A Letter from the Future

1

Name: Fatimah Alkhunaizi

Year: Class of 2014

Hometown: Qatif, Saudi Arabia

Intended Programs of Study: Cognitive Science, Neuroscience

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Dear Fatimah (age 10),

It’s me. Actually, it’s you, 8 years later. I’m writing you this letter because I know that you’re wondering about whether Nintendo will ever make a Game Girl, and I must tell you, it doesn’t look like they ever will. I also happen to know that today; college crossed your mind for the first time. You were watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and it was the episode where Will and Carlton were being interviewed for Princeton University. You thought to yourself “Hey! Look at the fuss they’re making about that school, obviously it’s pretty impressive. I want to go someplace like that for college”.

And that was how your tiny obsession with college began.

In this letter from the future, I’m trying to tell you not to worry; that everything will be okay, and that everything will turn out for the best.

During the next 8 years, you’ll go through so many experiences, you’ll do and learn so many new things, and by the time you’re 17, your college application process will have begun. I feel it is my responsibility to tell you that you must be prepared. It will be one of the most stressful periods of your life until then. From narrowing down your college list, to writing heaps of essays, to chasing around teachers for your recommendation letters; it will be tough. As you wait for decisions, you’ll be overwhelmed by doubt: Am I good enough for the schools I applied to? What if I don’t get in anywhere? Where will I end up next year?

But rest assured; you’ll end up in the perfect school for you. I know that’s what everyone is going to tell you, and I know that while you’re waiting impatiently it might seem hard to believe, but you will. You really will.

I bet you’re dying to know where that is now, aren’t you? I won’t leave you waiting much longer.

Drum roll please…

It’s Johns Hopkins University!

Excited? Doing your little happy dance? You should be! And about 8 years later when you read your acceptance letter, you’ll know you’ve made it.

But that’s just the beginning, because immediately after you read that letter, you’ll get another one from another amazing school. Dilemma? Yes. But you’ll end up choosing Hopkins for so many good reasons; you’ll even feel like a fool afterwards for even considering any other school.

In mid-April 2010, you’ll walk onto the Homewood campus of Johns Hopkins for the open days, and you’ll immediately be able to visualize yourself living there for the next four years. You’ll get this feeling that you belong there, that you’ll easily be able to fit in. You’ll marvel at how utterly beautiful the campus is, and you’ll meet students who are passionate, enthusiastic, and who speak so highly of their school.

You’ll attend a couple of classes that will ignite your interest in so many different fields, and you’ll meet professors who will blow your mind with their profound knowledge, dedication, modesty, and willingness to give you their all. You’ll learn that research opportunities at Hopkins are truly unparalleled, and being as into research as you will be, Hopkins will be the obvious choice. And by the time you decide to enroll, you’ll never feel happier.

During the summer before you leave for Hopkins, you’ll feel a mixture of contradictory feelings. You’ll find it extremely hard to let go of school, of all the memories you’ve created with your friends, of all the good times you had. You’ll suffer from depression for a few weeks after graduation, but it’ll pass, and that depression will be replaced by sheer excitement for the next four years. You’ll be looking forward to creating even more memories and having even more good times. You’ll succeed at convincing yourself that it is indeed high time you moved on.  You’ll know for a fact that your time at Hopkins will be amazing, and you’ll suddenly feel like you just want time to fast forward so you could be there already!

So, to you, little 10 year-old Fatimah, and to all the other 10 year-olds out there who will, in 8 years become your classmates and friends, congratulations in advance. Believe it or not, you will all be proud members of Johns Hopkins’ class of 2014. If I were you, I’d be extremely proud.

Oh wait, I am you. And I am proud.

Sincerely,

Fatimah (age 18)

I’d Rather Be a Bluejay

1

Name: Marina Gaeta

Year: Class of 2014

Hometown: Ithaca, NY

Intended Programs of Study: Writing Seminars and Neuroscience

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One of my unexpected favorite things about being a pre-frosh at Hopkins is the camaraderie that emerges between all students, alums, and faculty over the general public’s reaction to hearing our school’s name. It’s almost as if the entire world has been provided with a handbook entitled Things to Say When Encountered With a Reference to The Johns Hopkins University that covers all potential responses and mispronunciations necessary for a variety of social situations.

There are the good:  “Oh wow, that’s an incredible school.”
“Aha! You must have aced your SATs.”
“Baltimore is a lovely city, you’ll have so much to do there!”
“A person like you will do so well at a school like that,    congratulations.”

There are the bad: “Don’t get shot!”
“Don’t you want to enjoy yourself during college?”
“Oh wow, isn’t everyone there really intense?”
“Isn’t that where ‘fun goes to die?’”

And there are the ugly: “John Hopkin? That’s in Pennsylvania, right?”
“Oh I didn’t know you wanted to be a doctor!”
“I didn’t realize they let 17 year olds go to medical school…”
“Oh St. John Fisher? I’ve heard of that!”

Before I was accepted, I never thought I’d be bothered by something so trivial as a dropped “s” or the assumption that I was going into the medical field. Now I correct everyone who so much as takes a breath between the first and last names of our founding father and make a mental note to forever question their intelligence. Sometimes I think this attitude could be a little harsh, perhaps too critical. Then I think of each generation of Hopkids (I know, I know, so necessary though) before me proudly defending the name and honor of our institution with every eye roll and replaced letter and I additionally note to exclude the offender from all future social gatherings and important discussions. However, there is one realm of my JHops defense to which I feel most of my classmates will not relate. This is what I like to call “The Ivy Issue.”

I suppose I’m a little hesitant about what I’m about to reveal. Perhaps it’s in light of the furious Victoria’s Secret voting battle that is currently taking place or that the last U.S. News and World Report rankings placed a certain pair of schools in spots 14 and 15 or maybe I’m just sensitive because my college decision was, if not controversial, at least a topic of contention for many people I told.

