So many cultures are represented by the student body at Hopkins. In this edition of the fall magazine, we’d like to take you around the world.
Enclosed in these pages are reflections on culture and identity, stories of international travel and moments of cross-cultural connection. Find a love letter to Bollywood, a decades-long journey into the field of healthcare from Mexico to Baltimore, a recipe for Korean stir-fried squid, study abroad trips to Germany and South Africa and many stories on how culture informs identity — and how, with time and experience, this relationship might grow and change.
Navigating one’s cultural connections can often feel like diving into complex waters. What we’ve found from these writers is that there is such beauty and pride strung through the process of cultural exploration, within the self, across borders and in acts as simple as foreign film movie nights. Through reflection, travel and conversation, we broaden what we know and how we think. We learn more about our world together.
We’d love for some familiar voices and faces of our campus to take you on a flight of cultural exploration and celebration.
Enjoy the journey, Yana Mulani and Kaitlin Tan Magazine Editors, 2024-25
culture
and the self
A love letter to Bollywood
Shreya Tiwari
ccccI grew up in the world of films and Hindi tunes, colloquially termed “filmy music,” a world that extended beyond wedding Sangeets and obligatory family-friend parties. No nightly meal was complete without my parents’ favorite childhood songs quietly filling the room with their nostalgic rhythms and beautiful words, and no car ride was truly perfect without playing either the Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara or Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani soundtracks with the windows down. I can still recall three-year-old me falling asleep to my dad singing Aa Chal ke Tujhe, a song I still know every word to despite not having heard it in years.
ccccBollywood is my tenuous connection to my birthplace and my escape into the beauty of a country where I haven’t lived in 14 years but constantly yearn to explore. On the rare occasions when I return home, I visit the same three places I miss out on the beauty that lies outside the big cities. I haven’t yet seen the magic of Rajasthan and tasted their famous kachori, I’ve yet to see Manali’s gorgeous natural forests or visit Rameswaram at the very Southern tip of India. And yet, somehow I travel there through my favorite movies. Just by clicking play, I’m transported to a new world, and I’m accompanied by highly dimensional characters that fully experience each emotion.
ccccFor someone who didn’t grow up with them, Bollywood films might seem dramatic, over-the-top, and unhealthily unrealistic. But to me, they’re simply magic. The dramatic love stories and the friendships are colorful and vivacious in a way that is unique to Bollywood. A simple glance over the shoulder will hold so much love that it’ll have my friends and me fangirling for ages. Comedic scenes from 3 Idiots, Chennai Express and the timeless Golmaal have me clutching my stomach as I laugh at my favorite moments with my family ccccBut the true hallmark of a Bollywood film is its music. Ah, the music! Even before you get to the lyrics, there’s something indescribably homey about a Bollywood song. A classic item song will never fail to have me on my feet, channeling my inner Deepika Padukone while singing
into a hairbrush in my room or singing loudly in the car with my friends as we drive to our favorite local chaat food truck. The songs that fall into “romance” or “coming-of-age” are filled with longing and pure nostalgia. The instrumentals alone will never fail to call to mind your most meaningful, bittersweet memories, whether they have anything to do with the song or not I always lose myself when I listen to those “Subhanallah”type songs, the soft guitar and expansive vocals calming my mind and returning it to simpler times Listening to them with headphones alone brings me a sense of solidarity; I find comfort in the fact that someone somewhere has felt the same peace listening to these songs that I feel now.
ccccAnd then, there are the lyrics. Lyricism in Hindi is truly diverse from silly “Hinglish” jokes in item songs to the raw yearning in those heartbreaking songs that play as the hero almost loses the heroine in the end. But nothing truly compares to the magic of a Bollywood love song. Cheesy? Absolutely. Over the top? 100%. But, Hindi is the language of love for a reason: It’s hard to imagine desire, ecstasy, heartbreak and melancholy captured so intimately with an English pop song the way it is in Bollywood. The poetry in a Hindi love metaphor is unmatched: “the nights are tasteless without you” just doesn’t ring the same as “tere bina beswaadi ratiyaan” does in Hindi.
ccccAnd, to me, it’s always seemed that the words themselves roll off my tongue effortlessly when I sing along. They just make sense next to each other; words in a Bollywood song just flow, and they carry emotion and meaning in a way that I’ve never experienced with any other language. Perfect scenery complemented by heavenly, cohesive instrumentation makes for an unparalleled ambiance, and I can’t help but fall in love with Bollywood all over again.
ccccMy love for Bollywood has endured the test of time; I still dance around my room the same way I did when I was young. My “Love But Ishq Hai” playlist still unlocks the hopeless, romantic, lover girl in me and brings me back to the world of easy love, of grand gestures, of girls dancing in their gorgeous lehengas and jingling chudiyan. And, on my most stressful days, it’s to my Bollywood playlists that I return, finding home and magic in the escape, beauty and comfort of my “filmy” world.
I wouldn't be me without my Turkish idioms
Buse Koldas
ccccDo you also have those words, phrases or idioms that exist in your native tongue that you could never translate to another language? When I moved to the U S last year after living in Turkey for 19 years, I had plenty: I still remember the first few weeks of being here and how naked I felt without my witty Turkish vocabulary I recall several occasions where I had the perfect Turkish idiom in mind, but faced the frustration of not being able to translate it to a non-Turkish speaker Sometimes, I could come up with a satisfactory translation, but, deep down, I was aware that I could never give the perfect interpretation that could fully communicate the history, intensity and sentiment of the phrase.
ccccThere were some words that technically had a direct English translation, yet even those didn’t fulfill me. The word pistachio bothered me. Pistachio from where? Antep? Siirt? The Turkish word (Antep or Siirt fıstığı) specified it; English didn’t Cobblestone pavements felt a lot less whimsical than calling them Arnavut kaldırımı, meaning Albanian pavements and honoring Albania’s Gjirokastra, the “The City of Stone ” The Albanian masters of this pavement style inhabited Arnavutkoy (literally translated to Albanian village) back in the 19th century, and I grew up drawing hopscotch grids on the pavements they had built.
ccccWhen I went to Miami for spring break, I curiously walked into a Turkish restaurant to check out their menu and felt it was missing something when I saw haydari, humus and imam bayıldı labeled as “appetizers,” not “mezes ” Appetizer felt empty and monochrome, although I knew it was a translation to meze. It felt like my refreshing, creamy cacık and filling, flavorful piyaz deserved to be spared from such an indistinct name.
ccccAlthough I tried to go without my Turkish idioms, I couldn’t make it last forever and decided to indoctrinate my friends by giving them impromptu Turkish literature classes, announced with “We have a saying for this in Turkish ” A friend who mentioned that they loved computer science yet hated their Intermediate Programming class? Perfect opportunity to say “If you love the rose, you’ll bear the thorn ”
ccccA friend made fun of me because I slipped on the muddy road at the Beach? Time to remind them to “not laugh at their neighbor; otherwise, the same will happen to them ” Someone is contemplating if it’s a good idea to join two labs on top of taking 18 credits?
