Midway On Our Life’s Journey

4

Name: Jacqueline Morea

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada

Intended Program of Study: International Studies

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“Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost.”

The above quotation from Dante’s Inferno, at first glance, seemed to apply to very few of my fellow seniors as we sat down in our English class in August. At 18, most of us hoped we weren’t halfway done with life, and the nearest “dark woods” from our hometown of Las Vegas were at least a hundred miles away. Any one of us in the room at that time probably had more of a chance of hitting up nearby Area 51 for a day of fun than honestly caring about a seven-hundred year old book written by some Italian guy who had a lot of grudges. What we did care about was the fact that, finally, after four years of Catholic school, we were going to read a book about demons and Hell. You know, the fun stuff.

Yes, that was “Las Vegas” and “Catholic school” in the same paragraph. Much like pickles and ice cream, one has to be in a certain mood to appreciate the relationship between things that just don’t seem to work out. Nevertheless, we were now reading a book about Hell in Sin City. If that sounded a little too appropriate for us in August, by the time the end of the year rolled around the seniors saw the book as an odd parallel to our year.

Let me be blunt: I had no idea which way to go at the beginning of senior year. The right road was lost to me, and I was blundering around some dark woods. Sure, I had boxes of debate, mock trial, and theatre awards in my bedroom, I’d spent part of the summer in Jordan, met royalty, toured colleges-and I still had no clue what on Earth I was going to do with my life. Dante at least had a dead poet show up and help him out, although I’m reasonably sure I would have turned down any assistance offered by a ghost, even of future fellow Baltimore resident Edgar Allen Poe. Nevertheless, there were colleges to apply to.

The first part of Hell, according to The Inferno, is an area called Limbo. It’s beautiful, there’s a cool castle, and you can chill with Julius Caesar. Not a bad deal, with one exception: your punishment is knowing that there is a world beyond what’s in front of your face, and you want to get into that word. Dante didn’t explicitly write: “This is what college admissions feel like”, but maybe that line got lost in translation out of Italian, because that’s what everything from September to December was. You just knew there was this magical land called college, and you felt like you couldn’t get into it even if you tap-danced while throwing $100 bills at the admissions office.

Then Judgment Day: the decisions. This would technically be later renamed Judgment Day: Part 1 partly because there were so many decisions being released to so many people at different times and partly because if everything went horribly wrong and you were rejected from every single school and forced to live as a wandering knife-grinder or minstrel or New Jersey gas-pumper or something, you could at least crack a smile and tell the school priest that you survived Judgment Day.

My BME friend and I. I am unhappy because I'm holding something that has to do with chemistry.

I was deferred, although I got off easy compared to some of my classmates. One school rejected 15 of my friends in a single day. And we weren’t out of the inferno just yet. No, now we had to pick more schools to apply to. We still had no idea what we were doing, for the most part. I was definitely a pre-law student, except when I was pre-med, and not when I was going to get a master’s degree. There’s a special section of Hell for those who are indecisive where you chase around demons with different-colored flags for all eternity. If anything in this book is true, my afterlife will apparently be filled with flag football.

So how does Las Vegas, being stuck in a dark wood and not knowing where to go, chilling with Julius Caesar in Limbo waiting for my admissions decision, and demon flag football end with me at Hopkins? In a series of fortunate events, a former debate roommate from my school was a BME freshman whose hobbies included taking organic chemistry and texting me about applying to Hopkins.

“I don’t think I want to go pre-med,” I protested, having realized that, while I was not certain what I wanted in my life, I knew the most chemistry I ever wanted to do again was making a homogeneous mixture of chocolate milk.

“Just do it.”

I definitely owe her a crab dinner and my firstborn child for that advice.

Now here I am, here in Sin City still, cleaning out my room in preparation for a three thousand mile journey. I’m planning on recording the sound of slot machines to play just in case I get homesick. As for my classmates, we all somehow survived our journey through Hell no worse for the wear. To my knowledge, no one has ended up as a New Jersey gas-pumper.

My last paper on Inferno was due around October. Since that time, I’ve had so many things on my mind: What major do I choose? What dorm do I want to live in? How on Earth do you do laundry? What if everyone is a pre-med kid? What if it snows and I freeze to death? I should be thinking about how to pronounce half the sounds for my first-year Arabic class, or how to make the debate team, or how to properly throw a snowball. I stand five foot flat, a tiny fish among small fish in a big pond next to the Chesapeake Bay.

And yet strangely enough, these questions seem inconsequential. No matter what I decide to do, I will forever be one of the lucky twenty or so percent who applied to this university and were accepted. I will be one of the only seven or so percent of people in the world who go on to college. I will make the absolute most of what I’ve just been handed: a four-year golden ticket to whatever I chose. I’m not stuck in Limbo anymore. I know where I’m headed next.

new home!!!

As I toss notes on the Krebs Cycle into a recycle bin, extract a granola bar from a desk drawer, my hand feels the cover of a book. Of course it’s Inferno. Of course I would find it at the end of one hell of a year. I flip it open and it lands at the very end, dog-eared and tearing in places from how many times that particular page has been read since I bought the book last July. Like my classmates and I, Dante finally managed to leave Hell behind and move on to much bigger, much better, and much brighter things.

“To get back up to the shining world from there
My guide and I went into that hidden tunnel;
Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.”

A Recipe from Home

4

Name: Maria Luisa Navarro

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Cuernavaca, Mexico

Intended Program of Study: Public Health Studies

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To make enchiladas verdes you’ll need tortillas, chicken, lettuce, cream, cheese, and green sauce. To prepare the green sauce you’ll need tomatillos, garlic, onion, cilantro, water, and most importantly, chiles serranos. You first roast the tomatillos and the chiles in a skillet. Then you add hot water, onion, cilantro, and garlic, and mix everything in the blender. Your sauce is ready. Now you shred the chicken and cut the lettuce into thin slices. You grease the skillet and slightly fry the tortillas. Here comes the tricky part:  you take the tortillas, one by one, and dip them in the green sauce, taking care not to burn your fingers in the sauce! Then you stuff the tortillas with chicken and roll them up, and OK, the truth is you’re invariably going to burn your fingers. However, once you have two or three tortillas rolled up, you can place them in a plate. Then you bathe them with a little more green sauce, and finally, you cover them with lettuce, cream, and as much cheese as you want. Admire your creation, and enjoy!

