Tufts take action to support their students, faculty, and workers, Johns Hopkins has hidden from view, only signing onto one lawsuit against this administration's overreach-against the cuts to NIH indirect funds," they wrote. "We demand that [administration] step up in defense of our community, and make clear that efforts to deport non-US citizens, intimidate free speech rights, block research, and censor academic freedom will not be tolerated."

The letter ended by stating that a University response and receipt of confirmation was expected within 7 calendar days.

In an email to The News-Letter, a University spokesperson stated the University was reviewing the full letter from TRU-UE and will respond directly to them. The spokesperson continued by stating that the University is committed to assisting international students "to the greatest extent permissible under the law" and described resources available to students.

"We share the serious concerns in our community arising from recent federal immigration actions where it appears as though individuals are not receiving fulldue processunder the law, a basic tenet of the American legal system," they wrote. "International affiliates are deeply valued members of the Johns Hopkins community, and the university is providing a range of services to aid affected students through the Offices of International Services, Academic Advising, and Student Health and Wellbeing."

HJC, a cosigner of the letter, supported TRU-UE's demands on their public platforms and had called for the University to declare itself as a sanctuary campus in a letter to administrators in late March.

Recently, HJC called for students and faculty to make classes hybrid until the University guarantees "protection" for international students and encouraged faculty to support graduate students virtually to finish their programs. HJC demanded that the University issue a formal statement declaring that the University will not allow ICE and/or DHS to enter campus without a warrant and will not comply with requests for student information.

On the OIS website and in a memo providing guidance from Feb. 1, the University stated that federal law enforcement officers are not permitted on non-public areas of campus - such as classrooms, residence halls and faculty offices - without legal authorization including a valid warrant or court order.

In an email to the Hopkins community on Friday, April 11, University administration shared that they would host the first of a virtual briefing series, called Community Updates, focused on immigration and visas. The briefing is scheduled for Tuesday, April 15 form 1 p.m.-1:45 p.m. and will feature Branville Bard, the vice president of Public Safety and chief of police; Tiffany Wright, interim vice president and general counsel; James Brailer, associate vice provost for international student and scholar services; and Stephen Gange, executive vice provost of academic affairs.

"We have heard from many of you with questions about the impact of these actions on your ability to pursue your education, continue research and provide the care and service that is our university's core mission," the email stated.

The News-Letter is actively reporting on students who may be targeted for visa termination, detainment or actions by ICE. If you have any information, please send a tip to tips@jhunewsletter.com or utilize our anonymous tip form.

Featured in the panel were: Danielle Evans, associate professor in the Writing Seminars department; Abraham Stoll, director of the Theatre Arts and Studies program; and Jennifer Kingsley, an associate teaching professor and director of the Program in Museums and Society. The panel was moderated by Daniel Weiss, Homewood professor of the humanities and former president of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Following a brief introduction, Weiss invited each panelist to introduce their work along with what they hoped students - even those not interested in arts careers - would take away from the arts programming at Hopkins.

Evans spoke first, representing the Hopkins writing program. She explained that through workshops and discussions, she wants her students to think about "what moves them aesthetically." Evans argued that creative writing could equip students with social skills like communication and mutual understanding, thereby introducing one of the most vital functions of the arts: connection.

"Part of what we do in the workshop space is think about the difference between what someone meant to say and what someone else heard," she explained, adding later that this is "part of what makes us human."

Next, Stoll contributed his perspective based on his work in the Theatre Arts and Studies program. Recognizing the "long history of playmaking" at Hopkins, Stoll began by describing the complex and rich theater ecosystem here, made up of "real artists who know how to do things from every facet of the playmaking process." The lessons we can learn from theater, he went on to explain, have to with "immediacy" and "humanity." Because theater requires that all its participants be physically gathered in the same space, it enforces the sensation of a shared presence.

In addition, though the Theatre Arts and Studies program is currently only a minor, Stoll expressed a desire to expand it.

"If Hopkins were serious about the fine arts," he added, "they would think about building the theater program into a major."

Finally, Kingsley brought in her experience working in the Museums and Society program. Her goal is to demystify visual arts, art history and museum curation for her students.

"Whatever their background, I want my students to feel like they can go to a museum and make meaning for themselves out of that experience [and] make meaning with their communities," Kingsley stated.

Kingsley also highlighted the lifelong skills that studying Museums and Society can provide, such as the ability to put yourself out there, and the recognition that failure leads to "innovation, creativity and change."

The next question Weiss posed for the panelists had to do with the University's connection to Baltimore. Considering that Hopkins is situated in "one of the great arts cities," Weiss asked each speaker to reflect on how they are engaging with the local arts community.

Evans began by introducing The Hopkins Review, which often publishes local writing and has a tradition of using the work of Baltimore artists as the cover image. She also talked about the community-based learning program (CBL) at Hopkins, which guides Hopkins students through the process of teaching Baltimore school students about writing. Through CBL, students can learn about concepts like redlining and school segregation - in other words, what it takes to go into a specifically Baltimore classroom."

Stoll referenced a course he teaches called "Shakespeare to Baltimore," which engages students with the community through the act of playgoing. Then, Kingsley added the insight she gained from her collaborations with Baltimore's cultural institutions, as well as the practicum courses she teaches. Much of her and her students' work in relation to the city has to do with "learning how to ask questions, listen and gather information, and become a historical record of this moment."

As an example, Kingsley brought up her involvement with a pressing current issue: What should Baltimore do with its Confederate monuments? Questions like these, she explained, must be approached through a curious and artistically-informed position, one that considers "what thinking and feeling in the city [means] in this moment."

At this point, the panel turned the discussion over to questions from the audience.

The first question, which came from an alum, had to do with the University's STEM reputation and what steps the University is taking to involve their science majors in the arts.

In response, the panelists spoke on their desire to help students balance anxieties about fulfilling credits with an inclination towards classes in the arts. Kingsley brought up groups like the Museum Club and other ways for the arts to reach students in their social lives. In terms of curriculum, Evans mentioned that the school does mandate certain arts-oriented courses like First-Year Seminars, ensuring that students get some amount of exposure to non-STEM classwork in their time at Hopkins.

Most encouragingly, Weiss chimed in, Hopkins students don't need a curricular mandate to show interest in the arts. Referencing the museums classes he taught to a majority of STEM majors, he emphasized the potential for engaging students across disciplines in the arts.

"The culture has evolved," he observed, "but we need to be there for these students at the outset [of their interest in the arts]."

One of the most poignant questions, which came from an online listener, was: "It's hard to deny that the value of the arts has been under fire both currently and for decades. What can universities and institutions like Hopkins do in the face of such opposition and defunding to relay how vital the arts are to our humanity and economy?"

While both Stoll and Kingsley spoke on the empirical evidence for the benefits of an arts education, Weiss added this call to action:

"Across the planet, regardless of the kind of educational or cultural background they have, we know how important [artistic education] is. It is up to us, as leading educational institutions, not to be passive on these questions, but to be advocates for them, because we know from our own experience that it matters and that we are all touched by the arts - even people who say they aren't," he emphasized. "They go home and read a book or they go to the movies - those are forms of art that touch their lives. So it is not a moment for us to be quiet about [the arts], but to make the case [for it] - not just arguing but to make it thoughtfully and intelligently, in compelling ways."

This talk happened alongside the work currently being done by the Hopkins Taskforce on the Arts, as Weiss explained in his opening remarks. The Taskforce meets monthly to discuss how to advance the arts at Hopkins, drawing from the strength of preexisting programs while also finding new ways to connect with Baltimore's resources. Led by Weiss, the Taskforce of 15 people includes trustees and students, as well as Kingsley.

In an interview with The News-Letter, Kingsley elaborated on the importance of advancing the arts, and how she hopes this initiative will affect students.

"Personally, I hope every student comes away feeling like the arts are for them - however they want to experience them," she said. "There is so much opportunity here... the possibilities are endless - and arts staff and faculty are super dedicated to connecting students to these opportunities."

Kingsley spoke on the rich offerings at the school, like courses, clubs and performances. She also urged Hopkins students to connect with Baltimore, pointing out that it is home to acclaimed artists like Billie Holiday and Adrienne Rich.

"I also hope that students take away a sense of what the arts can offer them in terms of self-discovery and connecting with people across differences," Kingsley concluded. "I think that's such an important part of the college experience."

With that, here are my personal recommendations for the week:

To put your eyes to work doing more than memorizing equations, tune in this Thursday to watch the series premiere of the television show Ransom Canyon created by April Blair. Deep down, I believe we all wonder about what goes on in the small towns of Texas. Ransom Canyon scratches that itch with a story following three ranching dynasties quarreling over land and love.