You see, my hometown is Ithaca, New York, the home of Cornell University. There’s nothing special about this fact alone. Everyone has a hometown. Many people live in cities with universities. However, Ithaca, I believe, is a little different. Our town slogan (feel free to cringe, it gets so much worse) is “Ithaca Is Gorges” because of the myriad of waterfalls, creeks, and natural swimming holes that distinguish our part of the Finger Lakes from the rest of the state (and make it “gorgeous”). However, it would be much more accurate – and mercifully less punny- if it were “Ithaca Is Cornell.”

The University hovers atop a hill, high above downtown Ithaca like a medieval castle, its domineering presence pervading all aspects of life. I hardly know an adult who is either not employed by Cornell or is not an alumnus or legacy, including my high school teachers. Most of my friends are children of professors or legacies – some legacies extend five or six generations while some include every single member of the family. In addition, Cornell plays an important role in the community by sponsoring hundreds of different programs and events in Ithaca and Tompkins County. Even Ithaca High School’s mascot is the “Little Red,” a bear that is presumably an offspring of Cornell’s “Big Red.”

I am, while not a perfect one, definitely an example of the Cornell pedigree: my father is a professor in the department of Applied and Engineering Physics; I took a literature class there last fall; I have been employed by the university for the last eight months doing neuroscience research. And of course, I proudly marched with the rest of my classmates through the doors of Bartels Hall this June with a diploma in hand. However, there is one major difference between me and most of the 350 students with whom I walked across the graduation stage. I am one of ten or so students in the top 20% of my graduating class who will not be hiking up the hill this August to continue the Ithacan tradition through their studies at Cornell University.

So, when asked about my plans for next year, acquaintances confront me with a slightly different set of questions:

“What dorm will you be living in?”
“Are you in CALS (College of Agricultural and Life Sciences) or Arts and Sciences?”
“Will you and Chaney (my best friend who is, of course, going to Cornell to study Mechanical Engineering) be rooming together next year?”
“Is your father excited that you two will be on campus together all the time?”

When I respond that I am, in fact, not planning on attending Cornell and will be moving to Baltimore, the inquirer gets a strange look on his or her face as if I have answered the question in ancient Greek. Then, presumably, they stumble upon the aforementioned “handbook” and reply with a Hopkins-appropriate response: “Oh, so you want to be a doctor.”

The reason I refer to this phenomenon as the “Ivy Issue” is because almost as many times as I get doctor comments (or a mispronounced “Johns”) am I forced to answer one of the following questions: “Did you not get into Cornell?” or “So the Ivy League wasn’t for you?”

No, the Ivy League didn’t feel right for me. Hopkins did. Sometimes I need forty-five minutes to choose an outfit in the morning, yet when I walked on Homewood Campus for the first time, I knew immediately that I would apply early to JHU. And I was lucky enough to be accepted to the only university on the planet where I can truly imagine myself the next four years.

A few weeks ago I was on vacation in Mexico with my family and best friend. One evening we met a family from Texas that was particularly impressed by my future educational plans. Whenever we ran into one of the sons, he would introduce my friend and me as the “Ivy League Girls,” leaving me to explain that Johns Hopkins, while of similar academic caliber, is located in Maryland and is division 3 (in all sports besides lacrosse of course!), rendering it ineligible to compete athletically with the Ivies.

“That’s just too bad,” he said to me one night. “I can tell you’re a smart girl and I know John Hopkins is a good school. They should really work on making it an Ivy.”

“You think so?” I said. “I’ll ask Mr. Hopkins to get right on it.”

Establishing a Connection: The Chronicles of a Future Freshman

6

Name: Aishwarya Rajagopalan

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Newtown, PA

Intended Programs of Study: Public Health (Natural Science emphasis) and French

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It’s only six in the morning and it’s already thirty-two degrees Celsius with close to sixty five percent humidity, I rush down the stairs, my feet carefully dancing from step to step as to avoid awakening any other members of the family, the narrow window of opportunity to check my class schedule for the fall is slipping away quickly, and the thought of losing the chance to eagerly compare schedules with classmates almost tenses me. Upon arrival in the kitchen, I am accosted by a horde of mosquitoes, hungry for my anxious blood, yet I am unfazed by this revelation, my goal has yet to be attainted, I must manage to do what has not been done in several painstaking days: I must connect to the internet. For a girl who can typically adjust to the summers in India where internet connection is few and far in between given the hectic schedule of visiting relatives in all corners of the country, of running to yoga class then to the shopping district to pick up clothing to wear for impending poojas, of darting in and out of temples across Tamil Nadu in an effort to seek the blessing of ancestors and Gods alike for my first fall away from home, this summer is different. I am the oldest grandchild on both sides of my family, and the idea of sending a young girl even two hours away to study is a concept that is both foreign and frightening to my grandparents, who have scheduled visits of many varieties to community elders and spiritual leaders alike to seek the best wishes of these influential forces as I prepare to embark on my four year journey at JHU.

As I quickly open my MacBook, I can’t help but wonder if today will be like yesterday, where a power cut due to the lack of monsoon rain will interrupt my quest to confirm that I have a French class in my schedule, and that I can in fact double major in Public Health and French, or at least contemplate such a thought while planning to be Pre Med. At the same time, I hear the ruffling of sheets in the next room, and the air conditioner has shut off. I wipe the single bead of sweat off of my forehead and greet my grandmother who offers both breakfast and advice simultaneously as my laptop struggles to obtain Internet signal. “Ammu”, she starts, smiling at me as she turns on the stove, “today you can go get blankets for your college. You can also go look for some nice things for your room. I have already gotten you a statue of Ganesha for your desk.” I turn to the kitchen counter to face my grandmother, and I can’t help but notice the expression of pride on her face; sending a granddaughter to JHU means the world to my grandparents, and the fact that they have been able to be a part of the ritualistic process of finding those items that will remind me of home comforts them. Victory! Internet connection is established, and I brim with a newfound sense of accomplishment.