Last day of school, hence the happy faces.

My mom teases me because now I can cook something besides sandwiches and cereal. My sister, moreover, makes fun of me because all of my newly acquired recipes involve chiles. Her amusement streams from the fact that I am Mexican, I live in Mexico, and up to a few months ago… I didn’t eat chiles. Actually, I had never tried jalapeños. The smell of chipotle used to make me gag. Before ordering food in a restaurant I had to make the waitress promise me that the meal was really not that spicy. Yes, I know this is not ordinary; my grandma comments on it all the time… Yet, now I can cook enchiladas, sopes, and pozole, and I enjoy adding hot sauce to almost every meal. My lips have gotten used to the burning sensation; my stomach is coming to terms with the unstoppable stream of spicy food.  My grandmother feels immensely proud because now A) I know how to cook decent food, so I will make a good wife. Cheers! B) I like eating chiles, so I am finally a normal Mexican.

What brought on my conversion? In a few words, I realized that when I leave, I am going to miss Mexico.

I always knew I wanted to go to the US for college. When I saw always, I do mean forever; as a kid, when I got mad at my parents, I would console myself thinking that I only had to put up with their rules for 10/8/5 more years, and then I would be kilometers away. It was my dad who planted in me the idea of going to the US: he would frequently tell me of the time when he had gone to an American university for one summer, and how everything was different, how he would have loved to have studied there. Then, there’s also the fact that we traveled a lot. I got glimpses of lifestyles radically different from my own. I’m very curious; every time I returned home, I wished I could have stayed in one of those countries for a little while longer, gotten to know people my age and seen how they thought.  Gradually, as I grew up, it came to be taken for granted that I when I finished High School I would go to the US for college.

Then, before I knew it, I was finally close to finishing High School, and everyone began thinking about college. However, I didn’t accompany my friends as they visited universities in nearby cities. I rarely joined in the conversations of how their application process would work. At that time I was going through my own application process, which seemed foreign and tangled to my friends. I became immersed in new vocabulary: SAT, Early Decision, AP, CommonApplication. My friends were astounded when I informed them I wouldn’t be celebrating my birthday because on that day I had my SAT. I spent a significant amount of Christmas break writing and re-writing essays. Still, every day I would browse the webpages of the universities I had applied to, and I would imagine myself living in those dorms, walking to class in that campus. I would go from excited, to nervous, to happy, to impatient, to anxious during the same week. I counted the days left until April 1.

And then it was over. I was in. I screamed and laughed and simply didn’t know what to do. I had been accepted at the university I had liked the most from the very start. Everything –the afternoons spent studying in my room, the moments cramming my head thinking about essays– had been worth it. I can confidently say that during April, May, and June, I read every single blog that I had yet not read on Hopkins Interactive and absorbed every piece of information available on Johns Hopkins University. I went to SOHOP and loved it, and became so excited and impatient to finally study at Hopkins.

The first time I visited Hopkins. My dad looked so proud!

Then, one day in July, it finally dawned on me: the realization that my life was about to change radically hit me. And it hurt. It’s silly, really. I realized from the start that when I left for college, things would change. I knew I would miss things, but I thought it was a pretty good deal trading them for the chance to study in the US. I still think it’s worth it. However, I never actually reflected on what things I was going to miss. I was sure I’d yearn for my family and friends, but one thing that I didn’t realize I was going to miss was Mexico.

Now I know I’m going to miss going with my friends to eat tacos after school during finals, seeing everyone dressed in green and red on the days that the national team wins a soccer match, the inside jokes, the old songs that everyone knows how to dance to, the woman who every Sunday sells sunflowers two blocks away from my house, the folklore that “no one believes in” but everyone acts upon, the constant holidays. I am going to miss the implication that in Mexico every meal contains something spicy. On the whole, I am going to miss knowing that I am a part of something, and I completely understand that something.

On graduation day. I won't be seeing my friends for a while ...

That’s why I learned how to cook, and why I’ve altered my palate to appreciate the sting of spicy food.  Sincerely, I’m scared of the things I won’t know when I get to college, and so I’ve learned to appreciate the things that I know now, and that make me who I am. I’m excited about meeting people with different backgrounds and perspectives, and so I’ve begun to value my own background.

Now I’m both nostalgic and excited about going to college. There are things I will leave behind, and there are things I will get to know. I will cherish both memories and surprises. I’m happy I’ve learned to be grateful for both.

I Am From

5

Name: Lisa Ni

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Bellevue, WA

Intended Program of Study: Biomedical Engineering

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During a rare moment of peace and quiet on an Alaskan cruise, I turned to my brother and asked, “What do you picture when you hear the word ‘home’?” Chris, always the logical one, said, “Um…our house, obviously. What else?!” – effectively ending that deep and meaningful conversation.

I lived for ten years in Ann Arbor, Michigan, before moving to Bellevue, Washington my sophomore year of high school. When I first moved, I wrote a touching and sappy note on Facebook about how I lived in a house, but not a home, and how I would never truly feel at home in Bellevue. Now, as I nervously and excitedly anticipate another big move across the country to another new environment, I have to carefully reconsider my concept of “home”.

When I attended SOHOP at JHU, the first question that all the warm and friendly students asked me was, “Where are you from?” At the time, I needed a short response so that people could quickly make the connections in their minds. “Hi! I’m Lisa. I’m from Washington.” But every time I said this, I felt as if I wasn’t being fair to my new friends and future schoolmates. I knew that I wasn’t giving them the whole story of who I am, and the home that I’m from.