If you're not curious about the small towns in Texas, then how about a remote village in northern England? Seán Hewitt's debut novel Open, Heaven gifts readers a window into one year in the lives of two teenage boys entangled in a romantic relationship with one another. 16-year-old James feels cloistered as a queer boy in his rural town. It's the slightly older Luke who compels James to take the leap and transform his life - as for how, you'll have to read the book to find out.

Speaking of transformations and new endeavors, be sure to make room in your week to check out the album Send a Prayer My Way by Julien Baker & TORRES. Fans may be familiar with Baker from her time in boygenius alongside Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers. Now, however, Baker is stepping into the indie music genre and trying on American country for a change. I know I'm eager to meet this new persona of Baker's.

For in-person arts entertainment, look no further than our University's own Shriver Hall, where on April 19 from 7:30-10 p.m. the Hopkins Symphony Orchestra (HSO) will be presenting Marina Piccinini and Stefan Jackiw. In the words of HSO, they "will feature not one, but two world-class soloists." The evening will begin with Sibelius' Finlandia before Jackiw will assume the stage to perform Berg's Violin Concerto. Audience members won't leave before being privileged with Piccinini's masterful rendition of Nielsen's Flute Concerto. After reading all of that, this certainly sounds like a performance not to be missed.

If somehow none of the recommendations above convinced you - or if you're feeling hungry, hunting for even more to consume - here are some more to consider:

To watch...

• Government Cheese created by Aeysha Carr and Paul Hunter - April 16
• Sherlock & Daughter created by Brendan Foley - April 16
• Ransom Canyon created by April Blair - April 17
• The Rehearsal (season premiere) created by Nathan Fielder - April 20

To read...

• Open, Heaven by Seán Hewitt - April 15
• The Proof of My Innocence by Johnathon Coe - April 15
• Hellions by Julia Elliott - April 15
• Things Left Unsaid by Sara Jafari - April 15
• stay with me by Hanne Ørstavik - April 15
• Bitter Texas Honey by Ashley Whitaker - April 15

To listen...

• Send a Prayer My Way by Julien Baker & TORRES - April 18
• A Study of Losses by Beirut - April 18
• 5ive by Davido - April 18
• Thunderball by Melvins - April 18

Live events...

• Writing Seminars Reading Series: Yona Harvey: Sullivan and Elder Visiting Poet - April 16, 6-7 p.m. in Gilman 50
  • This event is free and open to the public; registration is not required.
• Visiting Artist Talk: Sara Shaoul - April 16, 4-5 p.m. at the JHU-MICA Film Centre
  • This event is free; registration is not required.
• Peabody Institute Dance Showcase - April 18, 12:30-1:30 p.m. at the Hopkins Bloomberg Center in Washington, D.C.
  • Tickets are free; online registration is required.
• HSO Presents: Marina Piccinini & Stefan Jackiw - April 19, 7:30-10 p.m. in Shriver Hall
  • Tickets are free for Hopkins students with valid identification; register online.

1. Listen.
2. Remember (what you just listened to).
3. No excuses.

These rules, created by the legendary Coach Herman Johnson, have transformed the Bentalou Recreation Center into the beating heart of its community. Thousands of kids have matriculated through the program, leveraging their experiences to become college athletes, embark on new careers and even, occasionally, go professional. No one can speak to the impact of this initiative better than alum and Coach Paul Franklin, who, alongside Coach Kelly Phillips, currently leads Bentalou's basketball program.

In an interview with The News-Letter, Coach Paul commented on the philosophy of the program and its lifelong impact

"Bentalou absolutely prepared me for life itself," he explained. "Because at the Center you learn that even if you have differences with people in the neighborhood or others, none of that transpires inside of the gym -everything's dropped at the door. And in life, a lot of times, you have to drop your ego at the door. I learned that lesson early."

An alum of Morgan State University and a Navy Veteran, Coach Paul also discussed another vital lesson the program instilled in him, one that he seeks to pass that along to the new generations.

"I also learned [at Bentalou] that you don't win in everything in life, and that you lose sometimes, right?" he added. "And so the best thing to happen when you lose is to work hard, not to get mad about it, not to get upset or distracted, but to work harder to achieve what it is that you didn't attain."

Alongside its educational and athletic mission, the Bentalou Center is also a fully independent community recreation center, operating on a budget drawn directly from donations and some private grants. Coach Paul credits his wife, Celeste Nelson, with organizing vital fundraising initiatives and helping him continue the work of Bentalou.

In an interview with The News-Letter, Nelson discussed her motivations to work in community engagement:

"I'm from Brooklyn, NY., and when I came here [after meeting my husband], I was like 'Wow.' You know Downtown, by the Lexington Market, it looked kind of depressed," she said. "So I was like, 'What's going on out here?' And it was mostly people of color, my color. And I said 'something happened here', and I want to get involved."

Nelson's experience led her to create ITSUITSYOU, an organization dedicated to providing both career guidance and practical materials such as suits for young men in the Baltimore Community.

"What [the project] did is that it assisted people that were recovering addicts, ex-offenders and veterans," Nelson revealed. "We started giving them life skills and looking at their profiles, and a lot of them had records, so we knew we couldn't get them white-collar jobs. So we prepared them for blue-collar, and I [collaborated] with a lot of companies."

At the Bentalou Center, Nelson both organizes the fundraising for the basketball team and has a mentorship initiative of her own, the Big Mama program for young girls. Funding is especially vital for activities such as Bentalou's summer day camp Project Survival, which is free of charge for pupils, as well as organizing field trips for students.

On the subject of field trips, on Saturday April 5, 37 children from Bentalou arrived at the Johns Hopkins Athletic Center, greeted by Associate Teaching Professor in the History department Victoria Harms and several Hopkins football athletes who lead the Blue Jays for Baltimore nonprofit. Hosted as part of the Bentalou's spring program, students came to the Homewood Campus to learn more about college athletics and to spend a day with the Hopkins community.

The morning's first event was a talk by Life Design Lab educator for student-athletes, Antonio Boone, who spoke about the importance of maintaining high grades for becoming a college-level athlete.

"If you change your jersey number to the grades you got in school, would you still be proud of it?" he questioned.

Next, the kids watched Hopkins students play basketball in an informal practice before having the opportunity to show off their own hard-earned Bentalou basketball skills on the court. The Bentalou kids kindly explained the techniques they had learned from Coach Paul and Coach Kelly to many of the volunteers with no basketball experience.

Then, after many moments of fun-filled chaos on the courts, the kids gathered for a tour of the Hopkins athletes' locker rooms and mini Q&A with Hopkins student athletes. They learned about both the fun and realistic facets of a student athlete's life: decorating the locker room for "Senior Day," the time demands of practices and the rehabilitation room for athletes with injuries.

Finally, to cap off the busy day, each one of the kids stood alongside a Hopkins Men's Lacrosse player, as "anthem buddies," for the National Anthem during the 2025 Homecoming lacrosse game against Ohio State University.

Current President and junior Brian Doherty and former Vice President and senior Oliver Craddock of Blue Jays for Baltimore, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, spoke to The News-Letter about how the event came to be and the burgeoning partnership between Blue Jays for Baltimore and the Bentalou Center.

Craddock explained the organization's mission is centered around two important themes.

"One is helping kids and giving them opportunities - usually centered around sports, but just opportunities in general - in any way that we can, building connections and being mentors to kids in the community around us," he explained. "The second is bringing the Hopkins community together, and that includes different sports teams and, just generally, professors like Professor Harms on campus."

After the success of last week's event, there will likely be many collaborations between Bentalou and Blue Jays for Baltimore in the future, as Doherty expressed hope that the two organizations would continue working together,

"I definitely think working with Bentalou is something that we want to keep doing moving forward. We want to continue to grow that relationship… but really, it's just, you know, asking [Bentalou] what they need, and going from there," he added.

To support Blue Jays for Baltimore, readers can follow @bluejaysforbaltimore to learn more about their fundraising events, including concerts and trivia nights.

"Just coming to events like that and just supporting the cause, you know, paying a couple dollars, really does go a long way when we have big turnouts for those events. If anyone wants to get involved in a larger capacity…there's totally a need in the community, so if you have any ideas or just want to get involved in a larger sense, we totally have projects that we're thinking about," Craddock says.

To support the Bentalou Center directly, readers can access its fundraising website, managed by Celeste Nelson, here. Bentalou is currently fundraising for Project Survival Summer Basketball. Additionally, the basketball program always welcomes spectators for its matches.