Today will be the first day of my official preparations for college life. As I take note of my courses: French Conversation and Composition, Intro to Public Health, Calc I, Freshman Seminar: The Hospital, and Expository Writing, I try to imagine studying in a real dorm room. Once again, I am met by my biggest weakness, my nervous self-talk. I have yet to learn where I will be living, I am not sure if my roommate and I will share similar interests, the uncertainty about the difficulty of the work alarms me, and I worry about being able to stay in shape so that I can continue to perform as a Bharatnatyam dancer when I come home on breaks.

Even the thought of picking majors in the future scares me; have I picked courses that reflect my ever-changing interests? I know my goals have undergone a significant transformation from the time I mailed out the last piece of my application, my dance tape, on October 17th, 2008. Was it enough to do one summer of research to know that I have an interest in Public Health? Am I choosing to study Public Health because I actually enjoy the subject matter-and it combines all of my strengths, like writing and Biology- or am I taking this path with the ulterior motive of getting into med school?  Is the fact that I write my diary in French enough to know that I love the language with an intense passion? Do I even have enough time to figure out what interests me outside the scope of my studies? I know that I will have the support of my parents, my peers, my professors, and the administration at JHU, but I have yet to recognize my potential to succeed. This inherent insecurity makes the idea of living away from home daunting, and I have the utmost hope that I will not allow myself to succumb to stress.

For the time being, I try to focus on the positive aspects of this fresh change; college is a chance to prove myself, to set myself apart both intellectually and personally, and I welcome the challenges that lie ahead. I eagerly await the emotional development I will have to undergo, but I still worry about seemingly trivial matters, such as finding enough Indian food to reconcile the fact that I simply cannot expect to be eating “mom’s cooking” every night, accepting that I will have to adjust to being part of a class of more than one thousand, as compared to the class of thirty nine other women that graduated alongside me just a month ago from our small Sacred Heart school, and- of course- embracing the long nights spent studying, the social life, the friends, the craziness, and the general newness of college life that my reserved personality has not quite fathomed at this point.

Now it’s six fifteen, the heat is starting to pick up, and I fear that the Internet connection will fade out any minute now, but I feel myself starting to become increasingly nostalgic. I remember December 15th with the same sense of fear and fondness I had that very same evening, as I clicked the refresh button with intense fury hoping that I would receive an email in any of the four accounts I thought I had used on my application. I could have sworn I used my school email address, yet, the clock approached 6:30 and no decision letter had arrived. My dad quietly walked into the computer room to check his email for work, only to find the letter that sealed my fate. The solitary word “Congratulations” had my typically stoic father erupting into a loud roar of joy that still makes me smile today.

I remember what it felt like to walk on the Hopkins campus for the first time in February of my junior year. I turned to my mom and said “I think I might apply Early Decision here.” It was my first college visit, and I subsequently visited perhaps twenty other colleges, but when it came down to making a choice in late August, I knew where my heart was. Between December and the present, I have accumulated two sweatshirts, maybe five t-shirts and plenty of other Hopkins themed items that have adorned my locker back in high school, my car, my parents’ cars, and the walls of my room. College seems so close, but I still feel like the little girl that joked about never leaving home, simply out of a desire to remain close to my family.  I don’t feel any more mature than I did when I started the college hunt, but I know that I have a lot of growing up to do in the next few years. The novelty of this experience conjures feelings of anxiety and joy at the same time, almost as though I have butterflies just thinking about what I am about to do.

It’s six twenty five now and I should probably consider giving my sister a turn to use the computer so that I can get ready to go pick out my first comforter for my extra long twin bed, and perhaps even find some posters to adorn the walls.  I simply cannot wait to meet the other members of the Class of 2013, and I am certain that everyone shares in the plethora of emotions I am grappling with at this moment.

Photo Captions:
(1) My mom’s side of the family, Chennai, India, July 2009
(2) My family and I, Graduation, June 13, 2009
(3) Georgia and my sister, Chennai, India, June 2009
(4) My sister and I hold a copy of the acceptance email, December 15, 2008
(5) My cousins on my Dad’s side of the family, Georgia and I, Bangalore, India, July 2009
(6) Being silly with my new Hopkins sweatshirt before the flight to India, June 2009

The List Goes On (and on, and on)

1

Name: Rebecca Krishnan-Ayer

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Dallas, TX

Intended Programs of Study: History of Art & Writing Seminars

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The Johns Hopkins New Student Portal is a to-do list addict’s dream come true. Trust me, I know—I’ve been drawn to the artful craft of list making since I could hold a pencil in one hand and a Post-It notepad in the other. So when I discovered that preparing for my first semester at The Hop over the summer would be as easy as checking off items 1, 2, 3, you could say that I had an early Christmas. But I have since realized that I have a less obvious to-do list for the summer—one that doesn’t involve filling out a form or mailing in a check, but one that merits my time, nonetheless…

1. Enter the Summer Blogging contest. Make AdmissionDaniel AdmissionHappy!

2. Stalk PB Teen website. Fastidiously and frequently. (Okay, so I may be able to already cross this off the list…yikes). Those seemingly evasive Twin XL Sheets manifest themselves in a vast array of college kid-friendly colors from girly pinks to classic grays. The PB Teen marketing department should recruit me—I could do great things for their company—but I digress.