You see, “home” isn’t just the house, apartment, or condo you live in, nor is it the house you grew up in. I believe that nobody should be able to take a sign and tack it onto a stationary residence, branding it their “Home”.

To me, the word “home” is a story in itself. My home is my story. My home is my life.

A month ago, my friend from Michigan came to visit me in Washington. Our families went on a cruise together, to Alaska. Peggy and I both shouted in excitement when we saw each other.

“It’s been so long!” She exclaimed. “But at the same time…it doesn’t feel that way at all!”

For the rest of the trip, we chattered with each other and explored the ship as if we had never been apart, and yet there was so much to learn about life in Michigan – new stores that had been built, colleges that people were attending, and, most importantly, all the details of their prom drama. I felt as if I had actually been there, as my childhood friends’ high school lives were relived for me, puzzle pieces of the life I left behind.

At the same time, I tried to imagine myself physically walking among Peggy’s memories of high school, and I couldn’t. I could picture what my friends had been through (“Gasp! Oh, she didn’t!”), but for those last three years of high school, I had lived my own life on the West Coast, a life equally filled with rich memories. All the friends I made, and the memories we lived through, are a firmly ingrained part of my home, my identity.

The first time someone on the cruise asked us where we were from, there had been a beat of awkward silence. Then Peggy perked up and said, “Hi! I’m from Michigan!” and looked at me, expectant.

I opened my mouth, ready to say, “I’m from Washington, but I moved there from Michigan three years ago where I grew up and where I still visit sometimes, so I’m really also from Michigan,” but our new acquaintances’ eyes were already flicking elsewhere, ready to move on, ready to meet other people. So I smiled, caught their eyes, and simply said, “Hi, I’m from Washington.” And for the first time on the cruise, a divide emerged between Peggy and me, a weak one, but one that we were constantly reminded of as people asked us where we were from as a means of introduction.

On Peggy’s last night in Washington, we sat talking until the sky started brightening.

“In college, where will you tell people you’re from, when they ask?” Peggy asked at some point. “I mean, I was always curious about people who moved away. At what point do you stop saying, ‘I’m from Michigan,’ and instead say, ‘I’m from Washington’?”

I frowned. “Where are you from?” and “Where is your home?” are questions that are really asking the same thing.

Home, for me, is the brown house perched atop a hill in beautiful Bellevue, Washington. But it is also a gray and white house comfortably nestled in a cul-de-sac in Ann Arbor, Michigan. My home is the people that surround me – my family, my friends, my classmates, my teachers – every person that has walked through my life and left footprints on the landscape of my memory.

In that small space of time after Peggy’s question, I was reminded of poems we wrote together in middle school. “I Am From” poems. In my young, creative middle-school mind: “I am from the chair that rolls, and from small clear bowls. I am from wonton soup, and also from backyard dog poop.” It really doesn’t get any simpler than that. Where we are from depends on what we picture when we think, “home”. Even if that includes dog poop.

“Peggy? Are you still awake? If people at college asked me, and they had the time and desire to truly listen, I would tell them that I am from the green, luscious trees and cozy, friendly neighborhoods of Ann Arbor, Michigan. I would tell them about how I miss hearing crickets chirping at night and the cicadas’ cacophony in the summers. I would tell them that sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had never moved, whether my life would have taken a completely different path. Then I would tell them that three years ago, I moved. And that I am also from the scenic, breathtaking hilltops and rainy, yet beautiful environment of Bellevue, Washington. I would tell them all of this, and I would let them know that I am proud of where I am from and wouldn’t change any of it if I could. Then, if they still wanted to talk to me after my dramatic, but necessarily lengthy introduction, I would, in turn, listen to their story.”

The best part is, there’s another place that I will be able to proudly add to the “I Am From” poem of my life.  And, dear reader, if you happen to be one of these hypothetical people that I will be introducing myself to in college, I won’t need to explain this part to you. This is what will keep us connected, and make us a part of each other’s homes.

“I am from The Johns Hopkins University.”

When Andrea Met Hopkins

7

Name: Andrea Fields

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Brooklyn, New York

Intended Program of Study: Molecular and Cellular Biology

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After 6 summers of CTY, Johns Hopkins has loomed in the back of my mind as a three-letter acronym printed on a lanyard but unlike everyone who applied early decision Johns Hopkins wasn’t my first choice school, it was my last.

I’m sure I can relate to most people when I say that making the college list was stressful.  I sat through endless explanations of 100 percent sustainable college cafeterias (not that there’s anything wrong with saving the environment, go green! Hopkins does: http://www.sustainability.jhu.edu/student%20programs/student_orgs.html) and memorized the statistics on every .edu web page I visited.  Despite all of my research I still had a hard time finding “the one.” So, like the lead character in any sappy romance movie, I put together a relatively shallow checklist to ensure that I found my perfect match.

ANDREA’S COLLEGE CHECKLIST

1. Medium sized
2. Strong in sciences
3. Research opportunities
4. School spirit
5. East Coast
6. Red brick buildings and white columns (told you it was a shallow list)

If you’re reading this you must know a little something about Johns Hopkins so having it as a last choice college is probably unimaginable. But, for many months it remained at the bottom, filling the very last spot on my initial list of about thirty schools or so.   In mid March I started visiting schools that perfectly satisfied the checklist and finding “the one” went from difficult to practically impossible; I didn’t meet a school I didn’t like. I visited campus after campus and marveled at the well-watered quads and huge sports stadiums.  My list stayed exactly the same and I remained out of luck and out of love.   Instead of seeking advice from a matchmaker, I used my math teacher’s words of wisdom: if you can’t get in the front door try the back so I began to visit my last choice schools.  First up: Johns Hopkins.  But why was a school that perfectly matched 6 out of my 6 requirements at the very bottom of my list?  After many months I finally figured it out: familiarity.