The New-Letter: Alright, let's kick things off. Tell us the story behind the name "Underground Pizza." What's the meaning behind it?

Evan Weinstein: It all started during the pandemic. Before COVID-19, I was in the event business: underground EDM shows, dubstep parties, Moonrise Festival, you name it. When I first started making pizzas, I was doing it straight out of my house. I'd meet people in parking lots or on street corners, basically selling pies out of my trunk - pizzas I baked at home, not in a fully equipped commercial kitchen.

So yeah, the name made total sense. Underground Pizza - it was literally an underground thing. It fit what we were doing. Even the music we play at the restaurant still carries that underground vibe.

N-L: That's awesome. So remind us - before pizza, you were in ticketing, right?

EW: Yeah, I was in the concert and event space. I'd done everything from warehouse raves to full-on multi-stage festivals with camping. I had been in that scene for 21 or 22 years before the pandemic hit.

Then the pandemic came and just shut everything down. There was no safety net - no Plan B, no backup. One day you're a concert promoter, and the next day, there are no concerts. That was the reality. Nothing to fall back on.

I started making pizzas at home. Just cooking to stay sane during lockdown and posting pictures online. Then people started messaging me - "Hey, can I buy one?" And that was it. Someone said, "I'll buy one," and I said, "Alright, cool. I'll sell you one." That's literally how it started.

N-L: Love it. So here are two questions: First, what makes your pizza so amazing? And second, how did social media help you blow the brand up so fast?

EW: I think we've got a unique take on food. I design probably 80%-90% of it, then it goes through the kitchen, comes back and we refine it together. I also do a lot of the sourcing - the butters, oils, cheeses - and we taste-test everything. We treat it almost like a white-tablecloth restaurant. That kind of care leads to better pizza.

Honestly, I'll go up against just about anyone in the pizza game. I've done blind taste tests. You can taste it in the ingredients, see it in our volume. We put everything under a microscope - from sourcing to cooking - all to answer one question: "What's the best version of this pizza we can make?"

As for social media - marketing's what I've always done, but it can only take you so far. It gets people in the door, but the pizza has to speak for itself. Even when we turn off the marketing, we're still probably outselling most places in the state.

N-L: So you're saying you think you've got... what, the best pizza in Baltimore?

EW: I do. I'll stand by that. I make better pizza than - well, some styles are just different. But I'll say this: We make the best pan pizza in Maryland.

That said, I love other people's pizza too. The other night I went to Little Donna's in Fells Point - forgot how much I love that place. The week before that, I hit up Baltoz Bakery in Stoneleigh. That guy does New York slices. I've never even tried making those before, and his are amazing.

The pizza community's also really friendly. We all support each other, share ideas - it's competitive, but in a good way.

N-L: On that note, how has the Baltimore community shaped your business? And what about the local pizza scene - has that influenced how you work?

EW: Flavor-wise, definitely. Like our crab dip pizza or the hot sauce with fish peppers - that's Baltimore. But as for how we run things, we just figured it out ourselves. We had zero restaurant experience. We weren't influenced by expectations - we just went for it.

A lot of our inspiration comes from friends and coworkers. We bounce ideas off each other. That crab dip pizza? A chef I worked with early on had the idea, and we took it further - better crab, piping bags, refined technique. Now we use all Maryland crab meat for that one. It's not about copying - it's more like, "Cool idea, how do we make it ours?" A lot of ideas come from stuff that isn't even pizza. Crab rangoon pizza? I saw some rangoons on sale and thought, "What if we made this into a pizza?" Then we figured it out in a way that respected what crab rangoon is.

We've done deconstructed dishes too - like purple cauliflower pizza, roasted broccoli pizza. I go to farmers markets and ask vendors, "What's fresh? What do you need to move this week?" Then I buy a case and say, "Let's make this into a pizza."

N-L: I noticed your menu has some wild names - John Clucken, Garfield, Roney Boy... are those part of the creativity too?

EW: Yeah, we have fun with it. Garfield was lasagna-inspired. Roney Boy came from "Stay [gold], Ponyboy" - we flipped it into something fun. Some names are jokes, some are more serious. The Blast Off came from a purple cauliflower pizza inspired by a guy named Space Boy Pizza.

We get inspiration from everywhere. I talk to a lot of people on Instagram - not just pizza chefs. Pizza Expo is where we all meet in person. That's coming up in two weeks. It's like a reunion of people you've been DMing with for months.

Right now I'm literally driving to Reverie in D.C. The chef there has a Michelin star, and worked at Noma. He's a good friend I can call when I want to do something wild with molecular gastronomy.

N-L: Gotta ask - what's your personal favorite item on the menu?

EW: Oh man, our desserts have been on fire lately. I've eaten like half a cheesecake this week. We just dropped a Basque cheesecake - I've been devouring it.

Favorite app? Gotta be our Kitchen Sink Wings. That came from me just messing around in the kitchen one day, realizing you could layer flavors so each bite hits differently - not just a flavor mix, but real layers.

Favorite pizza? Depends on my mood. Sweet Nona is super cool. Anything with our vodka sauce - that sauce is insane. The sausage we're using now is also amazing. Honestly, even just our pepperoni pizza - it's phenomenal. I'm still not sick of it.

N-L: I feel you. So when you shop at the farmers market - is that something most pizza shops do?

EW: We do it because it's fun. A friend who helped early on told me, "You've gotta stop adding stuff to the menu." I was like, "But that's the fun part!"

There's this quote from Grant Achatz - the chef at Alinea in Chicago. Someone told him, "You don't have to change the menu - none of tonight's guests have had these dishes before." And he said, "Yeah, but what about us? Where's the fun for us if we do the same thing every night?"

So yeah, going to the market is exciting. It's good energy. It's a challenge. We get to support local farms, try new things, blow people's minds - like, "Whoa, this guy put squash on a pizza?"

We did a stuffed squash pizza for Thanksgiving - sausage-stuffed squash, sliced so the sausage was in the middle. It was amazing. Only one person ordered it - I didn't care. I thought it was cool.

N-L: Wait, squash?

EW: Yeah, it was a Japanese black pumpkin - stuffed with sausage, roasted, sliced, and placed on a pizza. Like, who else is doing that? Who has the balls to do that?

N-L: That's wild.

EW: Seriously. Pizza is one of those things - you can do whatever you want. People say, "You're not supposed to do that," and I'm like, "I'll do what I want." Watch me sell crab rangoon pizza like crazy. We bought eight cases of crab rangoons in one weekend. The supplier was like, "No one's ever bought that much from us before."

N-L: Your energy is infectious. How do you keep it going like this?

EW: It's up and down. I had a good week recently. I go to therapy - my therapist Aaron Johnstone is great. That's helped a lot.

Even with the option to sell the business, I still wake up excited every day. Running a restaurant is a creative challenge I love.

N-L: That's great to hear! Last question - thanks again for your time - anything new coming up for Underground Pizza?

EW: Yeah, tons of stuff. We're working on fun thin-crust pop-ups, maybe even bagels - we've got a great bagel program in the works.

And I've got an amazing team. We take care of each other, and everyone brings great ideas. Just yesterday someone told me, "If you make sourdough discard donuts, I'll buy them." I went to our baker and said, "Can you do it?" He goes, "Yeah, I'll start tonight." That's how we roll.

Our outdoor space is reopening. We're baking beautiful breads. We've got sandwiches coming later this year - a full sandwich program with house-baked breads.

There's a peculiar exhaustion that clings to us these days. Not the kind cured by a nap or even a week off. It's deeper - spiritual, maybe. Existential. The soul equivalent of endlessly refreshing your email and still waiting for something good.

We are told - no, sold - that we are free. Free to dream, to hustle, to become. You can be anything, they say. And we believe them. So we try. We optimize. We biohack. We wake up at 5 a.m., drink kale, meditate for clarity and journal for gratitude. We count our steps. We check our stats. We aim to be high-performance humans.

And yet we are tired. Not just from the doing, but from the being - from the incessant demand that we become more. We are the CEOs of our own personal brands, the laborers of our own souls, the managers of our own self-worth.

What a trap.

This is the myth of self-improvement: that if you just push a little harder, wake a little earlier, read a little more, love a little better - you will arrive. But arrive where? To what? The finish line keeps moving. You are never enough, not really. The apps say so. The metrics confirm it. The mirror whispers it back.

Michel Foucault once said that in the past, those in power punished through surveillance. But now, we surveil ourselves. We've internalized the warden. He lives in our Fitbits, our productivity apps, our curated feeds. We flog ourselves with our own ambitions. No one is making us. That's the genius of it.