How many times do I need to remind people that “two watermelons can’t fit in a sofa?
ccccEven though my friends kept making fun of me because I couldn’t go a day without quoting a wise Turkish saying or reminiscing about my native tongue, I didn’t let this stop me.
ccccNevertheless, last summer, something surprising happened After being in the U S for a year and going back to visit my family during summer break, I experienced the same problem, yet reversed. When my mom asked me if my bed was still as comfortable as I remembered it to be, I wanted to tell her that I was “snug as a bug in a rug,” yet I couldn’t because it didn’t flow the same way in Turkish (and my mom would probably think I was imagining myself in Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis). As I was having conversations with my Turkish friends, I realized that we insert English slang words like “vibes,” “slay” and “rizz” a lot more often than I expected, and I could find no substitutes for them in Turkish
ccccA year ago, the only thing that rang in my brain whenever my Turkish thoughts described a situation more successfully than my English tongue was, “I wouldn’t be me without my Turkish idioms.” Yet now, I can’t imagine myself existing without writing and speaking in English, especially since I’ve started to use this language more often while engaging in creative writing.
ccccI have come to terms with the fact that I can coexist in two languages and let them connect me to a land in which I might not be physically present at that very moment By making peace with the noncoinciding lines between my mother tongue and a language I have adopted years later, I no longer allow myself to get lost in the translation
ccccThis article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
Alove letter to the Margam
Maya Britto
ccccBharatanatyam is an ancient, classical dance form that originated over 2,000 years ago in Tamil Nadu, India. As a result of its distinct quality of movement and emphasis on storytelling, Bharatanatyam has grown in popularity over the years and is practiced around the world. In a typical, full-length Bharatanatyam presentation, pieces are performed in a traditional sequence, known as the Margam, which translates to “path” in Sanskrit. This structure is a skeleton that is followed for every performance A complete Margam is typically made of seven to eight pieces of which there are hundreds of compositions to choose from It provides artists with a general sense of direction a foundation upon which they can then rely on when exploring their own creative ideas. The possibilities are endless ccccA Margam usually begins with an Alarippu, which translates to “blossoming of a flower.” The Alarippu begins with subtle movements, drawing attention to the eyes, the shoulders and the form. It is a test of angashuddhi: Does this dancer have control over their body? Does their body speak the language of Bharatanatyam with confidence and grace, or does it stutter and hesitate? The movements begin very simply, but, throughout the piece, they gradually evolve to become more complex. By the end of an Alarippu, the audience has witnessed the most fundamental aspects of what Bharatanatyam demands.
ccccI was six when my mom enrolled my sister and me in dance classes My new guru intimidated me a bit, but I remember thinking she was pretty. I entered as a stranger to the form but left certain that I would love Bharatanatyam for the rest of my life. I would sit on the staircase overlooking the studio floor, watching the older girls, in awe of the way they could move I wanted to do that one day But I had to start at the beginning.
ccccAdavus, simple movement p e building blocks of Bharatanatyam, g, I did not appreciate them while I learned them. Today, I recognize the beauty of the basics In the next few years that I spent training with my teacher, I learned how to move with more nuance and more intention. Movements that initially took conscious thought slowly became second nature as I blossomed into a Margam dancer.
ccccAfter the Alarippu comes the Jathiswaram The Jathiswaram, like the Alarippu, is pure nritta, in which footwork and rhythm is emphasized as opposed to storytelling or expression However, unlike the Alarippu, the rhythms of this piece are set to a ragam, or tune. Its purpose is to highlight a dancer’s attention to rhythm and music, how they can communicate this understanding through their movement. The Jathiswaram is particularly repetitive, and movement patterns are distinctly clear-cut
ccccThe most important piece of the Margam is the Varnam. The Varnam can be anywhere from 20 to 45 minutes long It involves nritya, which is the combination of nritta (pure dance) with abhinaya (storytelling through the use of expressions and hand gestures) The length of the piece is undoubtedly a physical challenge but allows the artist time to fully dive into the composition on an emotional level. A dancer can revisit a Varnam composition multiple times in their life and find new ways to interpret and perform it each time they revisit it.
ccccAt some point between my childhood fascination with dance and my realization that it could stay significant throughout adulthood, there was a long phase during which I simply did not appreciate dance enough. It was another extracurricular activity.
ccccThis article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
Defining home as a third culture kid Kaitlin Tan
culturally distinct And, as my high school connections to the city dissolved with my graduating class, it came to my attention that my connection had always been more to the people than the place
ccccI used to say that I was from nowhere, everywhere or from the South China Sea All were true enough I spent my childhood between places. When I was visiting my grandparents in the Philippines or in Malaysia, people would ask me if I was happy to be back home I never quite knew what to say. I’d experienced both places for a maximum of several weeks out of a year.
ccccGoing to school in Macau, a cultural conglomerate of Portuguese and Chinese influences, full of people from all over the world drifting through for a season or a lifetime, it was common for many to pose the “home” question Rarely were people actually from the tiny peninsula that we lived on.
ccccWhen faced with this question, I’d always name the place that I wasn’t in. In Macau, I’d say home was Manila. In Manila, I’d say Macau. I remember being gifted a map of Southeast Asia in late elementary school and pointing to the exact midpoint between the three countries and telling my mom that’s where I felt home was: a random spot in the middle of the South China Sea
ccccI grew up speaking English as my first language and neither of my parents’ mother tongues. Living in a place where, at the time, hardly anyone spoke English, I felt so in-place visiting family in New York and New Jersey. Being somewhere I could read every street sign and listen in on strangers’ conversations made the world feel so tangible. I thought I might find a place for myself in the U.S. But then, I came here for college.