My six best friends and me before graduation

Living in the same house your entire life is relatively normal, but going to school with a small, tight knit class since kindergarten is a little different. My friends and I have the same humor, the same taste in food and almost all of the same experiences because we’ve grown up together. I’ve never been the new kid but by junior year I was ready to be.  Leaving for college is a new experience but Johns Hopkins wasn’t a new name to me, I’d known it since 5^th grade.  While my friends were shuttled off to soccer and acting camp, every summer for six years I filled my car with chemistry books, mystery novels and engineering manuals and made my way to Johns Hopkins CTY summer camp on various college campuses but never Johns Hopkins itself. Before my matchmaking process began, Johns Hopkins was simply a school associated with my summer camp so I can only attribute my short-term dislike of the university to pure stubbornness.  I knew nothing about the school except for the name and automatically placed it at the bottom of my list because I was afraid of familiarity and never moving forward.  I agreed to go visit only with the intention of completely removing it from my list, so on a blistering hot day in August I took a trip to Johns Hopkins with my mother.

Can't wait for August!

It started like any other college visit. We took the train down to Baltimore and quickly hopped in the back of a cab blasting jazz music as we cruised up North Charles Street.  When I arrived on campus, it didn’t take me long to realize that Johns Hopkins University was a perfect fit checklist wise but I still had unexplainable ambivalence towards the school I felt I had known my whole life.  I checked the regular box on the “early or regular decision?” question on the card distributed to prospective students, doubting whether I would apply to the university at all.

Who ever said there was no such thing as love at first sight has obviously never been on a tour of Johns Hopkins University.   Even my two tour guides were head over heels, literally.  They walked into lampposts, jumped out of the way of cycling campus security and tripped up almost all of the breezeway steps.  As soon as I visited I felt at home not because I knew the place, but rather because I felt comfortable.  I got this feeling that I didn’t want to spend my four years of college anywhere else and my list went from thirty schools to one in the short time it takes to walk across campus.  On the train ride home I immediately knew I was going to apply early.  Now it’s July and my feelings haven’t changed at all; I’m more excited for the school year to start than ever before even if it wont be in the same building and with the same people it has been for my entire life. When you find the perfect college, you just know.  It’s kind of like falling in love.

The Declaration of Kevin Cryan, Blue Jay

8

Name: Kevin Cryan

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Fairfield, Connecticut

Intended Programs of Study: International Studies

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When, in the course of a human life, it becomes necessary for a person to dissolve the ties that have, for approximately 18 years, connected them to their hometown, their house, many of their friends and essentially all they ever knew, they must declare their independence and state the actions they have taken in crafting their new home at the Johns Hopkins University.

Gilman Hall

I hold these truths to be self-evident, that Johns Hopkins is my dream school, that it was apparent within moments of its entrance into my life, that there I could see my college experience endowed with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I would secure these rights by joining a diverse set of clubs which pertain to my interests, choosing courses I know I will love rather than being forced to take required freshmen 101s to sleep through, and find a core group of friends to rely on and have fun with. Yet to make it to this point, this new epoch of independence, a long road has been traveled – from college visits to coffee shop interviews to Ikea. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world wide web.

I HAVE, as a snobbish junior, prematurely dismissed Hopkins as “that doctor school” and deemed it pathetic that they even pretended to have a strong liberal arts curriculum.

I HAVE, at my parents’ prodding, crafted a list of characteristics that I would find in my most perfect college, including but not limited to: beautiful campus, near a charming city, mid-sized, excellent resources and opportunities to learn, warm but not hot, good programs in political science and international relations (because I bounce between the two as majors seemingly every week), and, of course, a cool mascot.

I HAVE, in crafting a college road trip with my parents, chosen to tour Hopkins as an alternative to a different college in a type of lesser-of-two-evils scenario.

I HAVE, upon stepping onto campus, fallen in love and seen every one of my expectations about the perfect college not just realized, but exceeded.

I HAVE, upon visiting a multitude of other colleges, compared each and every one to the standard set by Johns Hopkins in a “hmm, they don’t have as good a ______ as Hopkins…” fashion.

I HAVE, after many nail-biting sessions and pro-con lists, decided to apply early decision to Johns Hopkins University – in mid-October.

I HAVE, on Halloween night amidst a flurry of frenzy and chaos, written and edited my college essay, in a very convincing costume as a hyperventilating weirdo.

The pie chart I made right after finishing my college application.

I HAVE, in a Panera coffee shop, had a very fun and interesting college interview despite a) having initially asked a completely random stranger if they were my interviewer, b) being ridiculously overdressed, and c) having burnt my tongue on a scalding cup of green tea.

I HAVE, in lieu of tearing my hair out, brought silly putty to school on December 15^th and fiddled with it so incessantly that my mock trial coach was prompted to throw it out a window onto the sidewalk below.

I HAVE, in receiving the best e-mail of his life, screamed, hugged my parents, rushed out to a fencing practice my obsessive screen refreshing had caused me to be late to, and screamed some more with my friends.

I HAVE, over the next few months, immersed myself in the Hopkins Interactive blogs, using them as an incredible resource to quench my thirst for everything Hopkins-related.

I HAVE, in checking out the Cribs video series, decided upon the AMRs, because they look awesome.

I HAVE, at the SOHOP event, thoroughly enjoyed every minute spent meeting new future classmates, going to department presentations, touring my beloved AMR building, getting possibly the dorkiest blue jay silly bands (and yet still loving them!!), and checking out the study abroad office, which I loved due to the wealth of options, the incredibly nice staff, and the free cookies.

I HAVE, in visiting Ikea, bought some awesome decorations I got super-excited over.

I HAVE, after what seemed like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye, graduated from High school, making the clean break from Blue Falcon to Blue Jay (quite a big jump)

I HAVE, during the start of this summer, stressed over who my roommate will be, where I will live, and feared that my roommate will either be a crazy oddball or think of me as a crazy oddball.

yup

I HAVE, at 5 in the morning (Damn that family reunion in Colorado and its stupid time zone!) registered for classes and crafted the absolute perfect schedule for my first semester after what seemed like the fight of my life on ISIS against hordes of other online students determined to fill up the classes I so desperately wanted.