Self-improvement has become the new religion - its god is efficiency, and its rituals are brutal.

This is no longer personal - it is cultural. A system that thrives on burnout and markets anxiety back to us in the form of "solutions." A treadmill made of TED Talks, cold showers and podcast episodes titled "10 Hacks to Dominate Your Morning." It's a society of achievement - a place where narcissism isn't a diagnosis but a strategy. Where rest is a weakness. Where "be yourself" has become an oppressive command.

We wonder why we're depressed. Why everyone is anxious. Why nobody feels whole. And the answer is plain: We are trying to become gods, alone. Perfect, efficient, always climbing. But gods don't cry in bathrooms at work. Gods don't feel hollow after getting promoted.

Humans do.

So here's a quiet rebellion: Let yourself be. Not improve. Not rise. Not hack. Just be.

Spontaneity - art for art's sake, a walk without a step goal, a conversation with no point but connection - these are not wastes of time. They are acts of resistance. They are reminders that the self is not a product, and the soul cannot be optimized.

As Bertrand Russell put it, "Let your interests be as wide as possible." Not productive. Not impressive. Just wide. Curious. Open. And let your reactions - to yourself, to others - be kind. Because you are not a brand. You are not a project. You are not a machine.

You are enough, even when you are not improving.

And that, in this culture, is the most radical thing you can believe.

Leo Lin is a freshman from Xiamen, Fujian, China studying in History and Philosophy.

April 12

As of April 10, the Office of International Services (OIS) stated that the number of graduate students who have had their F-1 visas and records revoked was now "several dozen" on their website, an increase from the "approximately dozen" described on April 8.

April 8

On Tuesday April 8, a university spokesperson confirmed that approximately a dozen Hopkins graduate students and recent graduates of Hopkins graduate programs have had their F-1 visa records terminated by the government through the Student and Exchange Visitor Information System (SEVIS) of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement in an email to The News-Letter.

"As the visa sponsor, the university has taken required steps to inform students of the terminations. The university is providing a range of support services to affected students through our offices of international services, academic advising, and health and wellbeing," the spokesperson stated.

The spokesperson also stated that the University has not received any information about the specific basis for the revocations.

"We have no indication that the revocations are associated with free expression activities on campus. While visa revocations do require students to depart the United States, we are not aware of any arrests or detentions of Johns Hopkins students as a result of these visa actions," the spokesperson stated.

In an email to The News-Letter, Teachers and Researchers United (TRU-UE), the graduate student union, shared that they received news on Sunday that the Department of Homeland Security has terminated the visas of several Hopkins international students.

The OIS website states that students can reach their office through the website or by email at ois@jhu.edu. Other guidance posted includes information on interacting with immigration enforcement officers.

"Our international community is very important to Johns Hopkins, and we remain committed to supporting all our students, faculty and staff. We share the serious concerns arising from recent changes in federal immigration policies and enforcement activities and understand the anxiety this instills in our community members and their families, here and abroad. We are working directly with affected students as noted below," the website reads.

In light of this development and the recent graduate student detainments by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), TRU-UE stressed their disapproval of the University's response.

"We are incredibly disappointed by the University's lack of leadership and, frankly, cowardice in taking up a strong fight against a fascist, authoritarian federal administration in defense of our most vulnerable members," a spokesperson for TRU-UE wrote.

The TRU-UE spokesperson added the University's reliance on federal funding prevents their ability to protect the student body.

"With Hopkins' recent memo asking faculty and staff to 'not-intervene' if ICE attempts to detain one of our own, the community is realizing that institutes like Johns Hopkins do not work in service of students or workers but they work in service of profit, and this is why they will always be willing to collaborate with the state, to not risk their funding for example" they wrote. "The form of protection we get from one another, from collectively rallying and organizing around the demands we seek, is what keeps us safe, not the university, and not the federal government."

TRU-UE has contacted President Ronald J. Daniels, Provost Ray Jayawardhana, Vice Provost Sabine Stanley and the Director of OIS Dacia Gauer, among other OIS staff members, for more information to take action against the visa terminations.

While they acknowledged the limits of their union in protecting international students, they noted the importance of continuing to advocate for the Hopkins international community.

"We do not stop building worker power and leveraging our biggest tool, our labor, to win the protections we desperately need," they wrote. "We do not allow fear to demobilize our movements at a moment when so much is at stake."

Over 300 student visas have been revoked since the Trump administration's crackdown on immigration enforcement. These include several students from Columbia University, Stanford University, Harvard University, Tufts University, the University of Massachusetts and multiple Universities of California. Reasons for visa revocations have not been publicly divulged.

In a statement to The News-Letter, a U.S. State Department spokesperson, stated that visa applicants and non-citizens who break or demonstrate an intent to break U.S. laws are subject to visa refusal, visa revocation and/or deportation. The spokesperson continued by stating that they lack exact statistics at this time, but they will continue working closely with the Department of Homeland Security to enforce immigration laws.

"As the Secretary indicated, the Department revokes visas every day in order to secure America's borders and keep our communities safe -- and will continue to do so. Because the process is ongoing, the number of revocations is dynamic. The Department generally does not provide statistics on visa revocations, and we do not have anything additional to provide at this time," the spokesperson wrote.

In the past month, ICE authorities have additionally detained several international students on various college campuses, specifically those involved in pro-Palestine advocacy. Mahmoud Khalil, a graduate student at Columbia University who led pro-Palestinian rallies, as well as Georgetown University fellow Badar Khan Suri have both been detained on the grounds of a section of the Immigration and Nationality Act, which states that noncitizens whom the Secretary of State has "reasonable ground to believe would have potentially serious adverse foreign policy consequences for the United States" can be deported.

The News-Letter is actively reporting on students who may be targeted for visa termination, detainment or actions by ICE. If you have any information, please send a tip to tips@jhunewsletter.com or utilize our anonymous tip form.

The meeting began with a closed session, after which it transitioned to cabinet reports. Chair of Programming Tim Huang noted the upcoming Freshman Formal on Saturday, April 12, for which he hopes to find volunteers from SGA. President of the Senate Nasreen Naqvi then celebrated her four-year career in student government and reminded members of an upcoming dinner between SGA and the administration, which will occur on April 23.

Naqvi then reminded each member to create transition videos for their respective position, which will be sent to their successors post-elections. Whiting School of Engineering Senator Amy Xu then asked for volunteers regarding the Academic Affairs Study Event, which involves a distribution of snacks and supplies to encourage participation from the student body.

The meeting concluded with the traditional Senior Send-Off resolution presented by President Stone Meng, Vice President Amy Li and Huang, to celebrate the achievements of graduating SGA members. Meng then provided a brief speech on the progress and challenges of the 2024-25 cabinet and wished luck to every candidate running for a position in SGA.

Sometimes the universe stitches itself together in improbable ways that make normal people wonder: Is this one large, elaborate prank the world is pulling on me? Like you're a baby again, but this time the square peg really does fit inside the circle hole. What to do then? What to make of this?

Either this is true, and you've felt this way before - confronted with meaning where meaning has no business being - or perhaps I'm not a normal person. Or, if I am a normal person, then perhaps it is a mistake to write this past midnight, self-medicating my Train Brain (is this a thing? - if it wasn't before, then it is now) with a 16 oz. Blue Crush Celsius. Regardless, this is the story of how I came to understand the loss of childlike innocence in the rag-quilt ways of a 36-hour train ride from Baltimore to Kansas City, containing: relationship troubles on the train, further instances of teenage boys calling me names and the various works of art without which none of this could happen - without which, you would not be reading this article.

***

Shakespeare didn't know what he was talking about when he said all the world's a stage. If he had any foresight, any real vision, then he would've said all the train's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. The unwarm attendants are directors, and they hand you your script written in invisible ink on the torn-paper slips that read your seat. When the metal sliding doors draw close like velvety red curtains, you enter stage and become the hero - or antagonist? - of the play about to unfold.

Being from Kansas, the only Amtrak I ever rode was from Baltimore to D.C. one weekend when I was already in college. I didn't know the rule everyone else seemed to know about trains, which is to act as protagonist as possible. It seemed I was the only NPC aboard, witnessing it all happen helplessly from my seat. Before I could even sit down, I overheard an intriguing, loud phone conversation: "We're going to a wedding for one of Michael's friends from Amherst. Yeah, one of the - spouses? - is nonbinary, so I've been avoiding bride and groom. … You've heard of gay pride flags, right?"

Then, another hero steals the spotlight: a young man toe-walking up and down the aisle the entire ride, wearing headphones over his bucket hat and puffing his vape outside like a dragon during every smoke break.