ccccIt’s difficult to realize what you look for in a home until you’re without it. And, no matter how westernized I’d felt in comparison to my peers growing up, I felt so very Asian in America This wasn’t always a bad thing except for when the salience of my cultural identity felt like more of a fixed designation rather than something I could engage with on my own terms
ccccDespite this, a whole other topic on its own, I realized that much of what I was missing here were needs that could serve as my guiding compass in defining where home truly was for me.
ccccA messy divorce cut Malaysia from the picture, and my coming to America made me realize how little America actually resembled the home I’d thought I could make of it. That left the Philippines, a place I’d spent vague early years and annual Christmases It’s a strange thing, to think that a place where I don’t yet have any friends of my own, no real grasp on the language or on local transportation could be my best shot at defining home
ccccI used to scoff at this idea of “home ” Hence, the response of “nowhere” when people would ask me which I did believe, for a time, feeling so distanced from all the places that I knew Then, for another era, I said “everywhere.” I swung to the opposite extreme and told myself that maybe it didn’t matter; maybe cultures are all people, and I could feel just as connected to any one of them. But, now, being so far away from the worlds that I grew up in, I think there might be something to it
ccccThis summer, I switched my biography on The NewsLetter to Manila instead of Macau. I will admit that I am not yet as well acquainted with the Philippines as I want to be, but I’m looking forward to getting to know it
Instead of being dismissive of calling one place “home” or nihilistic about how this label might restrict, I’m excited to keep exploring what home could mean for me as much as I’ve allowed for multitudes in its definition in the past, I’m ready to allow for specificity, too
ccccMacau never felt exactly like home. I’d lived there longer than I’d lived anywhere else, but I’d always felt
From Mexican elite athlete to U.S. healthcare
Coral Estefania Alonso Garcia
ccccMy journey started in a bit of an unusual way. I was born prematurely, and, after talking to a doctor, my mom was told that exercise would help with my development. So, she took me to a nearby pool. Before long, I was really making a splash I got pretty good and ended up spending about 10 years swimming competitively. But I was just a little girl, and, after a while, I got bored; swimming laps can only hold your attention for so long.
ccccOne day, my mom and I were watching the Summer Olympic Games on the television, and something caught my eye. I saw these athletes doing what looked like gymnastics, but they were in the water, and there was music playing! It was synchronized swimming, and I thought it looke cool. My mom saw my interest and “Let’s find a place to try it ”
loans. I had to make a choice: Stay in Mexico to pursue medicine and quit synchronized swimming? Or swim and study a more accessible career in the U.S. like international business? This was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made in my life In the end, however, I packed my entire world into three large bags and embarked on a new journey.
ccccWhen I got to Lindenwood, I realized the facilities weren’t the best. We trained at a local, high school pool, but what we lacked in fancy amenities, we made up for with a real sense of community We spent eight hours a day together in the water and in the gym doing ballet and gymnastics. Although my entire family was in Mexico, I was pleasantly surprised to find so much diversity at my university, with many students, including some of my teammates, from Latin America. They became my support system and truly helped me get through those years.
ccccThat’s when everything changed Synchronized swimming turned out to be the perfect fit for me. I worked really hard, eventually joining Team Mexico. At the World Aquatics Junior Artistic Swimming Championships, I got scouted. I was offered a scholarship to Lindenwood University in Missouri. Funnily enough, I had no idea where Missouri even was! It’s not exactly a place you hear about a lot in Mexico. But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity; I was the first Mexican synchronized swimmer recruited to the U.S. and the first in my family to make the trip. My English was not great, but a scholarship was a scholarship, right?
ccccGrowing up, I always thought I would follow in my parents' footsteps and become a physician in Mexico. Watching my mother’s dedication to her patients no matter how tired she was inspired me, and I couldn't imagine doing anything else. When I received the scholarship to Lindenwood University, everything changed. I knew little about becoming a physician in the U.S. except that it would cost over $100,000; as an international student, I couldn’t apply for any student
ccccBeing in the U.S. could sometimes feel bleak, especially with the limitations that an uncertain immigration status imposed on life beyond college. Looking back, I couldn’t imagine surviving those four, cold years in the Midwest without my Latinx group, where we shared how much we missed our family, food, music and community. In the end, all that hard work paid off My team went on to beat schools like Ohio State and Stanford, winning four straight national championships.
ccccDuring that time, I gained invaluable insights into working as a team, particularly the importance of showing up and giving your best, no matter how exhausted or far from home you may be After five years at Lindenwood University, I graduated with two business degrees, including an MBA. My team and I proudly earned four U S national titles With the unwavering support of my now-husband, Micaiah, I was ready for the next chapter. Gaining my green card
I turned my immigrant journey into resilience
through marriage opened up new doors, enabling me to stay in the country and access the resources needed to pursue my true passion: medicine.
ccccDuring the pandemic, I saw how nurses struggled to communicate with Latinx patients, both in and out of the hospital. It felt bleak for my community, and that’s when I decided to pursue nursing Nursing in the U.S. is quite different from Mexico. In the U.S., nurses have more advanced education options and greater autonomy in patient care, like diagnosing and prescribing. In Mexico, nurses usually have less independence and work under the supervision of physicians, with fewer opportunities for specialization and growth. So, I decided to become a nurse practitioner! I applied to the number one school in th country and the best-ranked school for research Fortunately, without expecting much, I got in.
ccccNavigating the U S educational system as a firstgeneration immigrant, second-language English learner and world-class swimmer has been extremely hard. The resilience and work I have to put in every day to assimilate and thrive in this country has taken its toll but has also inspired me to help others to do the same.