I HAVE, over the course of two years, matured from a college neophyte with my lists and my snobbery into a full-fledged Blue Jay, ready to assert my independence in this brave new world.

Yet this is not to say that I will turn my back on the life I’ve spent 18 years creating. My room will stay here, ready for my returns on Thanksgivings, Columbus days, and Christmases. My friends, some of whom I’ve known since I can remember, will stay as valuable parts of my life, just further away. My traditions, like Tuesday dinner parties, will morph into videochat sessions. It’s not ideal, but this is what needs to happen. I’ve still got my roots, but now I need to sprout out into the big wide world.

I, Kevin Cryan, therefore do solemnly publish and declare, that I am from this moment no longer the kid from Fairfield CT, but instead the College man, the Hopkins student, the Blue Jay.

I hereby declare my independence.

Kevin Cryan

The Things We Carry

5

Name: Kathleen Naymon

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Richfield, Ohio

Intended Programs of Study: Writing Seminars and Political Science

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Boxful of Hopkins paraphernalia, including: favorite navy crewneck, SOHOP t-shirt, and Blue Jay athletic shorts. Check.

Obligatory copy of The Naked Roommate given to me as a gift. Check.

Strange mixture of both anxiety and excitement hanging over my head. Uh, check.

If you want to find me on Orientation day, I can guarantee you I’ll be the girl with a million boxes to unload, parents silently judging in the background with an expression that can only be read as Did you really need so many pairs of shoes?

Look out, Homewood: the Class of 2015 is arriving with baggage—literally and figuratively.

Me and my Hopkins-bound classmate right before Commencement

Like every Hopkins class before us, we have a lot to bring. As my packing list grows, I’m starting to realize the sheer amount of stuff I’m going to need next year. Clothes, laundry supplies, and a bazillion computer cords will all be transported from Ohio to Maryland. My packing list includes only the essentials: a weathered copy of The Fountainhead, my coziest fleece blanket, and every season of Gilmore Girls on DVD. Basically, I’m packing up 18 years and bringing it to Baltimore. It’s daunting.

But although we’re bringing a ton to our new home, we’re leaving even more behind. No, not the stuff on the “What NOT to Pack List” from the Housing website. I’m talking figuratively. Throughout high school, we’ve each accumulated honors, awards, certificates, titles, captainships, and glowing recommendations. A little less than a year ago, we condensed all of that into a single application: a composite of SAT scores, AP results, and our grades in AP Calculus and English Literature – a high school career summed up in a few numbers and letters.

And scarily enough, all of that is gone. (OK, it’s probably filed in some cabinet in Mason Hall, but you get my point).  The second we flipped the tassel to the other side, losing the comfort of being a senior, we each earned a clean slate. We’re no longer the mighty Class of 2011. I’m no longer the editor-in-chief of my high school online magazine. I’m no longer literary editor of the yearbook, or a member of my high school feminist society or fencing club. I’m just Katie from Ohio, a pre-major freshman with a giant box of shoes.

I thought it was a big enough transition to leave my little rural suburb of 3,000 for the big, urban environment I’ve seen on The Wire. But now that the months turn into days before August 29, I’m becoming more anxious about the transition from senior to freshman.  After four years of going to a tiny, all-girls high school, I was finally completely comfortable. I practically know the life story of every single girl in my class. I’ve met their family members and pets, and they know mine. Although one high school classmate will be accompanying me at Hopkins, I’m leaving behind my other 70 best friends. It’s rough to let go.

Commencement, June 7, 2011

Sure, I cried during commencement. A lot. But a week later, I was staying up till 3 a.m., pouring over course evaluations and the registrar website in a borderline maniacal way. While I’m leaving my high school identity at home, I now get the opportunity to take as much as I can from my college experience, which leads me to why I chose Hopkins.  Surely like many of my classmates, I knew Johns Hopkins was a perfect fit about 10 minutes into the info session when I visited during my junior year.  I wanted a school that felt like home: a place that would suit my old belongings, while providing me with new ones – lifelong friends, new interests and activities, and a foundation to build a career upon. In any case, I’m leaving lots of extra room in my suitcase.

So what is the Class of 2015 bringing to Johns Hopkins? From what I’ve gathered from the official Facebook group, we’re bringing MacBook Pros, power strips, lacrosse sticks, passports, Harry Potter books and DVDs, violins, and bikes – and that’s just the stuff that fits in a car. It seems like Baltimore will also become home to our enthusiasm, passion, curiosity, motivation, obsession with class registration, and an absolute love for the school that we’ll call home for the next four years.

Get ready for move-in, class. We’ve got a lot to unpack.

Hopes, Fears, and Anecdotal Evidence as to Why My Family Believes I Will Die in College

6

Name: Olivia Cusimano

Year: Class of 2015

Hometown: Santa Barbara, CA

Intended Programs of Study: Writing Seminars

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I’m not going to lie; when I poke around on my trusty iPhone to see the weather in Baltimore, (yes, this is a daily occurrence), my spoiled-brat-California-dwelling-terrified-of-weather side begins to scream in terror. Outside my window it’s sixty and partly cloudy. It’s midday and July. 102 with t-storms predicted for an entire week in Baltimore is extremely terrifying for little, weather ignorant me. We had a thunderstorm this year in Santa Barbara, my coastal California hometown. I remember it distinctly: it was raining outside and I was cold and wet having just come home from water polo practice (in an outdoor pool). I decided to take a shower. About five minutes, and a hair full of suds, into my shower, my mom comes running in and tells me to get out of the shower because “Olivia, there’s a thunderstorm and I don’t want you to get electrocuted!” I humor her wishes and quickly rinse off my hair and get out. “Mom, the water won’t electrocute me,” I tell her. Now I realize at this juncture either I just made a “funny” joke or I exposed myself as extremely ignorant which I suppose might be funny…? Someone enlighten me before I make a complete idiot of myself in the dorms: Will I die taking a shower during a thunderstorm?

Standing in front of Hopkins for the first time at SOHOP!