3. Refine study skills. Shift from Summer Mode to School Year Mode. I may have temporarily forgotten that my body was capable of functioning on the latter. This means no more watching marathon re-runs of poorly-directed “reality” shows on Bravo.

4. Refine social skills—embarrassing but true. After attending an all-girls school for 14 years of my life, I am anticipating the different (not to mention co-educational) social dynamic at Hopkins. Come to think of it, in less than six weeks, I will be fully immersed in an academic setting free of rampant gossip and boyfriend-stealing. Or maybe that goes on at JHU as well…hmm?

5. Purchase and read Johns Hopkins: A Silhouette by Helen Hopkins Thom. I’m eager to crack the enigma of Johns Hopkins and learn a little bit more about his life, his philosophies, and what kind of idea he envisioned for JHU. If it weren’t for Mr. Hopkins, we wouldn’t be college-bound for JHU. Without him, Baltimore would be an entirely different place. The field of medicine would never be the same. In short—apocalypse. Plus, he’s looking pretty sharp on the front cover…and speaking of books…

6. Renew fourth grade-level fervor for the Harry Potter series. Okay, so I admit that this has absolutely nothing to do with the anticipation of being a freshman at Hopkins, but I would be lying if I didn’t include this on my summer to-do list. I faithfully attended a midnight-showing of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I didn’t, however, go so far as to dress up as my favorite HP character. Seeing the movie conjured (no pun intended) memories of the good ol’ times when my friends and I used to pretend like we went to Hogwarts. Sadly, they always cast me as a dementor…I hope there is a Harry Potter Appreciation Club at JHU! If not, who’s on board with me?!

7. Anxiously await dorm assignments—with fingers, toes, and every limb on my body crossed. I may be living it up in the Hopkins Inn for all I know! (Is room service included in the “unlimited” meal plan?). This potluck roommate thing is a little unnerving, but at the same time, I’m excited to meet someone new and can’t wait to literally live the college experience.

8. Dispose of high school laptop (fondly dubbed “craptop” by myself and my high school peers) and purchase the perfection that is the mactop!

9.Utilize new Mac laptop to check JHU email everyday. JHU email just may be the new black.

10. Take placement tests. Does Webscape lie? It placed me in French 301…au secours!

11. Register for classes. You could be in Reykjavik or Timbuktu when July 1, 7:00am rolls around, but no fear if a computer is near (rhyming intentional for dramatic emphasis). I was on a remote Greek island—OPPA!—when registration began, and I must say, it was quite the experience.

12. Book flight from Dallas to Baltimore. This certainly is up there on my agenda if we were to rank things to do before I leave in order of importance. Conveniently, I have not arranged my list in order of importance. Regardless, I should probably get started on those tickets.

13. Learn how to dress myself. The green and white uniform that I have donned halfway in my sleep since I was practically a fetus must now be ceremoniously purged from my wardrobe (tear). Gone are the days of plaid pajamas under an unbuttoned and severely-clashing plaid uniform skirt, topped off with serious bed-head and unsightly under-eye circles. I’ve realized that just won’t be acceptable anymore when no one else is dressed like that.

14. Pimp my profile. “Pimp” meaning join the Johns Hopkins ’13 network and notice the almost instantly cool status now associated with your Facebook page. I have been waiting for this moment for longer then you could ever imagine (impressive or just plain sad?). Also, it’s about time that my Facebook page received some long overdue pampering. I’m cleansing my profile (much like my wardrobe) and finally deleting those numerous unflattering photos, 36 inbox messages and 12,334,732,976 requests to take the “Which Twilight character are you?” quiz. I’m not a Twilight character and never will be.

15. Spend quality time with family and friends. It’s bizarre to think that next year, I won’t be seeing these faces or hearing these voices on a regular basis anymore. But hey, in terms of the voices thing, that’s what cell phones are for, right?

16. Be a big girl next year. Direct quote from the mother. I am laughing out loud as I type this. I do believe that living on my own, over 1,210 miles away from home, will require some degree of growing up.

17. Relax & do the Hoppy Dance! Enough with the bed sheet picking, flight booking, class registering, placement test taking, form filling, self reinventing, and to-do list making (as much as I love that last one). I’m squirming with anticipation for my arrival at JHU each and everyday. As summer winds down, nothing will be left “to do.” Instead, I will look forward to classes, friends, a new home, and memories “to remember.” I’m convinced that our times at Hopkins will be spectacular. I also have an inkling that while we’ll be busying ourselves with lots “to do” in the coming four years, we will have a wealth of experiences “to remember” for life. In the meantime, I’ll keep making my to-do lists.

Reading Between the Lines

1

Name: Charlie Tsouvalas

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Arcadia, CA

Intended Program of Study: Chemistry

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My grandmother is a champion of diligence, responsibility and the resulting success these qualities produce; however, maintaining the family nucleus trumps success any day.  Knowing this, I was not completely flabbergasted by her melancholy smile when I confessed my attending Johns Hopkins in the fall.  I say “confessed” because the look she gave me was heart-wrenching, as if I had done something awful, but if it was awful, it was done out of necessity.

This is the worst type of crime for both convict and society. For the convict, he never asks forgiveness for an act he deems morally correct, yet endures the guilt from those he loves most. For the society, it can neither outright condemn him nor embrace him with open arms. This is the purgatory-like relationship I found myself in with my grandmother, like stale bread that you can eat but despise as soon as you chew it.

I’ve always felt closest to my grandmother since we love the same books, laugh at the same jokes, and accurately interpret the feelings of those around us.  It was the latter ability that we utilized on one another that fateful afternoon when I decided to attend school across the country.  My grandmother is not a selfish woman; she understands that I deserve a school that I’ve strived towards, but at the same time, those instincts honed by the Great Depression, WWII, and Vietnam War tell her to keep family close.