ccccCurre y my second year of the Doctor of Nursing Practice program with a focus area in psychiatric care. I never imagined myself swimming, living and pursuing a doctorate in the U.S. It still blows my mind My grandmother in Mexico never had the chance to study because she had to support her family, and my mother could only study medicine thanks to public education, as private education would have been financially out of reach. I believe it's the resilience of my family and the Mexican community that brought me here It feels like everything coming together. My cultural background and the fact that I speak Spanish have been a huge help, especially because the Latinx community is growing so much here in Baltimore. Being able to connect with patients in their language and understand them culturally has been a game-changer
ccccFor many Mexican immigrants, finding a sense of belonging in the U.S. can be an uphill battle, especially in the face of persistent racism and discrimination
The challenges go beyond navigating a new language or adapting to a different culture; it’s about confronting biases that often paint immigrants as outsiders, regardless of how long they've lived in or contributed to the community. This feeling of exclusion can be overwhelming as everyday encounters whether in schools, wo e settings serve as reminders th other " nd hard work, many n im myself, struggle to eel at home. Even now, despite my plishments, I sometimes face subtle forms of usion in the healthcare field As an international student, I often had to work harder than my American peers to prove myself, and that feeling still lingers. Whether it's someone questioning my expertise because of my accent or being treated differently due to my background, these moments remind me that, for many immigrants, fully belonging remains an ongoing challenge.
ccccDespite these challenges, I’ve learned that true belonging starts from within Every step I take in nursing is not just for me but for my community proving that we belong, we contribute and we can lead. All three swimming, healthcare and my immigrant journey have taught me resilience, pushing me to overcome barriers, adapt and prove that, with hard work and determination, I can thrive in any environment. In my opinion, it’s all about pushing forward even when the world seems unwelcoming and remembering that our stories have the power to create lasting change.
ccccThis article originally appeared online as From Mexican elite athlete to U S healthcare: How I turned my immigrant journey into a path of resilience.
On sláinte and seisiún
Claire Nalda
ccccIn Irish, “sláinte” is the colloquial term used for toasts and other cheers My Irish grandmother often uses it at birthday and holiday celebrations to start a meal and celebrate our family’s togetherness. This summer I had the incredible opportunity to travel to Ireland for two and a half weeks. Going into the trip, I was relatively nervous because it was my first time traveling alone internationally, but I was mostly excited for the chance to experience a foreign yet familiar culture in such an immersive way.
ccccWhen I landed in Dublin, I immediately noticed little differences in the airport, like how people walk on the left side of the walkway There was even a sign in baggage claim reminding people to plan for driving on the left I thought it was cool how all of the signs were in both English and Irish, even though Irish isn’t a widely spoken language anymore (although it is undergoing a revival).
ccccThe biggest difference I noticed, however, was the hospitality of the Irish people When I got on my bus leaving Dublin, I put on my headphones, expecting to sit alone with no interactions with other passengers. But the woman who sat down next to me had other plans and immediately struck up a conversation. Delighted to learn I was from the U S , she chatted with me about my visit, my Irish heritage and my not-so-Irish last name, amidst a wide array of small talk topics for almost the entire bus ride. Then, when I missed my connecting bus to my final destination, an elderly lady helped me find alternate transportation.
ccccMy pattern of meeting lovely people continued when I arrived in Achill, a small island town off of County Mayo in the west of Ireland I was participating in a traditional Irish music program, as were many other people on the island. Music has a funny way of connecting people of all ages and backgrounds, and Achill facilitated those connections for me Several people staying in the same bed-and-breakfast offered me rides around the island
to get to music class during the day and pubs at night; in both environments, I had some of the most fun and interesting conversations I’ve ever had I was asked about everything American, from the election to Raising Cane's, and I got to learn about the Irish education system, political scene and everyone’s connection (no matter how remote) to Olympic gold medalist Daniel Wiffen And, of course, I played and listened to so much good music
ccccIrish music has always been a part of my life, but I became particularly interested in learning to play it when I visited Ireland with my extended family in 2023. Having the opportunity to learn from seasoned traditional musicians was an incredible experience, and I was able to attend both classes and seisiúns gatherings of Irish musicians that celebrate the rich culture of music and community in an informal setting. While I learned so much from the classes, the most important lessons were taught in the seisiúns, where anywhere from three to a dozen musicians crowd into the corner of a pub and just play There isn’t a planned repertoire, and anyone can come and play on any instrument. On my guitar, I accompanied button accordions, wooden flutes and tin whistles, Uilleann pipes, banjos, fiddles and more I loved learning how all the instruments mesh together
ccccPlaying in both formal and informal settings, and partaking in small but meaningful conversations allowed me to interact with the Irish people and culture through music in a special way this summer. I feel so fortunate to have been immersed in this beautiful culture through something so important to them and to me I’d like to propose a toast to the Irish people: Thank you for your warm welcome and sharing your music with me. Sláinte!
ccccThis article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
My First Year Seminar makes me feel very Vietnamese
Katie Truong
cccc“What does zhong 忠 mean to you?”
ccccI scrambled for words when asked. I hated admitting it, but I simply didn’t know I hated that I didn’t know how to pronounce nor understand words in a class where everyone else seemingly knew everything.
ccccLater I found out it meant “loyalty ”
ccccI have lived for 17 years in Saigon, Vietnam. In the community that raised me, everyone looked the same, acted the same and knew each other At Hopkins, I’m met with people from all around the world. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who didn’t look like me, who didn’t understand my humor and some who saw me through a microaggressive lens.
ccccI had thought my First Year Seminar would make me feel more at ease Chinese film and history weren’t topics I was particularly keen on, per se, but I had thought it would be a little relatable. I walked into class confident. Then, the professor asked: “Who here speaks Chinese?”
ccccAnd everyone raised their hand but me.
ccccIt felt strangely isolating. Surrounded by those who looked like me, I felt like I was the only one left behind in that room. It was a surreal experience. I questioned if I belonged at Hopkins, at all.
ccccWe screened a movie on the first day of class, and I silently thanked God for English subtitles. English wasn’t even my first language, anyway. It was the first time I was truly happy to be able to somewhat communicate something I had taken for granted back home.
ccccDiscussion-based classes were always hit or miss. A hit when you knew what you were talking about; a miss when you didn’t. A miss when everyone in the class seemingly knew everything about Chinese culture and relevant historical contexts of films to be able to positively contribute. Being there, I could only voice what I felt about the film as a girl from Vietnam. And no one could relate And it reminded me of all the things I learned about China from home that, if voiced, would get me kicked out of class.
ccccI have always been taught that China was somewhere abstract and complicated, intertwined with bloodshed and generational trauma of a war bygone.