See, while I’m academically strong, it is often the day to day things that I have trouble with. My mom loves to talk about how I couldn’t figure out how to mail a letter in one of the big, blue, public Postal Service bins. It was confusing and I was flustered because she had me get out of the car in a bad neighborhood! It is for this reason that college is terrifying. I don’t want to be the person who now has a wardrobe of pinks after accidentally leaving a pair of red underwear in with the light pile and throwing it all in the wash. I don’t want to be the one who lights fire to my room while trying to make toast in the morning. For years my mom has been threatening to put me through what she calls “boot camp”, where she teaches me all kinds of life skills so that I survive college. Thus far I have skillfully evaded this eventuality with “prior engagements.” Still, a side of me wishes that she would just sit me down (or more likely hog tie me to the chair to keep me from sprinting away) and teach me these things, so that I can function as any other human being, and flourish.

Waving goodbye to my old life at graduation.

On a more sincere level, the prospect of moving nearly 3000 miles across the country, to a place I have visited only once before is nothing short of terrifying. Honestly, I can put up a facade of pure excitement, but it’s just that: a facade. When nearly every other friend of mine excitedly discuss their 300 mile move up to Berkeley, I can’t help but feel a strange pang of jealousy. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t even apply to schools in California, I have been planning on going East for around 2 years. The jealousy is not for the school, or because many of my friends get to stay together up there. No, it’s because while it’s a big change, the relative sameness that they will enjoy makes it safe. I can’t call my mom a week in advance and tell her to fly (or worse, drive) to Baltimore. She can fly out to surprise me, but then we waste a plane ticket that could get me home for a visit with everyone in Santa Barbara. (If only money grew on trees!) This is the first year I won’t have Thanksgiving with my family. Even the year we were out of town for a soccer tournament, we got a small, ready made turkey and had dinner. All my friends in California will likely spend those few days with their family. What’s relatively counter-intuitive in all of this, though, is that after I went to Hopkins and visited during SOHOP, I never once wavered on my decision to enroll. In direct contrast with a lot of my friends, I know Hopkins is the place for me, and I couldn’t feel luckier.

I should wear a helmet at all times.

The whole idea that this “college” thing is real set in when I woke up at the ripe time of 3:46 (yes, I’m extremely meticulous) to register for classes. Seeing that little color coded 5-day schedule made everything tangible. I did get in! I will go! All of these people on the Facebook page aren’t just random people – they are my classmates, they will share these next four years with me. These people will be the ones who laugh at me when I turn all my laundry pink, who bust out the fire extinguisher when I light the toaster on fire, and who teach me whether or not I can shower during a thunderstorm. The suddenness of this realization is still kicking in, but at this moment, I couldn’t be happier. I will succeed, even if it’s in spite of my family, I know it, and even if I take silly little bumps and bruises along the way, I know that it’ll be worth it. I’m ready to dive headfirst into the unknown. I’m ready to move thousands of miles and do what no one in my family has done before me. I’m ready to go to Hopkins even if it means putting my high school’s mantra of “Once a Don, Always a Don” on the back burner. That was then, and now I’m a very proud Blue Jay ready to take flight.

As Long as You’re Sure This is What You Want

3

Name: Clint Hall

Year: Class of 2014

Hometown: San Diego, CA

Intended Program of Study: Global Environmental Change and Sustainability

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I have always been a student-athlete. In elementary school, I was asked to play with the older boys on middle school teams, and in middle school, I turned to club sports so I could play year-round. To say the least, athletics were a big part of my life—but so were academics. Eventually, I’d have to choose which mattered the most.

In high school, I decided to concentrate on only one sport: volleyball. According to my parents, coaches and teammates, I had the ability to play at the collegiate level—and I was to utilize the next four years to prepare for college athletics. As a member of both the varsity team at my school and a nationally-ranked club team, the phrase, “I can’t…I have volleyball,” became an expected excuse for being unable to attend social events. The hardest part of being an athlete, however, was being unable to equally focus on academics. In school, I could see my performance drop after a long tournament or an unforgiving week of practice, and I had to forgo many academic opportunities in order to pursue volleyball at a higher level. And when it came to college applications, I only looked into a handful of schools that didn’t offer competitive volleyball at the intercollegiate level; Johns Hopkins was one of them.

When May rolled around, I began getting early notification of acceptances from volleyball coaches that I had previous contact with: I was approved by the admissions committee and was offered a spot on their team; my four years of hard work had paid off and I nearly decided what school I would be attending—until I got an email with the subject “Congratulations from Johns Hopkins University!” which, ironically, I received on my Blackberry in the middle of a volleyball match.

Almost instantly, I began doing more research about the school. I was intrigued by the idea of not being a student-athlete. It seems strange to most, but I never really knew what it was like to be just a student. I had known enough about JHU for it to spark my interest in the application process, but after my acceptance I discovered majors like Public Health Studies and Global Environmental Change and Sustainability, internships at the NIH, combined BA/MA programs with Hopkins grad schools, the Johns Hopkins University Press and other opportunities that extended beyond the realm of volleyball. I decided to visit Hopkins. The moment I stepped on campus I felt an immediate connection, and after my tour, I fell in love; I knew this would be my home for the next four years, even if I couldn’t play volleyball.

After days of excruciating apprehension, I told my parents of my decision—I was not going to play volleyball in college, I was going to be a student at Johns Hopkins University. An awkward, quiet fog set over the three of us, and as they looked at me, I could see a mixture of sadness, disappointment, confusion and happiness in their eyes. All they said was “Okay, as long as you’re sure this is what you want.” I nodded, but the awkwardness remained. Even though I told the other members of my immediate family over the phone, I could sense they had the same reaction: a despondent surprise at my strange decision. I had spent so many hours practicing and playing volleyball and I let it slip away in what seemed like an instant. But was I to forgo the university I was in love with for the sport I loved?