A few weeks of chewing that stale bread and the both of us silently agreed something needed to change.  My grandmother proposed she write a list of all the things I would need while away.  She took out that yellow notebook paper with the blue lines and began to write in what I call her Old World chicken-scratch cursive.  I stood over her hunched shoulders and deciphered “nail clippers” and “Advil”.  I thought to blurt out that I could buy these items while in Baltimore, and furthermore, that I would be detained in the airport if I accidentally brought the nail clippers as a carry-on.  But I decided not to say anything.  Maybe this would comfort her knowing I was ready to fight the world bearing nail clippers in one hand and a child-protected bottle of Advil in the other.

I left her alone for a week.  Let the list consume her as she sat there for hours pondering over years of experiences and encounters to find every possible tool and gizmo that I might need to survive.

One summer day I came across one of her iconic yellow sheets of notebook paper with the blue lines.  It was filled from top to bottom, but as I glanced at the first word it did not read “nail clippers” but “Lysol”.  I then noticed a floating “6” completely detached from the rest of the list.  I couldn’t comprehend this number amongst letters until it hit me in the stomach like a wave on my beloved Californian coast – it was a page number.

Unlike decoding the enigmatic meaning of the floating number, the implication of the six-page list became instantly obvious to me.  This was not a list of trinkets I might need while gone for intervals of time over the next four years.  This was a goodbye list.  I was furious.  To think my grandmother would insinuate I was leaving my family, moving on to bigger-and-better things, was outright repulsive.  Being the learned scholar that I was, I did the first thing that came to mind – I went to my mommy.

As I ran up the stairs to my mother’s bedroom while simultaneously looking down the list, I stopped dead in my tracks.  There towards the bottom of page 6 on the yellow notebook paper with blue lines was not that Old World chicken-scratch, but my mom’s loopy cursive.  A minor detail easily overlooked, but one that broke my case and my heart. This transition from one writing to the next was also an agreement, a reality that my mom and grandmother were in accordance with one another.

In the spirit of the Obama campaign, things got worse before they got better.  But more importantly, they did get better.  While it seems simple enough, only when a family is faced with such hardships does it realize how tough letting go, even for a short while, can be.  Plenty discuss the turmoil endured by those getting into college and the hardships once they enter, but few divulge that gap in between: a time of fear and doubt and stale-bread relationships. 

But as I said at the beginning, if I have done something awful it was done out of necessity.  Causing grief for those we love is no easy burden to carry, but keeping ourselves sheltered and ignorant for their comfort is more dangerous.  My family knows that I will be right back home every holiday, and even when I’m not there, I’ll always be thinking of them.

As for my grandmother, she realizes that there is always some uncertainty, always that adventure that must be sought after.  I’m that electron that may go far and wide yet always comes back to that loving nucleus I call family.

You Can Find a Nice Doctor to Marry

1

Name: Miranda Baxendale

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Culver City, CA

Intended Programs of Study: History and possibly Political Science or International Studie

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At the beginning of eleventh grade, my mother thought it would be a good idea to start going to the college presentations being held locally. I’d gotten an invitation in the mail to come see Johns Hopkins University on a Saturday afternoon.  A college presentation was perhaps the last thing I wanted to do on with my weekend, especially while adjusting to the lack of summer/free time. The presentation, however, was being held near a bookstore where I had a gift card, at a hotel where I normally never would have an excuse entering. I agreed.

So, second weekend of school, we show up to the luxurious hotel where the presentation was being held. At this point, I would have to say that the only thing I knew about Hopkins was that it had something to do with medicine; I’m not even sure if I remembered the “s.” But, once the presentation began, the admissions officer barely mentioned words like “pre-med” or “medical.” Instead, she stressed features like the gorgeous campus, the lack of a core curriculum, and the great options for political science and international studies. From that point onwards, I usually found it easy to forget that Hopkins was seen as medical. However, the rest of the world didn’t forget.

The next day back at school, we were discussing our weekends. “Ew, junior year homework!” “Beach!” “Why don’t any of us drive?” “I saw a Johns Hopkins presentation.” The reaction was mixed. “John Hopkins?” “I didn’t know you wanted to be a doctor! ” “Will you get to cut up human bodies?” “Well, actually,” I cut in, “they have a lot of other programs…” But no one was listening. Just as there are a few things we don’t question – don’t talk back to your mother, eat your vegetables – Hopkins was for pre-meds, and that was something I would have to live with.

Fast forward to spring of senior year. Suddenly, everyone was talking about acceptances, and more importantly, where we were going. It’s always the same drill: one person mentions a place, and the other frantically racks their brains, trying to remember something about that school, and secretly thinking that their school is better. And for me, the inevitable doctor remarks started coming. “Wow, that’s great that you’re going to be a doctor!” “Pre-med, eh? Have fun with that!”

Not all of the comments were that mundane.  At Thanksgiving, I was told, “Oh, you’re applying to John Hopkins? You can find a nice rich doctor to marry!” As tempting as it was to answer with some lovely smart aleck comment, I managed to keep (most) of the cynicism under control. “Yes, it’s a great opportunity. I’ll also get an education, too!”  In the spring, an elderly neighbor informed me, “They have a great medical school. My granddaughter is engaged to a rich medical student at Harvard!” Read: “You will be near a first-class medical school! Find someone rich while you can!” Again, I tried to reply tactfully, my inner Betty Friedan begging to rebel. Thankfully, a few people recognized that gold-digging wasn’t the real situation. As my friend Katie pointed out, “Miranda’s going to Johns Hopkins so some rich doctor can find a nice Miranda to marry!”