It was consistently perpetuated that China wanted to seize Vietnam and still does People around me shared a collective fear of China: fear of being brought back to that time when we fought inch by inch for our independence, clawing out of imperialism with nothing but bare hands and the fiery will of the Vietnamese.
ccccAfter not being able to meaningfully contribute in the first lesson, I briefly contemplated switching to another seminar. Surely, there would be somewhere I belonged perhaps somewhere my views would be a little less controversial But, something told me to not give up.
ccccI spent hours reading and watching the assigned pieces, seeing the lives of Chinese women and families unfold on film. The more I watched and read, the more I realized that we were more similar than different.
ccccRecently, I had a chance to meet individually with the professor to complete the outline for our upcoming presentation. My friends in class had “warned” me about the meeting, about how the professor would ask me to tell her about myself. And she did just that.
ccccHowever, I never expected such a simple question to turn into a 1-hour talk She had asked me what I learned about China back home, and I told her everything. Everything that generations preceding me have passed down to me Everything the school system taught me Everything about the national rhetoric. She was surprised, of course, but she never disregarded any of my thoughts We went back and forth: two generations from two countries supposed to be enemies. The conversation confirmed my suspecting belief: we are more similar than we are different We come from places that share the same trauma of fighting against colonialist powers, suffering the divide caused by superpowers of the world and rebuilding a nation torn apart by relentless warfare ccccI left the meeting feeling a greater sense of belonging. My Vietnamese heritage is not something to be ashamed of it adds to the class I bring a perspective that is different, and I want to explore perspectives that I have never seen before. I come to class with the spirit of exploration and discovery that Hopkins boasts, sharing my viewpoints and expanding upon them with those who are different. And suddenly, Chinese characters became a lot less foreign
ccccThis article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
international
experiences
Finding home in Istanb
Sarah Huang
I was halfway through Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist when the Black Sea appeared outside my plane window. The hills of Istanbul soon joined the view of the soft silhouette of the morning sun Knowing the plane was approaching its destination, I decided to stow the tray table and put away the book.
Flying from Shanghai, the ancient city of Istanbul felt to me just as how Africa felt to the Spanish shepherd boy: distant, thrilling, foreign. I was here as a counselor for a one-month children’s summer camp hosted by an Istanbul American high school. I got picked up from the airport by the program, and the first few days went by like a blur: I overcame jetlag, got a new SIM card, met the other 39 counselors, did the program orientation, met the 298 children we had in this camp and before I knew it, it was the end of the first week of the camp
Every day’s schedule was packed and I was making new friends every hour, but being alone in a foreign land let homesickness kick in
I was starving when the kids finally went home by the end of the first Friday. A Turkish counselor brought me the good news that they were ordering special food to celebrate our survival of the first week: something called “manti,” a very traditional Turkish cuisine.
Expecting something exotic, I was more than confused when the Turkish counselor handed me a bowl of mini dumplings. I asked whether they were dumplings, like the traditional Chinese food, but the Turkish counselor looked just as confused. I was close friends with a counselor from Kazakhstan and another from Russia, who both objected that dumplings were their traditional dish, too.
We eventually decided to let Wikipedia be the judge and found out that dumplings were, indeed, from China, and the very reason they were called “manti” in Turkish was likely because of the pronunciation of a similar dish, “mantou,” in Chinese The dish was brought to Turkey by the Mongols seven centuries ago. It is hard to describe the exact feelings I had at the time, but the city suddenly felt less foreign to me
Although I had never set foot in this country before, my culture had. That gave me comfort. It made me feel
welcomed We are much more conn
That reminded me of the young shepherd boy in The Alchemist. His dream was to travel to the ends of the earth, and he did The reason the shepherd boy managed to fulfill his dream, out of so many who failed, was that he understood the “language of the world.” The stories of everything in the universe are all written by the same hand, and all are connected.
My journey in Istanbul showed me that although humans may not share the same language, we can understand each other’s stories. My ancestors' recipes traveled from the Yangtze Plain to the Bosphorus Strait on the Silk Road; religious stories from Jerusalem to the capital of the Tang Dynasty. This wove together the story of humankind, of how we managed to understand one another and learn from one another centuries ago despite linguistic and geographical barriers.
Our stories continue to connect us as humans. The experience I had with other international counselors in this camp was like no other: I met a goth, lesbian Turkish counselor whose parents were strict conservative Muslims, but, according to her, she was her dad's secret favorite. I met another counselor whose parents migrated to the US from Iraq when she was five. She grew up in Philadelphia but is considering moving back to the Middle East because she feels, as a Muslim, that is where she truly belongs. I met a Filipino salsa dance teacher, a self-acclaimed prince of Pakistan and an Indian Bollywood dancer who rocked the whole camp.
All of those stories fascinated me, just like the diverse, historic, vibrant city of Istanbul did In a world so deeply divided as the one we are living in, it is easy to forget that history is composed of extraordinary individuals who each have their own stories to tell and that we humans have the ability to make connections through our stories no matter what.
"Wherever I go, people understand me They understand my soul. This continues to give me hope."
Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
Parallels and lessons from Brooklyn,
Hong Kong and China
Anne Li
Today, I share with you some experiences from living in Brooklyn, China and Hong Kong: three places that have shown and given me a greater appreciation of my own life and the meaning of home.
Brooklyn, N.Y.
I’ve had the privilege of visiting several places around the world over the years, each with its own exciting thrill. But, there is always a part of me that somehow finds its back to Brooklyn, N Y
Over the last 15 years in Brooklyn, the many communities and cultures have taught me the value of diversity A great majority of local businesses are immigrant-owned, and aside from the authentic food, I’ve learned to pick up a few words on my way out. Learning how to say “thank you” in respective languages, for example, has shown me the difference it makes to go the extra mile when you care for those around you It is truly this synergy that makes Brooklyn an unbeatable place to live.
Hong Kong
Hong Kong captured my admiration instantly with its seamless blend of Western and Eastern cultures. The moment I stepped out of the airport, I took a breath of immediate relief hearing taxi cab drivers hollering in their thick Cantonese accents. I couldn’t believe how much this place felt like home, even though I had never been prior
Even as a New Yorker, Hong Kong truly felt like the place that never slept. On any given block, there were a number of diners and cafes, foods from every cuisine and street stalls for quick bites of dim sum.
Shanghai, China
Shanghai was the first place where, for the first time, I did not speak much of the native language fluently. Along the streets, I found myself using the Mandarin that I had picked up from friends at school to make my way around. While I ultimately managed, seeing the practical demands of language literacy as a
Cantonese-speaking native gave me a greater appreciation and a renewed commitment to language learning.