The vape-puffing dragon is slain, his own purloined spotlight passed on once more; now, we turn to a couple who boards after midnight somewhere near the border between Kentucky and West Virginia. They're the ambiguous age between 35 and 60 that comes from rough living and silently told sympathetic stories: sunburnt skin wrinkled like worn leather, smiles of missing teeth like bullet holes in the doors of a used car. She's tunelessly yet jubilantly crowing "Take Me Home, Country Roads" one minute, the next weathering yells from her boyfriend (or husband?) in a way that makes the whole scene hard to watch.

"I miss my mom already," she says. "Can you please just let me cry? That's probably the last time I'll see my mom."

"Look at you, you fucking crazy crackhead!" he fires back. "Do you need mental help? I missed my mom the 10 days we spent seeing your mom - do you want to go back?"

Then, he storms off in search of a beer, enraged anew when the attendant informs him that the café cart is closed for the night. "No beer until morning?"

I paused reading the final few pages of The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger to wait for this storm to pass. (Please disregard the popular red flags of men reading this book for a moment.) When I finished, I would switch to the other novel I packed, both stories being arbitrarily selected from my bookshelf for the train ride: We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates.

Anyone who knows anything about these books will laugh and shake their head in the bemused manner of watching two cars slowly skid toward one another across black ice, brakes futilely pumped: Oh, brother.

The two stories take similar approaches to tackle the same theme: the loss of childlike innocence. The grown woman crying, mourning her mother still alive - even her boyfriend (or husband?) joining her, making for two adults like kids wishing for their moms again - set the stage for me to consider my own ways in which I've grown out of that childlike innocence, like the Pokémon T-shirts I owned, now of course too small to wear.

But by the time of my five-hour stop in Chicago, it was too late to do anything about it. The future was already scripted.

***

Stepping off the train into Union Station, I thought I had the date wrong: Everyone was wearing green, but it wasn't St. Patrick's Day. Turns out, I was unfamiliar with the behemoth tradition of the St. Patrick's Day parade in Chicago, and I was caught in the middle of it like a cow in a tornado. Dressed in blue, I only wanted to try deep dish pizza and visit the Art Institute, but doing that involved trekking through closed-off streets of day-drunk, festive young people all dressed in green. To the airplanes and satellites above, the streets must have appeared filled with wildly swaying pastures of grass for one weekend only.

Even wearing blue, I blended into the crowd by the sheer number of bodies surrounding me. That is, I thought I was, until I heard a name hurled at me that wasn't my own: "Jack Harlow! Jack Harlow!"

My loyal readers - or, my editors plus some friends and family - will know I have a history of making meaning out of the things teen boys happen to call me. I'm working on the answer for why I attract these incidents, but I haven't solved it yet. For now, I'll continue to wax poetic on these instances no one else cares about.

Perhaps tired from the train, perhaps annoyed from feeling exposed by being singled out in a crowd - like how bugs angrily scatter from an overturned rock - I responded to this funny story-to-be in a way that makes me embarrassed to write.

"Jack Harlow! Jack Harlow!" the crowd of boys yelled, one of them running up to me to represent the bunch. "Oh… Sorry, man, we thought you were Jack Harlow - you look so much like him, can we get a picture?"

"I don't know who Jack Harlow is," I answered, slow from the shock of it all. Still, it was true. I had to look him up after. (I don't believe we look anything alike.)

"He's a rapper," the boy explained. "Can we get a picture? You look so much like him."

As I said, what I did next I am not proud of.

"Oh…" I stalled. "No."

Then, I walked away, despite having just bought my ticket to go inside the Art Institute. At that moment, as I felt the once-gregarious boy's bravado drained by my awkward and curt mishandling of what should have been a harmless and comedic situation, I decided to go to lunch first before trying my luck at the Art Institute later. I will go through great lengths and inconveniences to avoid undesired social interactions.

Again, in the perhaps karmic ways that the universe sometimes stitches itself together, when I later entered the Art Institute undisturbed by teen boys (I was on the lookout), I snagged on one piece in particular, like a sweater on a doorknob. It was a sculpture titled "Boy" by Charles Ray, and it can be described as a grown-man sized mannequin of a youthful boy, donning a tranquil face yet confrontational pose. Running out of time in the Institute before I had to leave to catch my train, I settled for snapping a picture to investigate later.

Now, I understand this piece as all-too-fitting with my literary choices for the train: It's about the persistence of the aforementioned childlike innocence or spirit, even within adults.

Writing this, I kick myself for the ways in which I play accomplice in the suppression of my inner child. Why did I behave so unsociably with boys my own age, who were simply asking for a photo - even if it were some inside joke, what's the harm in a selfie with strangers where I look busted from over 24 hours on a train already?

Was the grown woman crying, mourning her living mother and fighting with her boyfriend (or husband?) a messenger angel, warning me of what to avoid, or a ghost of my own future, telling me what's unavoidable based on the decisions I've already made? Was she a ghost of my present, telling me what I've already become?

When I arrive at my home in Kansas, I exhume my old 3DS from where it was shoved beneath junk in the back of my closet. I insert an old Pokémon game I used to love and have played countless times over. I find that I don't even have the patience to make it through the tutorial.

When the universe stitches itself together in improbable ways, and the result is an ugly rag-quilt reflection you don't like the looks of, I ask only one question:

What to do now, what to make of this?

Riley Strait is a freshman from Olathe, Kan. studying Writing Seminars and English. His column, "In Medias Res," translates from Latin to "into the middle of things," shares narratives that bury occasional insights within fluffthat often leave the reader wondering, "Did I ask?"

Friday

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Presents The Greatest Show On Earth, CFG Bank Arena, April 11-13, showtimes vary.

Experience the reimagined spectacle of The Greatest Show On Earth, featuring 75 performers from 18 countries and over 50 thrilling circus acts. From high-flying flips to jaw-dropping stunts, every moment is pure circus magic you won't want to miss. Tickets range from $26 to $80.

Saturday

Baltimore Street Food Festival, Power Plant Live!, April 12-13, 12-8 p.m.

Indulge in Baltimore's best street food, with all items priced at $5 or less. Perfect for foodies looking to uncover hidden local gems. Plus, enjoy live entertainment and interactive experiences while you snack your way through the festival. General admission starts at $19.99, with VIP options available.

Easter Bunny Parade, Eastpoint Mall, 12-2 p.m.

Well; there's something special about keeping up with tradition, especially when it's fluffy and adorable! Come join a lively parade through the mall, with free photo opportunities with the Easter Bunny and friends, balloon artists, face painting, sweet treats and more. This family-friendly event is free and open to everyone.

Rock the Block, University of Baltimore's Gordon Plaza, 11 a.m.-4 p.m.

Celebrate The University of Baltimore's Centennial with live music, games, an artists' market, family-friendly activities, delicious food and exciting giveaways. This event is free and open to all students, faculty, staff, alumni and community members.

Sunday

Sotto Sopra Peabody Night, Sotto Sopra, 6-8 p.m.

Get ready for an amazing night! Peabody Institute students and alumni are bringing you opera and Broadway tunes, while Sotto Sopra serves up insanely good Italian food! I honestly can't tell which part I love more - spooning up that juicy, flavorful risotto or getting lost in the beautiful music. Luckily, at this stylish Italian spot, you can get both!

On an average day where I have an exam, I tend to devote every single second to consuming, absorbing and mastering any knowledge that's slightly relevant to the topics that will be on the exam. On such days, I don't function as a human and rather turn into a machine - I pump up my anxiety, compress my soul and condense my knowledge with hopes of converting my spiritual energy and zest for life to something even better: a decent grade from an engineering class.

I fill every break with studying, no matter how inefficient it is. I eat my cereal while sticking post-its to my Thermodynamics textbook. I solve a Quizlet flashcard set over and over again. I read lecture notes on my way to class, with hopes that a car won't hit me while I'm crossing the street. I don't bother walking to Hopkins Cafe for lunch as I can not lose my precious 10 minutes of studying just because I need to eat to survive. No, thanks - I'll eat the blank page left for extra work if I get too hungry during the exam.

The pressure to study comes from the fear of remorse: Sitting down in my seat at Bloomberg 272, glancing at the first question and realizing that I have no clue on how to solve it because I didn't study as much as humanly possible. Knowing that I read the information needed to solve the problem to the point where I swear I could point to its exact location on the page, but the section itself is blank when I force myself to remember.