Even after I’d made my decision, I spent quite a bit of time debating with myself about my choice. Would that create automatic assumptions about my career? Perhaps. Would I spend the rest of my life explaining that I wasn’t a doctor, and yes, I realized that the only thing Hopkins is good for is medicine? Yes.  Will people try to match me up with rich doctors? Perhaps. But more importantly, would it give me academic opportunities in areas I loved, nonetheless? Would I still have a great college experience on a campus I loved, in a great location? Wholeheartedly yes. And although the questions keep coming, the seeds of doubt are dying out quickly, and are being replaced by seeds of excitement for the future.

But as repetitive as it may be to constantly explain my college plans to well-meaning adults, there is one special group of people that doesn’t maintain the same preconceptions. I volunteer in a second grade classroom, and towards the end of spring, they started to ask me various questions about going to college.  Now, second graders have no concept about middle school, let alone going across the country just to go to school.  Even if they did have a vague idea about going to college, it usually involved our local community colleges or USC and UCLA, where knowledge usually revolved around football. The questions began.  “Where are you going?” “I’m going to a school called Johns Hopkins. It’s in Baltimore, in Maryland, on the other side of the country.” “So you’re moving? Are your parents going with you?” “No,” I explained. I was going to live by myself, with a friend called a roommate, in something called a dorm. Twenty confused faces stared back at me. At eight years old, none of these kids have ever gone to sleep-away camp, or anything close to resembling the college living situation. I searched for the best way to describe it. The best analogy I could come up with was a giant sleepover that went on for months. Their response? “Have fun on your sleepover!”

The next week, when I came in as usual, they all looked at me, baffled and confused. “I thought you said you were going to college!” In their second grade minds, when someone goes somewhere, it means immediately. “I’m going to college” translates into “Miranda is leaving right after school today and will be in Baltimore on her sleepover.” Regardless of how many times I explained that I would go to college when they started third grade, it never stuck. From then on, whenever I would leave, I would be showered by cries of “Have fun on your sleepover!”

At the end of the year, they all wrote me letters with their advice and thoughts. Here’s a sampling (spelling and grammar theirs):

“I hope you have fun at college.”
“I hope you graduate.”
“I hope you make good dreams and choices.”
“Do your best and you will have success.”
“You can be a doctor, lawer, and veterinarian.”
“I hope you do great in John Hopskins University one of the best college ever!”

Somehow, when it’s coming from a second grader, I really don’t mind the many versions of “Johns Hopkins” and the assumptions about my future in medicine.

Congratulations to the Class of 2013 and have fun on your sleepover!

The Most Disorganized Catalogue

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Name: Miriam Grossman

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: West Orange, NJ

Intended Program of Study: Writing Seminars

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I’ll be honest. At this point—even after the requisite purchase of Hopkins bumper stickers and sweatshirts and t-shirts, the health insurance forms filled out, the classes (German 101, 4.5 credits, 4 days a week, and—I’m already picturing this—trudging to class at 9 am) registered for, I have no idea how to feel about the fact that I’ll be rooted in Baltimore come August 29th. I sit and wait and try to carefully peel the surface off of my feelings. (The surface is composed of pure anxiety, in case you were wondering). I find it’s impossible to continue. I stare around blankly.

It probably isn’t the most helpful reaction to college anxiety, but here is what I do: I shuffle through The Catalogue that sits in my brain. (Now that the days are rapidly melting off July, I go through the catalogue at least three times today. Preferably with meals).

The Catalogue: A.k.a what Friends and Acquaintances and Parents’ Friends and Teachers and Near-Strangers and Those Awkward Semi-Strangers,  (e.g. your brothers’ friends’ parents) and Just Plain Random Strangers have to say about Hopkins.

Family
Mom:
I just hope you won’t study so much that you’ll forget to eat. Really, Miriam. You need to remember to add variety into your diet. I think it’s great that the dining dollars apply to places outside the cafeteria. Don’t worry, though, it’s just a train ride away—and I’ll appear on your doorstep to bring you shopping bags of frozen soups and baked goods from whole foods all the time!

Dad:
response #1: Did you know that lacrosse originated as a native American game? Villages would play against each other, it would go on for weeks, and team members were killed in the process all the time.

response #2: Go Blue Jays!

Sister:
If you don’t visit me, alone at home with mom and dad, I will probably have to kill you.

Brother:
There isn’t as much partying as in Wisconsin…or as much cheese…

– Clearly my family is concerned. Clearly I have a very Jewish mother. I can’t dispute the accuracy of any of these statements, especially David’s (my brother)… and I’m trusting my dad on point #1. Which I did find mildly interesting.

Others:
Pre calc teacher of junior year (genuinely disturbed): Johns Hopkins! Miriam, how have you done so well for yourself without taking AP Calculus with me?!?

Sister: Yo, Baltimore’s where “Ace of Cakes” is filmed. I will be visiting you even more often.

Random Stranger #1: That’s great! So what kind of doctor are you going to be?

Random Stranger #2: John! HopKIN! Wow!

– Seriously, I think I might soon pretend I’ve been dreaming of being to be a neurologist, not an author, since the womb. I bet I could whip out a scalpel from my purse and they’d be totally sold.

Others continued:
Random Stranger #3: Baltimore?? You look like a small girl. Will you be able to avoid the street violence?

Countless teachers/parents’ friends/random neighbors: Oh, my mom/dad/sister/aunt/great-aunt’s son’s cat’s walkers’ owner’s child went to medical school there!

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I finish flipping through.

So okay, peel back the layer of anxiety and I’m still nervous. Not about what vegetarian foods I’ll consume in the dining hall (Mom) or whether I’ll paint my previously unathletic face black  and blue for a lacrosse game (Dad). Not about the “dangers” of the city. Not about the fact that apparently random strangers will mistake me for surgeons for the rest of my life.