My challenges here, though, reminded me of my experiences back home working with various patient populations where English wasn’t a first language for many Aside from medical literacy, the notion of basic spoken literacy was a reminder of the many privileges I had to be grateful for. Language in itself was an incredibly enabling factor that I had often overlooked
Guangdong, China
Guangdong was one of those places near the equator Even in November, the weather was still warm enough to not need outerwear. My visit to Guangdong this time was also the first time (in 15 years) that I was able to celebrate my birthday (19th) with the people that I loved most my godparents and godsister.
Every morning, on my walk to pick up fresh dim sum, I would pass by the roads leading to my old apartment and preschool, as well as the remaining physical reminders of my early upbringing Seeing the historic infrastructure, and especially the village and the people that have shaped and molded me to become the person I am today, reminded me of just how far I’ve come.
As easy as it had been for me to lose sight of my present life, these remnants reminded me of just how much of an impact the support and patience from early mentors had on me. Without the collective help from former teachers and older students who served as older siblings who guided me, I would have never been able to get to where I am today. Because of their life-long impact, I remind myself to “Rejoice always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV).
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
Danke schon, Germany!
Samhi Boppana
This summer, I had the opportunity to study abroad for two weeks in Germany As a pre-med who’s always wanted to study abroad but has always had obligations preventing her (I’m looking at you, Organic Chemistry and Physics), I jumped for joy when I realized I’d found an interesting program that fit into my schedule and took me to a country I’ve always wanted to visit.
I’ll admit: The only German cities I could name off the top of my head before this trip were Frankfurt and Berlin. Yet, it ended up being in the cities I hadn’t heard of before, where I made some of my best memories
Cologne:
My trip kicked off in Cologne, a gem of a city set on the Rhine River in West Germany The city was buzzing with energy and liveliness, and the iconic Cologne Cathedral was just as beautiful as I’d envisioned it. We stayed in Cologne for the longest of any location, and by the end, I felt confident using the public transportation and got over my culture shock of being served sparkling water as the default at all restaurants and stores
Bonn:
Bonn was the first stop on the trip where I ventured out solo to explore the city, instead of with my group Walking through the village square, surrounded by an ancient cathedral and bright yellow regal buildings, I felt as though I had been pulled into the pages of a Grimm’s fairytale. I ended my solo day in Bonn with dinner, where I sat at a table on the patio overlooking the city center with a deep appreciation for the privilege of traveling and exploring new cities. The world is truly so wide, and how lucky am I that I’m able to explore it?
Frankfurt:
Frankfurt, the final stop in my trip, offered me an opportunity to sample the culture of soccer in Europe. Our stay in Germany coincided (I say ‘coincide’ as if the program wasn’t specifically designed to do so) with the kick-off of the Euros hosted in Germany this summer. I had the opportunity to attend a public viewing in Frankfurt of the kickoff game, Germany v. Scotland, with huge screens televising the game set up around a riverfront area
When Germany scored the first goal in the game and the first goal of the tournament, the crowd erupted with cheers, and I could feel the bridge shaking beneath my feet. I’ve gone to a couple of football games in America, but I’ve never experienced anything like that, with everyone in the crowd united in their support for one team. Earlier in the day, I’d also seen supporters of Scotland joining together in an impromptu song and conga line in a city square, and it was so delightful to see their passion for their team.
In addition to the beautiful sights that I saw and the memorable culture I experienced, I absolutely fell in love with the walkability of Cologne and Bonn. I’ll admit that I’m a suburban girl at heart, having grown up in the suburbs. But, my time in Germany made me deeply appreciate being able to walk places and the convenience of well-oiled public transportation There is just something so calming about being able to walk past beautiful scenery and lively streets to a cafe or hop on the Metro to quickly head downtown for dinner
This is not all to say that the trip wasn’t without its struggles, but facing these challenges head-on has changed the way I think about travel I vividly remember sitting outside a gelato place in the Bonn city center one night and being struck with sadness. This is the last time that I will be in this place as this version of me Somehow, before my trip was over, I began to grieve for it.
With so many interesting and alluring places in the world on my bucket list, I often wonder: will I ever return to the faraway places I have visited once I’ve checked them off my list? If I do return, will it feel the same as it did before? I’ve come to realize that these places will change whether or not I return, and if I do return, my trip will surely be different in a different year, with different people and a different me
But I’ve come to realize that all that means is that I have to fully absorb the beauty of each moment for what it is without comparing it to the future or the past Maybe I will go back, or maybe I won’t, but either way, that doesn’t change the beautiful memories I’ve made or the unique experiences I’ve gained
I’ll end this piece with the one German phrase I picked up during my time, and it means thank you! Danke schon, Germany! I had a lovely time
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
Bilingual perks... or quirks?
Melody (Ye Eun) Cha
Was it a week or two into Hopkins? It was just another day when the bustling noise of people packing up their bags was subtly pressuring the TA to dismiss the section. In between the hustles were warm exchanges of “great work” and “good job” amongst groups. I opened my mouth to join in on the formality when I realized that no English word could be a medium for the 수고했어 (“sugohaesseo”) I wanted to convey. When entered in Google Translate, “수고했어” is translated as "great job," but this does not hold the same connotation By acknowledging the effort regardless of the result, 수고했어 conveys a sense of camaraderie and thus is commonly used in both professional and casual contexts There was no English word that touched on this, and I stooped to reciprocate “great work!” as I packed my bag.
Little did I know that what I had crashed into was only the tip of the iceberg. Languages are a doubleedged sword, enabling communication but also miscommunication
I had never realized Korean had so many English loanwords. These wicked tweaks in English words did me such a disservice Since when was sunscreen, not sun-cream (선크림), comedian not gag-man (개그맨), and wake-up call, not morning call (모닝콜)? No, I didn’t mean idol (아이돌) in a religious manner Please, I swear mania (마니아) does not have a negative connotation in Korea. Sorry, I meant nerdy (너드미) in a good way. Ah, guys, believe it or not, I can be funnier in Korean
These minor inconveniences transformed into frustration, leaving me with a lingering need to explain myself Nonetheless, it was easy to brush it off as, with time, I was able to equip myself with a new set of vocabulary that could reasonably replace my go-to Korean phrases
Yet, as Korean songs in my Spotify playlist decreased, I started speaking to myself in English more than Korean and I lost a grasp of Korean slang, my bilingual seesaw started tilting the other way. I started noticing English words that were untranslatable in Korean.