It felt like weeks before I got a positive response from my family, but when it came, it came full-force. My dad began emailing me little things about “J-Hop,” as he calls it, that he found interesting, like the fact that Johns Hopkins had both academic and athletic colors (if you were wondering, they’re Old Gold/Sable and Columbia Blue/Black, respectively). My mom began wearing Hopkins gear almost daily and even purchased more from the bookstore. My sister visited the campus while in Baltimore and had nothing but good things to say. Now, my family doesn’t stop talking about how much they love Hopkins (it can even get a little repetitive sometimes). It took them a little longer than me to realize it, but they know I made the right choice.

Not long ago, I said I regretted playing volleyball—I mean, it seemed pointless to put so much effort into something that I didn’t even end up pursuing in college. But then a future classmate told me something I had never really thought of: showing passion for and dedication to a sport probably had a big impact on the admission committee’s decision to accept me. So now, I don’t regret playing volleyball, I realized that it made me who I am today. And even though you will probably see me pick up a volleyball every now and then, I’m proud to be just a student; a student at Johns Hopkins University.

Finishing My Summer Bucket List

1

Name: Devin Alessio

Year: Class of 2014

Hometown: Manalapan, NJ

Intended Programs of Study: Writing Seminars and Romance Languages

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I’m in love with the concept of bucket lists. My friend Megan introduced me to the concept when she made a bucket list for the trip to Disney World that we took, along with our three other best friends, in lieu of throwing separate graduation parties. Our Disney Bucket List looked something like this:

1. Ride Space Mountain with our eyes closed.
2. Speak Italian to the people in the Italy pavilion in the World Showcase at Epcot. (What can I say? I’m planning on double majoring in Romance Languages and Writing Seminars.)
3. Lead a parade.
4. Eat Mickey Ice Cream Bars.

We had 146 things on our bucket list, and accomplished all but four! (And I actually did all of the things I listed.) Soon, I was making senior year bucket lists, vacation bucket lists, senior week bucket lists…I’ve become an addict.

The bucket list is a completely separate entity than its cousin, the to-do list. A to-do list is mundane, a list of things you need to do.  The bucket lit, in all of its glory, is a list of things you aspire to accomplish within a fixed period of time because doing those things will make you a happier person. In celebration of my final summer before attending the glorious Johns Hopkins University, I have developed the following Summer 2010 Bucket List.

1. Attend a Live Taping of the Maury Show I’ve always admired Maury Povich for his ability to mediate midget love triangles/baby daddy disputes/ chicken tetrazzini debacles with tact and a patriarchal tone, all while rocking the man cardigan. Also, I have an immense desire to sit on the couch his subjects run to cry on upon learning their boyfriend is not their baby’s father. My friend Sean, who shares my bizarre love of this docudrama, and I have decided to road trip it to Stamford, Connecticut, to watch this phenomenon unfold before our eyes. And to hear the words, “You are NOT the father.” Ah, the magic of daytime television.
2. Finally Learn How the Pack’n’Hold Remote at Bed, Bath, and Beyond Works For those of you who haven’t heard, Bed, Bath, and Beyond runs a fantastic program in which you pick the items you want for your dorm room at your neighborhood store and those exact items will be waiting for you at the Bed, Bath, and Beyond closest to you (In our case, at the Towson Town Center Mall. And, honest to blog, I was not paid by Bed, Bath, and Beyond to write this.) The only glitch? You have to scan the items with a machine that’s part universal remote, part laser tag gun, and part light saber. It is my personal goal to master the mystery that is the Pack’n’Hold remote.
3. Make a Pilgrimage to Seaside Heights I’m both ashamed and humored to admit that the Situation went to my high school. For those of you who haven’t caught on to the Jersey Shore phenomenon, a group of self professed “guidos” have created a culture in which showdog hair poufs, tube tops, and Ed Hardy shirts have all (unfortunately) become popular again. And this cultural revolution happened 20 minutes from my hometown! Just as Borat travelled to the U.S. and A to learn about all things Americana, I will travel to Karma and the boardwalk in an attempt to understand this culture. (Which, as an Italian- American and New Jersey resident, I believe I have an authority to say that the ideas expressed on the show are completely foreign and do not resemble my life in the slightest.)
4. Teach Everyone that “Johns Hopkins student” is not synonymous with “Future Doctor” I will admit that except for the three day stint during which I broke my leg, bedazzled my cast, and fell in love with Patrick Dempsey after watching Grey’s Anatomy for hours on end, I have never wanted to be a doctor. While I have utmost respect for doctors, I just don’t see myself practicing medicine. All of a sudden, however, everyone I know – including my own grandmother, who, despite whatever I tell her, thinks that I’m the next Doogie Howser – has decided that I must want to be a doctor upon my decision to attend “John Hopkins” (And every time that I hear about “John Hopkins”, my inner Lynne Truss starts acting up). One part of me wants to keep a first aid kit and stethoscope on my person at all times and yell out the scientific names of sicknesses any time a friend does so much as cough in order to appease these people (Streptococcal Pharyngitis! EBV Infectious Mononucleosis!). The other part of me wants to remind everyone that I’ve wanted to be a writer for my entire life and that Writing Seminars is one of the best creative writing programs in the country (but that’s no big deal, really).  I’ve been working on developing the latter part of me this summer.
5. Appreciate Being Home While I’m Still Here As Dorothy Gale said, “There’s no place like home.” As excited as I am to move to Baltimore this August, it’s going to be strange that my mom won’t ask me how my day was when I come home after school. It’s going to be strange that I won’t eat dinner at my Grandma’s house every Sunday night. It’s going to be strange that in one month, I won’t be living with my sister…or dog. So I’ve been learning to say thank you… to my mom, for patiently teaching me how to do the laundry and informing me that macaroni and cheese is not in its own food group (Although I’ve heard that may change in college). To my dad, for being really, really nice that one time when I spilled orange juice on my laptop and finding someone who could fix it, and for teaching me how to upload my ID picture for my J-Card. And to my sister, for not letting me leave the house when my clothes don’t match.