Although I beg my mind to fill the missing images in my head, it doesn't always show mercy. Then I realize bullshitting is better than leaving it blank, so I play my favorite game: How to convince the grader to award me more points? I ornament the page with every relevant equation that comes to my mind, knowingly write the wrong things because I don't remember their right versions, describe what I'm trying to do by writing paragraphs, fully aware that the grader will hate having to read these on Gradescope.

From the moment I start revising the material until I solve my last practice question, it feels like neither the distress nor the discomfort will come to an end. Whenever I fail to memorize, remember or understand, I think about the feelings that will take control of me when I hand in my paper and leave the exam hall. I remind myself that I want to feel pleased with the work I submit, so I do everything in my power to reach this ideal.

Sometimes, I succeed. With a smile on my face, I leave to go back to my dorm, maybe even stop by at Brody Cafe to get a coffee, lay in bed and prepare myself for another studying marathon for my next exam, dreading the thought of repeating this whole process.

Sometimes, I don't succeed. However, I never feel as horrible as I thought I would. I still stop by to get coffee if I'm craving it, and then I take my usual route walking down the Beach's downhill sidewalks to go back to my dorm.

As I'm passing by the desire path that directs you to Scott-Bates Commons, I hear the intertwined noises of the cars passing, students talking and leaves rustling. The sun burns my skin, and my sunglasses feel heavy on my nose. I think about the mud stains on my shoes, and the bruises on my legs that I don't know the history of.

With all of these feelings, I become human again. When I find myself in this position, although I don't have an exam grade I look forward to receiving, I still find so many reasons to smile about. At least it's over. For now. I have so many second chances. I do. I'm not a machine, or a B minus. I'm human, and I do my best.

I put my hand on my chest and sense my heart pumping blood. I perceive the relief in my lungs and no longer feel compressed, and find myself breathing again. The clumps of knowledge from random textbook pages and Canvas files dissipate slowly; my mind calms down, no longer condensed with worries. As these are happening, I continue my walk with a big grin on my face and enjoy freedom.

Buse Koldas is a sophomore from Istanbul, Turkey majoring in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. She is the Voices Editor for The News-Letter. Her column discusses how her past experiences have affected her, with the hope of making others feel seen and understood.

The U.S. Department of Homeland Security has argued that Öztürk "engaged in activities in support of Hamas" without presenting evidence or justification. In these circumstances, the only speculation we can make is that her writing and expression of her opinion rendered her a target.

The Editorial Board is deeply disturbed by Öztürk's detainment and views it as a fundamental attack on the First Amendment that, if left unchecked, will lead the U.S. toward the silencing of dissent. It is antithetical to the very principles of journalism for authors to be punished for an opinion that the government deems "dangerous" or incongruent with its own agenda. University newspapers, in particular, have long existed to serve students, who have historically been leaders in social movements, and, by targeting Öztürk, the Trump administration is attempting to scare students into silence.

Öztürk's detainment is part of a deeply troubling trend of detainments and visa-revocation of noncitizens, especially targeting those who have been vocal in supporting Palestine. The past month has seen various noncitizen students and faculty across the country being targeted by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement - including Mahmoud Khalil at Columbia University and Badar Khan Suri at Georgetown University, with the common denominator being their connection (or perceived connection) to the pro-Palestine movement.

One does not have to agree with the Palestine encampments on campus, the pro-Palestine cause or the views of these individuals to disapprove of their detainment and recognize that there has been a complete abdication of due process and political targeting of certain views.

The arrest of Khalil and Khan Suri has been justified by a concerningly vague provision of the Immigration and Nationality Act that permits noncitizens to be deported if the Secretary of State "has reasonable ground to believe [hosting them] would have potentially serious adverse foreign policy consequences for the United States." The use of this provision, which is phrased such that it can readily be weaponized against anyone the government disagrees with, is an alarming sign that the Trump administration is bypassing due process in pursuit of its own political agenda.

In addition to detainments, over 300 international students have had their visas revoked by the Trump administration, including nearly a dozen at our own University and at peer institutions, like Harvard University, Columbia University, Tufts University and the University of California system.

Despite the U.S. Department of State's not specifying why each of the student visas have been revoked and Hopkins stating that they do not believe "free expression activities" are responsible, it is myopic to ignore that the visa revocations come at a time when noncitizen activists are being detained and targeted.

Attacking students and education is a key tactic in the authoritarian playbook. Universities have historically incubated activist movements and served to create knowledge that empowers the people and challenges authority. By targeting higher education, in particular, both by punishing student expression and threatening cuts to funding, the Trump administration is undoubtedly aiming to extinguish the culture of inquiry and debate.

These actions have been designed to have a chilling effect on speech and to create an ecosystem of fear that hinders others from speaking up. Make no mistake: The Trump administration may have started their campaign against noncitizen students involved in the Palestine movement, but they will not stop there. This is a concerted effort to suppress the speech of anyone - citizen or not - the president or government disagrees with and to scare us into silence.

The First Amendment is not selectively protective of only the speech that the government or the majority approves of. If this pattern of intentional disregard for the rule of law and targeting activism continues, none of us will be untouched and all dissent will become dangerous.

As students, journalists or anyone living in these times, we have a responsibility to call out and forcefully resist this escalation of government persecution and targeting.

The News-Letter was founded and continues to operate with the goal of featuring diverse opinions, promoting free expression and contributing to robust debate, and we will continue to defend these values. The safety of our writers and journalists, as well as the legitimacy of the paper, is our priority, and we continue undeterred in this pursuit.

For this piece, I want to reflect back on the spaces at Hopkins that hold my memories - the ones that almost broke me, the places where I fell in love with life and the ones I know that I will walk back to in the future and still feel right at home.

AMR 3B 305

Freshman dorm rooms are always special, but I feel like this room, tucked into the corner of the third floor of the AMR 3B building, had a little extra magic in it. There was ivy growing on the window, and I swear I've never had a more comfy bed. This was the place where I grew most into my skin, learning who I was and who I wasn't. This space became one of late night conversations, dishes washed in the bathroom sink and infamously where I learned to play the most horrific card of all time - Mao.

However, I think the best part of freshman year was finding my people - to the Girlies™ collective, I love you all so so much. Thank you for being the ones I can count on; this does feel a bit "drama" for writing this, but I'm so excited for all the memories that we will make in the future together. To Arantza, we beat the Freshman roommate curse! I think my college experience has been made so much better knowing that I will always come home to comfort and kindness. To Luciana and Christina - I owe the broken water machine at FFC so much for bringing you both into my life. I'm so excited to see what you both will get up to next, and I will be calling you both for apartment decor advice.

Mergenthaler 426

The Anthropology department's seminar room, Mergenthaler 426, does have a lot of flaws. I think there is every type of projection technology in the room - from projectors to TVs that professors always seem to have difficulty connecting to. (Is it the zoom connection button, the HDMI cable or the Apple Play function - who will ever know?). However, this is the space where I fell in love with the discipline of Anthropology. I learned to analyze how historical implications have created the structures that shape our understanding of healthcare and language. Coming into Hopkins, I felt a bit disillusioned about the inequalities and structures of oppression we see everyday, but anthropology helped me see these issues in a new light. It gave me the tools to critically examine these structures - not as inevitable or fixed - but as products of complex histories that can be challenged and reimagined.

Hodson 110

It took me over five different classes to find out that each of the desks in Hodson 110 had a charger port in them. This pretty much encapsulates the entirety of my neuroscience degree at Hopkins. There were a lot of tears shed, late nights in Brody doing practice sets, weekends attending review sessions and adjusted expectations. However, I can say that I have learned a lot. Beyond the content, I've gained resilience, time management skills and the ability to push through moments of self-doubt. Despite the struggle, I look back with pride at how far I've come and the growth I've experienced. Even more, I think the joy of discovering something new and fascinating in science is unmatched; it's the same joy I felt as a child on a field trip to the California Academy of Sciences, wonder and curiosity about the world around me.

The Gatehouse

Being part of The News-Letter has shaped my time at Hopkins in ways I never expected. Student journalism is always precarious -stories are written in between midterms and office-hours, deadlines loom like shadows and there's always more to be done than there is time for. But it's precisely that challenge that makes it so rewarding. Every piece, every interview, every late night in the Gatehouse is part of something bigger: telling the stories that matter, giving voice to underrepresented communities and holding institutions accountable. Despite the chaos and unpredictability, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything else.

The Johns Hopkins Hospital

There is a plaque commemorating George Washington's final U.S. tour in front of the Hopkins Hospital. Every time I see it and the red-orange facade of the building, there is something striking about the fact that my ability to study here was beyond my ancestor's wildest dreams and the imaginations of early U.S. presidents. I've learned from the most amazing researchers and medical providers, who have all shown me what kind of physician I hope to be in the future - one that is kind, determined and willing to advocate deeply for their patients.