Was it a week or two into winter break? I was back in Korea. I was trying to explain to my dad a documentary on the importance of vulnerability by Brené Brown. “Ah, no, it is not quite 연약함 (yeonyakham/weakness) In fact,
it’s more like bravery ” The confusion in his eye penetrated mine, and I, uncomfortably, or perhaps willingly, resorted to giving my mom’s scrumptiously cooked bulgogi the attention it deserved
Yet, I had crashed into another iceberg. A realization dawned: I now stood at the intersection of two cultures, and neither could fully define me anymore I cherished the camaraderie so deeply rooted in Korea, captured by the term “수고했어. ” Yet, I was disheartened by the absence of vulnerability as a valued trait, where not a single word hinting at weakness carried a positive connotation. Was I trapped in an endless cycle of unfulfillment never fully understood, fully expressed and truly belonging? I was everywhere and, thus, nowhere.
Was it six or seven weeks into the second semester? I was reading a book called “Lecture on Ethics” by Ludwig Wittgenstein for a class called Great Minds. I had an ambivalent relationship with language since I thought of it as a mere tool for communication However, reading the book, it occurred to me that language was more than a tool: it was the very lens through which we perceived and mapped out the world, molding what we could think, say and feel.
The absence of translation for certain words no longer felt like a failure but instead like a microcosm of cultural differences. What had once been a source of confusion became an intriguing space where cultures left their traces Words, idioms and phrases that didn’t neatly transfer between Korean and English revealed the distinct perspectives that each language offered.
From feeling perpetually unfulfilled to being overloaded with insights, I’ve taken my first step toward seeing how being an international student can be a strength Every day is a balancing act between what I love and hate about both cultures, and I’m excited to embrace the fun. Whether it’s 수고했어 or great work, vulnerability or 연약함, I’m ready to meet these experiences with thrill and appreciation rather than annoyance and frustration. Here’s to more untranslatable words to come!
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
Les chaussons aux pommes
Lana Milman
If you are a cuisinomane (a Quebecoise amateur food connoisseur), look no further than this recipe of apple turnovers cherished across generations, made with many hands and ingredients chosen with love and enjoyed with family, old and new.
Ingredients
1 roundtrip ticket to Québec City, Canada
4 hands (the more, the better)
1 source of heat and 1 of cold 30 minutes of care and 30 more to enjoy
2 apples, about a cup of sugar, some salt, a dash of vanilla
1 old family recipe and a host family of 5
Directions
Find a cooking instructor in Old Québec City, preferably one who tells stories through her hands. If you can’t find one that will take you in for the week, follow along here it’s almost as good as the real thing 1.
Mme Florence already had the puff pastry made the night before, though she said that one from the marché (local grocery store) would suffice just fine, too. After a morning of language classes, a daily visit to that shop brought the fresh scents of produce in my direction alongside an array of Québec delicacies. A special blend of cooking salts made its way into each basket at the register. 2.
Together, we cut a few apples into small pieces, almost like dividing up the old city into its individual shops and restaurants. We could hear the music playing outside, acrobats setting up for their evening shows and musicians connecting microphones to portable speakers as they ran vocal warmups dressed as Einstein and Monroe on the boardwalk. I told her about the classic poutine and onion soup I had tried the night before. She dismissed these “delicacies,” saying that I would
3. try the real vegetable onion soup passed down from her grandmother’s family that evening instead.
4 I melted and browned a tablespoon of butter in a pot on the stove, its metal handle decorated with engravings and floral patterns a family heirloom I was lucky enough to hold
5. Once browned, we quickly added in the apples, a pinch of salt, a drop of vanilla extract and some sugar. Mesure avec ton coeur, she would repeat measure with your heart. Today, this meant a little under a cup of sugar.
6 As we stirred the apple filling until the pieces softened, she asked me about my first week here. She knew it was my first time abroad on my own. I recounted the much-anticipated journey to the Chute Montmorency, a waterfall whose pictures I marveled at in the pages of my middle school textbook back in Baltimore The rush of water below cleared my mind of all thoughts, and the stark beauty of the mountains rendered me in awe.
The scent of the slightly salted water mixed with the sweetness of syrup and apples melting in the pot to my left, taking me back to this long-awaited rendezvous. Almost done
7. A few more stirs remaining, five minutes done and five to go. Ma famille d’accueil! I laughed. How have I not yet told you about my host family? Translated directly into English, it means a family of welcome, and they truly were, opening their arms and those of the city for the few weeks I breathed in the Québec air We shared stories back and forth, and the mixture caramelized a little more than intended.
Atrip to Old Québec City
8 We rolled out the apples, now soft and glazed light brown, on the dough and dropped the steaming filling into oval-shaped pieces, taking a spoon to our lips for the small bit remaining Folding the dough over and crimping the edges with a fork, she told me to berce-le comme un bébé as I carried the chaussons to the paper-lined tray cradle it like a baby, so that none of the fillings fall out.
9. She turned to me and said that a little bit of cold never did anything wrong, disregarding the few months of warmth left before footsteps would be dampened by snow and scarves would soften the biting chill of winter I gave the chaussons a cold breath of air in the freezer as I turned the oven to 200 ℃ and recalculated the Fahrenheit equivalent I would use at home 390°F
As the oven’s temperature climbed, we cleaned up the kitchen and called the family down. 20 minutes! The chilled chaussons were coated with an egg wash and small slits to let the steam out while baking simple lines, a geometric pattern and a heart: plus interessant, non? More interesting, no? She was one to draw the beauty out of the simple, though she was tough with her love.
10 A simple maple glaze was stirred together in the corner in secrecy, then drizzled atop the chaussons once they’d achieved their light golden color after twenty minutes in the oven
As I sunk my teeth into the steaming dough and sweet apple filling, I understood the beauty in its simplicity Each bite reminded me of my family’s old apple charlotta recipe (three ingredients and three apples), intuitive comfort, a re past and a recentering of the imm
As I looked around the kitchen, I saw this manifest in its entirety: The old cookbook at the table’s edge overlooking this quotidienne yet magical moment; the little children impatient for their chaussons to cool, sticky glaze dripping onto their hands and the syrup on their mouths catching the sun as their sly smiles and laughs lit up the room; the grandparents methodically biting at the crust with years of expertise devising the right angle to not let any drop of maple fall; the parents taking a breath in and out, a quick bite of rejuvenation as they continue on with their busy days.