Sometimes, I can’t wait to get out of my small town and start living on my own.  But I’ve come to realize that I have the rest of my life to do that – and only one month to cherish the time I’ve got left here. So to the Johns Hopkins Class of 2014 – I can’t wait to meet each and every one of you. But for now, I challenge you to stop thinking about the cool classes you’ll be taking, which fraternity or sorority you’ll be rushing, and strategically planning which stores you’re going to visit first at the glorious three-story Towson Town Center Mall(which I’m personally guilty of) and live in the present, with the friends and family you’ve grown up with. I’m excited to hear about the things the members of the class of 2014 has crossed off on their bucket lists…but for now, I’m looking forward to finishing mine with the friends and family I love.

You Have Arrived at Your Destination

2

Name: Sydney Rooney

Year: Class of 2014

Hometown: Elm Grove, WI

Intended Program of Study: Biomedical Engineering

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I would say I’m a small-town girl, but that would be a lie. If you want to get all technical, I’m a small-village girl. For my whole life, I’ve lived in the village/bird sanctuary that is Elm Grove, Wisconsin. Even though you are probably envisioning something to the tune of wooden cabins or huts, it’s really a lot more modern than it sounds. It has electricity and everything. I promise.

I must say, I happen to ADORE my hometown (homevillage?). It’s nice knowing that the only thing likely to be trespassing in the middle of the night is a turkey or two. Still, I’ve always wanted go somewhere bigger; as you can imagine, the convent, Irish-goods store, and knitting house, quaint as they are, are really hard to find enthralling after 17 years (the nuns are SUPER nice, though!). This led me on my road to Hopkins.

Sure, I did the studying, the extra-curricular activities, and everything else, but that was nothing compared to the preparation I had to do senior year.

First came the application process. All things aside, the written part was a piece of cake. Though some may believe the first nine-hundred pages of the Common Application (okay, okay, I embellish a little…) were tedious, I actually found them quite enjoyable. Yes, all the endless pages of filling in the blanks did take some time, but I couldn’t help thinking how easy it all was. I mean, I’ve spent hours and hours preparing for this application, but 99% of it was simple questions. Name? Sydney Rooney. Hometown? Elm Grove, WI. Intended Major? Biomedical Engineering. I gave myself a mental pat on the back after each question. It was like a test: a test that I spent four long years of my life preparing for, but happened to know every answer.  I thought if this was the worst of the application process, the whole thing was going to be a snap.

It wasn’t.

After the written application came the college interview. Originally, I got an e-mail telling me it was a phone interview. That made me incredibly nervous. Like “quaking-in-your-boots” nervous. Don’t get me wrong; I really enjoy talking. Being Italian, that’s all my family does at holidays: talk at inconceivably remarkable decibels. Thankfully, I can control my volume (unlike my Nonnie…), but I was still scared. What if I say something that translates wrong over the phone? Didn’t my English teacher tell me that most communication was non-verbal?

It ended up not mattering at all. She met me in person (Hallelujah!).

That brought along its oodles of nerves, too. I mean, there were the little things, like the fact that every road in my village has a speed limit of 25 mph and the freeway to get to my interview expected me to go a wee bit faster, but all these little things didn’t really matter. The interview started and all was well. We talked about everything imaginable, from all my sports injuries (6 and counting…) to the fact that Gilmore Girls is the only reason we both know the plural of cul de sac (it’s culs de sac, in case you were wondering). In actuality, the oodles of nerves belonged to my parents because, as you can imagine, it takes a great deal of time to talk about everything imaginable. Three hours, to be exact.

I got into my lime-green VW Bug after the interview and called my parents. The first words out of their mouths were “THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE ALRIGHT!”. They told me they were about to send out a search party. Oh, and that they thought my interviewer kidnapped me. Really. I laughed the whole way home trying to wrap my mind around their fear. MySpace: a good way to meet somebody who might kidnap you. A reputable school like Johns Hopkins setting up an interview: not so dangerous.

Next came the wait. Yes, that was long and excruciating, but I managed to survive. I don’t feel the need to elaborate on that part for two reasons: 1. If you’re one of my classmates, you already understand the pain and torture that ensues until you get that e-mail with the title “Congratulations!”. 2. If you’re a prospective student, I don’t want to ruin the surprise (mwahahaha!). Instead, I’d like to skip to the “Congratulations!” part. I’m much fonder of that part.

The “Congratulations!” led to the jumping up and down which led to milkshakes which led to my two friends and I jumping up and down in the parking lot of Steak ‘n’ Shake which then led to the last leg of my journey: visiting the school.

My two parents and I left on Easter morning to begin our 13 hour drive (and, oh boy, was that fun…). At 10:45 AM, we passed an almighty Cracker Barrel, the one place we always eat at on roadtrips. My dad thought it was too early for lunch, so he, against my mother’s will, decided not to stop. Little did we know, that was the last venue of nourishment for almost five hours (thanks a lot, Ohio!). So my “Easter brunch” consisted of a half of a quesadilla, slathered with grease and everything else unappealing while trapped in a Honda, and Corn Nuts. Fantastic. The ride also consisted of my mother freaking out at my father (car rides make her touchy) and my father somehow finding a way to blame us (a tactic cleverly developed by him after realizing car rides made her touchy). Finally, at midnight, our GPS proudly stated “You have arrived at your destination.” We made it!

More importantly, that was the first time I felt like I made it. It’s still hard for me to grasp onto the concept that I actually made it out of my village in Wisconsin. But at that moment, I knew I had. I laid on the bed, wondering what’s going to happen next. In a matter of four years, I was able to make it from Elm Grove, Wisconsin to Baltimore, Maryland, which are two places that are completely foreign to each other. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what was next.

To tell you the truth, I’m not completely sure what’s next for me, and that’s OK. I know I won’t wake up and find turkeys on my street anymore. I know I won’t know everyone in my town on a first name basis like before. I know I won’t be the same person I was when I started this whole journey. The only thing I do know is that the road to Hopkins was a long one, and it will be worth it. I’ll make sure of that.