From my work with Hopkins Community Connections to research at a stroke clinic at the Bayview Medical Center, I've had the privilege of seeing healthcare from many perspectives. I've seen firsthand the disparities that still exist in who has access to healthcare, but I've also witnessed the power of empathy and advocacy in addressing these issues. Every step I take in this place reminds me of the privilege I have in studying here, and the responsibility that comes with it to make a difference in the lives of others.

Home

I think the last place I have to reflect on isn't particularly here at Hopkins, but it's a place I have to thank nonetheless. To my family, to everyone back home - thank you for picking up my calls and offering support when I felt the weight of everything getting too heavy. I remember when I first got my acceptance to this school and how excited and scared I felt. Thank you to everyone for making me feel like I could do this and make it out successfully on the other side. You were right - I could do it, even on the days when it felt impossible.

To Hopkins, thank you for challenging me, inspiring me and pushing me beyond my limits. I'm excited to visit again one day and see how all these spaces have changed.

Shirlene John is a senior from San Jose, Calif. majoring in Neuroscience and Anthropology. She is a co-Editor-in-Chief for The News-Letter.

It is true that all of this has changed. It hasn't always been a linear growth or evolution and sometimes I still feel like I haven't moved, but the brushstrokes are present if you look close enough. But, the older I get, the more I am also struck by how much of my life has been spent trying to get back to who I was as a child, when I was able to express myself unbridled by society and my own fears.

As a child, I would best describe myself as energetic, happy and chatty. I had boundless energy and enjoyed my interests (at the time, watching Scooby Doo and reading The Magic Tree House) completely. I loved to talk to new people and make friends, and I was confident in myself.

In middle school and high school, that changed: Those hallmark self-esteem issues of the teenage years made their mark. I spent a lot of time worrying about whether I would fit in or get good grades. Entering into new social settings made me stressed out and as high school progressed into college, my hobbies and interests dimmed with the intensity of school and volunteering and applications.

Now, at 22, that has changed. I'm not infallibly confident by any stretch, but I feel settled into who I am as a person, proud of my accomplishments and optimistic about my future growth. Maybe it's just the frontal lobe developing as I veer toward 25 (seriously, when did that happen?), but I am secure in who I am and what I am capable of to an extent now that middle school me couldn't imagine.

I can't help but wonder if my confidence now is because I've finally made Hopkins and my life at college feel like a "home" and a comfortable space for me. While I'm sure having put down roots in Baltimore through friends and communities is a part of it, I can't help but feel like it is also me on a deeper level who has changed and not just from acclimating to my surroundings.

Some things have also changed hues and tones, but remain the same color as they used to be. I still talk to my parents and sister everyday as if I was still living at home in Ohio with them, except it is by phone or FaceTime instead of in person. My four best friends from third grade are still four of my closest friends now and our friendship hasn't wavered. Instead of living next door and bike riding to the park, we now live across the country and visit each other in our respective cities.

Your early 20s and specifically, post-grad years are arguably the time in your life when the most is changing: the places you are living, the jobs you have, the friends you have and your life experiences are in constant and unpredictable flux. In this time of uncertainty, I find immense comfort in the traces of my childhood and younger me that persist, like my love for reading, my curiosity and my happiness with the small pleasures in life.

With college winding down and graduation nearing, I've especially been reflecting on all the ways I have grown throughout my time at Hopkins and the ways I still have yet to. We can all learn about ourselves from how we have grown and how we want to, but there's also something very comforting about looking at what has stayed the same and how that past makes up the "you" of today.

I am still the same person I was then. Even though I feel different, I'm still the same me, and there is something so rewarding about looking in the mirror and being able to simultaneously see the growth in yourself, and also the traces of your past that linger like an old friend.

Samhi Boppana is from Columbus, Ohio. She is an Editor-in-Chief for The News-Letter.

Growing up in an Asian household, compliments rarely existed. Loving myself did not exist because I was not taught or shown how to love. The words exchanged were often a request to help out or a critique of how to do a certain thing better. When I thought something was good, my grandma always taught me how to make it better.

My grandma's income was a direct product of the number of clothes she sewed each day. I saw this for myself, as I sat adjacent to her on a cardboard box in lieu of child care. More was always better and, in a way, these experiences helped me learn to never settle for less. My grandma's influx of corrections eventually molded me into becoming a detailed oriented person and one who works hard to make things happen, because I was expected of nothing less. It was a different form of love that was abundantly shown. Yet the expectation that I always had to strive for more made me a person who was continuously unsatisfied. I could always get better grades or do more extracurriculars. And as I got older, this changed how I thought of my appearance, too.

It wasn't until I turned 20 that I started to learn what "self love" meant. It started when I spent two weeks on the 20 floors of 33 W 42nd St. Unlike most places, the University Eye Center was a place I already felt at home. Home to me was New York City, and so the hustle and bustle of the clinic floors in the middle of Manhattan was a natural rhythm I quickly adjusted myself to. Spending time on the clinic floors rather than lecture halls reminded me of the competence I had as an individual and future clinician. This experience filled me with hope. The optometry students reminded me that, above any of the high standards I had defined for myself, my curiosity and passion in learning was more than enough. I had shown up, asked questions and demonstrated that I cared.

I never expected to fall in love with optometry. But optometry showed me that when one door closes, another one opens. It showed me what it meant and felt to be a part of a community that uplifted one another. Having the opportunity to be a part of the community showed me the extensions of optometry beyond a diagnosis and treatment. There was a realm of health care policy, public health, research and innovation that I had yet to explore.

In an open house session, Dr. Guilherme Albieri - Vice President of Student Affairs at State University of New York College of Optometry - gave an analogy that struck me. He compared hyperopia in vision (the ability to see far but not up close) to the way students like myself often saw goals. Worrying so much about my future was hindering the potential achievements I could be making along the way. But just like most refractive errors, they could be corrected. I had to work on the way I thought of myself and take it day by day. To love myself was to start believing in myself from within.

In learning what it meant to care for others, I began to understand the importance of caring for myself. Unlike the past two years during which I tried to find happiness in achievement, I turned inward and started prioritizing myself. I made time to read books and dance again. These hobbies weren't a waste of time. Making time to do glissades and jetés across the floor helped take my mind off the daily stresses of university life and re-energized me outside the barre. As much as I worked on my balance in relevé, finding balance in my own life was the ultimate key to what I defined as success. I started prioritizing time with friends, the people who saw me for who I was without disguise.

When I was down, I leaned on my big (Willie) physically and emotionally to remind me of my light within. He supported me unconditionally with patience and held me as I cried until my eyes became swollen. He reminded me of all those future eyes that were waiting to be saved. His unwavering acceptance of myself became a light that stayed when it felt close to burning out. It takes a village to raise a person, but it only takes one to remind another to stay.

As I learned, love exists in many forms. My grandma showed her firm love in teaching me to become a competent individual. My big showed up and stood with me in the darkest of times and reminded me of how strong I was. Optometry and dance showed me the ways in which the things I love can also be shared with others. Making time for the things that made me feel loved helped me learn to love myself in my own light.

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18)

Anne Li is a junior from Brooklyn, N.Y. majoring in Psychology.

The fingerprints that make up my life only click into place when I see the novels, textbooks and architecture tomes of my past swirl and swim to superimpose over the moments they mark in my life; words and emotions pressed and preserved between sticky pages. I pick out a few volumes from where they hover over my timeline and set them out neatly onto the table in front of me. I turn them so you can see them.

We start with From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg. It has that scratchy, browned paper of a childhood paperback. Our protagonist solves Michelangelo mysteries and hides from security guards in bathroom stalls. I am dazzled by the idea of running away to live in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. After this book, I keep meticulous track of my loose dollar bills, of any spare change I can get my hands on in preparation for the possibility of stowing away curled under a bus seat to reach New York and sleep surrounded by works of art.

When I read Chew on This by Eric Schlosser and Charles Wilson, the grotesque imagery of poultry farms makes me swear off chicken nuggets - but only the ones from McDonald's.

Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie is such a silly and terribly clever book that it cracks my head open to the understanding that I can write, too.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal's The Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life can only be described as a generous slathering of detail. True to its encyclopedic format, Rosenthal's life is cut into entries and categorized alphabetically rather than chronologically. We see multiple pages worth of her parking tickets and know she loves the palindrome "WonTon, not now" and from that point on I think about her entry for the word "love" so often it becomes my own truth.

Mirage by Jenn Reese makes me want to learn to scuba dive. It drives me to read Darwin.