I’m nervous and excited, I guess, about the big and small things. I’m nervous about being a writing major in a school that’s world-renowned for it; I’m nervous that I’ll be wedged in tiny classrooms with lots of glasses-wearing intellectuals who write serious stories about serious philosophical things. I’m nervous that the act of majoring in writing could swallow up the spontaneity of it or prove once and for all I’m not actually meant to be a writer. I’m nervous about losing my way on campus in the second semester (I have a horrible sense of direction) or having to ask people where the library is.

I’ll even miss the tiny annoying things. It’ll be weird that my Dad won’t tell me, quite cheerfully “Knock ‘em dead!” when I’m walking out the door to take an AP Latin exam or the SATS or a challenging Chemistry final. It’ll be weird that my sister won’t sidetrack me from studying with chocolate-covered popcorn and the House finale on TV. It’ll be weird when random dishes of food (slices of cake, peanut butter crackers, etc) don’t appear on my desk at random intervals throughout the day (thanks mom!) It’ll be weird, of course, not seeing my friends every day: not laughing about the neon sign I pass everyday: it now reads “Burge” (as opposed to Burger King). My friends and I have included this word into our personal dictionaries (he/she/it burges, burge, burgee: One who attempts an extremely awkward social manuever at  a large party).

There are so many details. So many details of my life now: irreversibly written into my makeup, the quirks that make my life unique and comfortable. Going to college strips me of all of that. And I guess the lack of knowledge makes it difficult to think about the fact that I’ll be in college in a year, or corroborate any of abovementioned peoples’ opinions with my own. Or find my emotions at a time when everyone’s so excited. But I guess that’s the point of college: it fills in those myriad details that you’d taken for granted,  and by that you begin to learn.  And build new details, even the ones you did not expect.

Though I still doubt that an encounter between myself and a scalpel is all that likely.

—————————————————————————————————–

The last page of the catalogue reads itself, warbling from the wrinkled lips of my four-foot-eleven (five feet, she rounds) grandmother as she sits at our Shabbat table, looking at me past her deep eye wrinkles and puffy cloud of blonde hair with an assured, grinning smirk on her face.

Grandmother:
You’re my granddaughter!  Of course you’ll do wonderful! I’ll be your publicist when you’re famous.

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When it comes down to it, I guess it’s always good to save a detail to laugh about next year.

“I Don’t Want to Have to Learn To Count… I Don’t Want to Grow Up”

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Name: Tyler Dougherty

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Ocean City, NJ

Intended Program of Study: International Studies

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“I Don’t Want to Have to Learn To Count… I Don’t Want to Grow Up” – Tom Waits

I am a dreamer. Yet, somehow despite all the time John Lennon took “imagining” a world of harmonious dreamer dudes, real-life dreamers got it bad out there among the masses. Just because you wear cool, Gandhi quote-adorned tees from Urban Outfitters and have, like, two super-rad tattoos in foreign languages, doesn’t mean that you really live the part.

When they see us dreamers, our elders roll their eyes at our naiveté. We force our grandmothers to pray for our lost-souls (Oh, St. Jude!). We constantly endure subtle murmurs of disgust from those who have “really seen stuff.”  The real world is not kind to those still figuring things out and who they want to be. That’s why I’m so psyched for college, bro!

As much as I may talk the big talk and walk the big walk, I am not ready for monthly mortgage payments and low interest rates. 401k’s and IRA’s. Honestly, I can hardly handle my minimum wage summer job (price guns can be dangerous). I don’t feel grown up. I don’t want to grow up. And everyday I wonder, in the words of Tom Waits, “how the *heck did I get here so soon?”

But I have good news, ladies and gents! Our prospects are good: we don’t have to grow up! College, with its lack of curfew and early morning bus rides, is a Shangri La among post- pubescent teens.

Let me put things in perspective. This past summer I have been forced into cleaning out the remnants of eighteen years of clutter in my bedroom. The circumstances are not swell: as my barbies are hustled to the trash, my father is carting in new fitness materials. A yoga ball is to sit where I once stashed my priceless treasures. A treadmill will replace the vast no-man’s land that had been desecrated by beanie-baby wars (if you have to ask, you weren’t born in the 1990s). Layer by layer I have unearthed the sediment of the teenage-lithic period and have found reminders of why immaturity is so alluring. How much fun can one have with a whoopee cushion? A vintage 1998 gameboy?

I still laugh when people burp and when I watch the Disney channel (the remote was stuck, I swear!).  I will never understand British humor, and I cannot stomach the taste of foie gras. I’m a kid at heart, and since I have been given this opportunity to prolong the inevitable, I’ll take it.

Honestly, independence is a wonderful thing. Financial independence? Not so much. The last thing I want is to become “that” newly matriculated college kid who returns to their hometown after having outgrown everything. Those kids. You know one. Everyone does. They think that their newly chic clothing aesthetic and black coffee makes them mature. That’s not maturity. Maturity will come with time, and good friends, and great professors. Just like I’ve changed since my freshman year of high school, I expect to see significant growth throughout the next four years. Seriously, thank goodness I still don’t think UGG boots are the only available footwear.

Sure, at some point, idealism becomes realism. Crazy Berkeley protestors become crazed stock traders. And the Noam Chomsky read on your bed stand morphs into a James Patterson novel.  That point is not now.

Life has become too serious too soon. The class of 2013 is privileged enough to have this amazing opportunity to learn not just about cell compounds and Faulkner, but to learn about itself. Each member.

We can question the classics and push boundaries in science.  Travel the world. Protect our resources. But really, if we don’t read Nietzche and idolize Che now, when will we? So, I dare you class of 2013. I double-dog dare you to plop yourselves underneath the all encompassing trees of the Homewood campus for the next four years (maybe five if you’re lucky).  Then, just breathe. The rest will come.