I didn't consider myself a science person until I read The Lives of a Cell: Notes of a Biology Watcher by Lewis Thomas. The interlocking of each phrase with the next sounds like an array of facts splayed over sheet music, the words rhythmic in both logic and diction. I reread these essays multiple times throughout high school.

As I have aged, my commitment to reading has fluctuated, which is perhaps a telling reflection in and of itself. To rescue and satiate my reading, I have started revisiting my old books.

It was a shock when the brilliance of Forty Rooms by Olga Grushin seemed to shrivel the second time I opened it. I stopped calling it my favorite book. Yet, when I look back, I only remember the first read. The prodding thrill, the cancer scare and Russian ghosts, the book angled to catch the light of the sparse streetlamps before the car is plunged into semi-darkness once again.

I picked up To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf for the first time during quarantine. Her writing was an exercise in white water rafting, plunging from one character's inner world to another, direction dictated by the tiniest shift of a rock. I imagined myself standing in an empty house with the characters echoing off each other in the same way I stood still in my room around a changing world. Upon rereading, I disagreed vehemently with my past self's annotations. No, I no longer feel the need to punch Mr. Ramsey in the face. I no longer take sides in their conversations, choosing instead to simply chew on the words and see what they taste like to me.

It is strange to revisit a book and find something new, or stranger yet, to not see what was there the first time.

Looking through my favorites, it's easy to think of my bookshelf as a biography. In reality, it is a mirror. Each time you revisit a book, a small trace of yourself gets snagged between the lines, the smudges accumulating like heights marked on the walls of a childhood home. Blocks of text and ink are static, but even as they hold the same greasy fingerprints from years ago, those marks flicker if you stand in front of them for long enough. Squint your eyes, tilt your head slightly, and you'll see the tally marks burgeoning and compressing to form the shimmery reflection of your face as it is now.

Arantza Garcia is from Miami, Fla. majoring in Behavioral Biology and Neuroscience.

So I've been thinking about that. About who I am, right now. And honestly? My favorite thing about myself today is that I'm no longer afraid to just be a person.

That might sound vague, but let me explain. I spent most of my life feeling like I had to be something more than just myself - like I had to be an upgraded version, a constant work in progress, a walking potential-filled blueprint of a person. Every decision, every hobby, every interest had to serve a purpose. If I liked something, I had to be good at it. If I was good at something, I had to make it worth something. And if it wasn't worth something, then why was I even wasting my time?

I don't know where exactly this pressure came from - probably a mix of the way I was raised, the environment I grew up in and my own stubborn need to be someone who mattered. But it was exhausting - almost like living inside a never-ending job interview, except I wasn't even sure what position I was applying for.

At some point, I got tired of it. Or maybe I just outgrew it. But either way, I stopped seeing myself as an unfinished project and started seeing myself as a person.

And let me tell you: It has changed everything.

The freedom of not performing 24/7

I think every first-generation kid understands what it's like to feel like they are constantly representing something bigger than themselves. There's a weight that comes with being the first: the first to go to college, the first to have a shot at something different, the first to step into spaces that weren't necessarily designed for people like you. And that weight? It never really goes away.

I've carried it my whole life. Every class I took, every award I won, every opportunity I chased - it all felt like it had to mean something. It couldn't just be for me. It had to be for my family, for my community and for the sacrifices that got me here.

And don't get me wrong - I am so proud of that. I want to make my family proud. I want to do something that matters. But I've realized that if I spend my entire life only chasing what's impressive, I'll miss out on everything that's actually fulfilling.

So I've started letting myself enjoy things just because. I let myself listen to music I like without overanalyzing if it's cool enough. I read books that interest me without wondering if they'll make me sound smarter in a conversation. I take naps without feeling guilty (this one took some work).

And the craziest part? The world didn't end. My ambitions didn't disappear. My goals didn't become meaningless. If anything, I feel more capable of achieving them now, because for the first time, I'm chasing them out of love, not obligation.

Letting myself change without apology

There's this idea people have that you have to be consistent to be taken seriously. That you have to pick a personality, a style, a dream and stick to it forever. But honestly? I think that's the biggest lie we've ever been told.

I have been so many different versions of myself over the years. And every single one of them felt like the real me at the time.

I've been the straight-A, school-obsessed academic. The introverted bookworm who couldn't hold a conversation to save their life. The loud, talkative kid who wouldn't shut up. The person who thought they had their whole career planned out at 16. The person who realized at 18 that they actually don't know anything for sure and probably never will.

And guess what? None of those versions of me were wrong. They were just different stages of growth.

I think about how five years ago, I saw the world completely differently than I do now. And in five more years, I'll probably look back at this version of myself and think, Wow, I was really out here thinking I had life figured out.

And that's a good thing. It means I'm growing. It means I'm not stuck in one place, trying to force myself into a version of me that no longer fits.

I've stopped apologizing for changing. I've stopped feeling like I owe anyone an explanation for why I think differently now than I did before. People aren't statues: we're meant to evolve.

Falling in love with the small stuff

For so long, I thought the best parts of life were the big moments: the achievements, the milestones, the grand accomplishments that people write about in speeches. And, sure, those are great. But lately, I've realized that my absolute favorite parts of life are the smallest ones.

Like the feeling of walking around campus when the weather is perfect, headphones in, pretending I'm in a movie. Like the way my family group chat never lets a single embarrassing childhood story die. Like late-night conversations that start off as jokes and somehow turn into the deepest, most honest confessions.

I used to be so focused on becoming someone that I forgot how much joy there is in just existing - in letting the moment be enough, instead of constantly thinking about what's next.

And the best part? The more I let myself enjoy the now, the more excited I feel about the future. Not because I'm rushing toward it, but because I finally trust that whatever comes next will be worth it.

One of the things that has been so rewarding to me lately is the simple joy of going home. I know that may sound odd, especially considering I'm only 18 and not too far from home, but now that I've been away at college for a little while, I realize just how much my family means to me. Growing up, I was always surrounded by a sea of voices - loud, laughing, debating and shouting over each other. I took it for granted. I was always rushing through life, thinking I'd get to spend time with everyone later. I didn't think it would ever change.

But now? Every visit back home feels like a treasure. It's a feeling I can't quite describe: the joy of walking through the door and being embraced by the massive Cuban family I've known my whole life. The over 400 people at home - cousins, aunts, uncles and neighbors who are practically family - have shaped the person I am today. And after only six months away, I can feel the difference in how I approach those visits now. The hugs, the food, the laughter - it all feels so much more precious. It's like I've found this deep appreciation for the noise, the chaos, the simple moments spent sitting at the table with everyone. I can't wait for the next family gathering: it's not something I rush through anymore.

And let's not even get started on the food. If you're from a big Cuban family, you know there's nothing like a home-cooked meal that makes you feel connected to generations before you. It's in the rice and beans, the lechón, the tamales - it's in every dish, every bite, every moment spent around the table.

The magic of getting lost in a story

Lately, I've also come to realize just how much books shape who I am. Growing up, I was always the kid who had their nose in a book. I'd escape into other worlds, lose track of time and feel like I lived inside the stories I read.

I never really realized how much power a good book has until I found myself in the hustle of college life, trying to keep up with assignments, exams and life itself. At first, I didn't pick up books for fun: it was all textbooks, articles and research papers. But then, out of nowhere, I picked up a novel one night, and I was hooked again.

I'd forgotten how satisfying it feels to completely lose yourself in a world that isn't yours. There's something about getting lost in a good story that reminds me of the importance of rest, of slowing down, and just letting yourself be immersed in something without the pressure of needing to achieve. Books have this magical ability to take you out of yourself and your environment, and into a place where you can just exist for a while.

There's something truly beautiful about that. I've realized I don't need to fill every moment with productivity. It's okay to disappear into a novel and let my mind wander. It's okay to be consumed by the pages and live a little outside of my own experience. It's a reminder that there is more to life than just rushing from one task to the next.

So, what's my favorite thing about who I am today?

If you asked me this question a few years ago, I probably would've given you an answer that sounded impressive - something about my ambitions, my achievements, my drive.

But today? My favorite thing about myself is so much simpler.

I love that I'm still figuring things out. I love that I no longer feel the need to prove my worth by constantly achieving something new. I love that I let myself change without feeling guilty about it. I love that I find joy in the smallest, most ordinary moments.

I love that, for the first time in my life, I don't feel like I have to be anything other than exactly who I am right now.

And that? That feels like enough.

Ruben Diaz is a freshman from Miami, Fla. majoring in Molecular and Cellular Biology and Psychology.