“Yes Woman”

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Editor’s Note: This is the first in a seven-part series where we are featuring guest blogs written by incoming freshmen to the Class of 2013. We hope you enjoy these entries from students on the verge of beginning their Hopkins experience.

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Name: Alexandra Guttentag

Year: Class of 2013

Hometown: Palo Alto, CA

Intended Program of Study: Public Health (Social Science emphasis)

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I felt really, really good. I was sleeping in for the first time on a Monday morning in what felt like an eternity, and the bright sunlight had yet to spoil my dreams. I forgot that when natural causes cease to disturb me, my brother is always there. I was awaken by a thud on my shoulder, and rubbed my eyes to see my brother standing in my doorway. “You’ve got to read this book,” he said. “Just give it back as soon as you’re done.” And he walked away.

So here I was, lying in bed with this paperback book preventing me from sleeping. Yes Man, it was called. So, I picked it up, and didn’t put it down until I was done.

The book is an autobiographical story, narrated by Danny Wallace, who, one day,  declares and revolves his life around being a “Yes Man.” This pretty much entails exactly what it sounds like. A “Yes Person” ostracizes the word “no,” from his or her vocabulary, and simply says “yes” to all invitations, all the time. Without any exceptions. Wallace spent an entire year saying yes to all the suggestions, invitations, and questions he was asked.

To all my Johns Hopkins peers: I have now deemed myself a Yes Woman. However, not in the same way that Daniel Wallace is in the novel, I’ve adjusted it a little bit. Unlike Daniel, I will not say yes to every random person on the street asking for a minute of my time, or half of my fortune. I will not say yes to lucrative ads on the sides of my Facebook or in the spam of my email. But, from here on out, and especially throughout my freshman year at Johns Hopkins, I will be a Yes Woman. This is a huge step, coming from me—a relatively shy, at-times-painfully awkward 18-and-a-half year old girl travelling all the way across the country to attend college. Me before this decision was someone who had several good friends, but without the drive to make more. Someone who liked doing fun things with friends, but someone who would also occasionally make excuses to stay inside alone on Friday nights.

When it came down to choosing a university to attend, I was torn between Hopkins and a much larger, more populous university. I had always been a student who enjoyed the crowds of other people—a somewhat reliable invisibility cloak when necessary. But as soon as I visited the Homewood campus at Hopkins, I was sold. Everywhere I went students smiled at me—really, they were smiling at me!—and laughed, argued, walked in silence with each other. I’d never experienced that sort of community on both a large scale and a small scale at the same time. I felt inclined to meet and talk to every friendly face that walked by me, but, of course, I was hindered by my shy tendencies. My decision to uptake this “Yes” state of mind was influenced by this experience at Hopkins—and I think it will give me the extra push I need to make Hopkins the type of school I never imagined myself at—smaller, with a sense of tight-knit community—but the type of school that I know that is right for me.

So challenge me. I dare you. Ask me to go to the dining hall with you. Ask me to play basketball with you (I’ll lose), or ask me to play a game of squash with you (I’ll win). Ask me to go crazy at a Hopkins sporting event with you (I’ll already be there). Ask me to help you study. For all the girls out there—ask me to straighten those rebellious strands that you can never reach on the back of your head. For the boys please, please ask me to tell you how that outfit looks. And for everyone at the place I hope to call my home for the next four years—ask me to be your friend.

“Head Shake” by Mr. Johns Hopkins

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Name: Rohit Dasgupta

Year: Class of 2012

Hometown: Centreville, VA

Intended Major: Biomedical Engineering

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Sometimes in life, a person who tries to help others learn something uses a tactic known as a “head-shake.” The main purpose of the “head-shake” is to try to teach that person the lesson without being obvious about it. Think “educational” video games. The point of the head-shake is that the person doesn’t realize that they are being taught something until they are well into the process. That catharsis, that moment of self-realization only hits them after it’s over, when they least expect it to.

Something like this may have happened to me during the college search. I think that I received a head-shake from Mr. Johns Hopkins. I’ve been so familiar with Hopkins my whole life, I guess I just never considered it seriously until I received that acceptance letter.

Believe it or not, I first visited Hopkins during an awards ceremony when I was in 6th grade for the Center for Talented Youth (CTY) Talent Search. At that time, I did not know about its top Engineering programs and could not yet appreciate the beautiful campus in the middle of Baltimore. And I didn’t guess that I might go here one day because I hadn’t even started thinking about college.

Then in June 2003, my dad graduated with a Masters degree from Hopkins in Computer Science. I actually remember that I kind of wanted to go to Hopkins then. The reason was because my dad had taken a class there, Foundations of Software Engineering, and at the end of the course, Professor Sam Schappelle had given them a gift. They were these sponges, and when dropped in warm water, would become toy trains, with an engine, boxcar, and even a caboose! (The whole process demonstrated the ideas of encapsulation, coupling, cohesion, and information hiding.) I thought this was the coolest thing ever. This year, I plan to take one of his classes at Hopkins.

In recent weeks, several more clues have been coming up. I learned that my mom had taken a course at Hopkins on architecture. I found that one of my parents’ friends teaches part time at the Whiting School of Engineering. Oh, and the job that I’m working at? I first learned about it in February through my stand partner at the community orchestra. She also went to Hopkins.

So while a small part of me is a little anxious about the new college experience, a bigger part of me is beginning to appreciate this grand design. In fact, this bigger part of me wonders why I didn’t just apply to Hopkins Early Decision, and take the rest of the year off. But that would have meant knowing all of this beforehand. And that’s not how a “head-shake” is suppose to work.

To all those rising seniors: don’t stress too much about college. No matter where you go to college, it’ll all work out. You might even be surprised.