Mme Florence sat in her chair, rocking back and forth; a slow nod of approval indicated a fulfilling afternoon.
The chausson’s real recipe is hidden within if you look closely between the lines If you want to feel it, though, you’ll have to recreate it in its entirety. Start with the people, then the dough or with the first ingredient above
Bon appetit!
My time
in Cape Town
Ja'Niyah Moore
During my time in Cape Town, I was able to navigate the country of South Africa for six weeks with seven other Hopkins students As I reflect on my time, I think about the memories I gained at CampusKey, the residential site I stayed at. CampusKey is home to many South African students studying at the University of Cape Town There, I was able to be vulnerable and compassionate and, most importantly, learn from those around me. No matter if they were raised in the townships or in mixed (Coloured) communities, they treated us as family and welcomed us with open arms
The idea of Ubuntu or humanity to others was expressed in every way as I navigated through Cape Town. Ubuntu, a South African term, reminds me of togetherness, which is why I felt so safe with the people that I met and the friends I made along the way. From the food to the culture, the excursions and more, I was able to immerse myself in their culture, and I loved every part of it It all shaped my mindset of what the ordinary lives of most South African students are like.
While in Cape Town, I was fortunate enough to go on multiple excursions, which included Robben Island, District Six Museum, the beach, a township called Langa, The Heart Museum, Cape Point and a Safari. All of these experiences taught me about their rich history that almost exactly paralleled the history of the city of Baltimore Apartheid and segregation are how white oppressors divided the Black community, which is still broken to this day. (Sounds familiar, right?) Although I witnessed housing that was racially segregated when traveling through townships where Black South Africans lived, it wasn’t a new feeling. I was able to show empathy to them, while also sharing my experiences from home.
Each week, I had a lot of time to reflect on my feelings by documenting them in my journal. I took two higherlevel public health courses, one being “HIV, AIDS, Policy and Ordinary Lives,” and the other was a course in “Community Engagement Writing ” We met up every day during the week and had deep discussions about what we were seeing and experiencing while there. I was able to check in with myself but also learn from professionals who taught differently than I was used to
o re n p d in n the U.S. I learned South African people suffered unequally due to their infrastructure, health care systems and lack of access. These factors are what we discuss in public health classes all the time at Hopkins, but I learned we were missing an essential part of the story: the people's voices. Taking this class from an anthropological approach made me more aware of the everyday lives that people had to endure as their choice of health freedom was stripped away once again by oppressive systems.
I also took another course on community engagement, where I participated in over 60 community service hours at a site called Mosaic. Mosaic is a non-profit organization that focuses on inter-partner violence and domestic abuse The workers at Mosaic work endlessly to address gender-based violence in South Africa, highlighting survivors and their stories. While at the site I was able to work closer with the current director of Mosaic, Ronel, on different projects involving the empowerment of South African women. I was then able to go into class and actively reflect on what I had been learning. It was a great way for me to release any emotions that were tied to the dense but well-needed work they did at Mosaic
In all, I had a beautiful experience in South Africa. On top of the culture, food and excursion, I was able to make long-lasting relationships that I will cherish forever!
Home’s where the
heart is
Vicky Lin
It’s been a good eight years since I first left China for high school in the US. All these years of going back and forth with fifteen-plus hours of flights, living with host families, Covid quarantines in both countries and college feel like a whirlwind, but I indeed lived through every second of it.
I have a hard time understanding why my fourteenyear-old self would decide to go abroad. Not in a bad way, since I never regretted it. But how and why did I have the motivation to convince my parents, shake up my life and put myself in a foreign land alone? There are certainly upsides to studying in the US, such as more flexible curriculums, more extracurricular opportunities and the chance to attend any of the good colleges here.
But all of these can’t seem to justify the risks we were taking Leaving the Chinese school system meant that I couldn’t go back if anything went wrong in the US, not to mention that US schools are also ridiculously expensive To achieve my goal, which was to graduate from a decent college in the US, meant that nothing could go wrong on my end as well as my parents’ end
My high school years were quite a mental challenge. Nothing dramatic happened; it was the accumulation of small discomforts from chits chats that I didn’t understand, living under roofs that I didn’t belong to, the pressure I put on myself to do well and the many little things that I shoved down my throat because I thought no one could understand me. I was floating through everything rather than living through it because I badly wanted every semester to end so that I could go home.
The Covid-19 year was a relief to me. Though it took away my high school graduation and freshman year of college, I finally got to spend time at home. I was tired of being a foreigner and an outsider.
I had low expectations for college But without consciously trying, I slowly steered myself away from that floating state and got my feet on the ground to feel everything around me It seemed like I was finally getting close to my fourteen-year-old imagination of the ideal me: free, open, curious and confident.
I don’t feel like an outsider as much I’ve even started to love being a foreigner because it’s given me the freedom to do things my way.
Studying sociology also helped From the sociological perspective, human society is made up of many social constructs, which extend into social systems. People are often locked in systems because they realistically can’t get out or because they think there is only one system to follow or there is the one optimal system to go with But there is no such thing The more alternatives I see and experience across China and the US, the more I realize that I don’t have to follow any system or any path It is quite a liberating feeling
Now that I am close to graduating college, I am finally starting to understand what motivated the fourteen-year-old me It was an innate desire to break free. I had to expand my world wider and larger to the extent where I could see my limiting beliefs and break through Though for years I couldn’t explain this burning desire to myself, I followed my intuitions, no matter how absurd they seemed. Looking back, my heart has known better than my brain
When this past summer started, I was excited to go home, as usual. But when summer ended, I was equally excited to come back to my small apartment in Baltimore. I felt like I was going back to another home of mine. Although it’s an apartment across from campus that I will eventually leave, it is a space that allows me to be the most free version of myself. Home is the place with families and childhood memories. It’s also the place where I find freedom and peace Now that I am capable of finding freedom and peace for myself, home is me.
I know it’s cliché to quote a famous person to end an essay, but I still want to do it. It is a quote from my favorite poet, Su Shi, who broke free of numerous physical obstacles and mental limits to find peace for himself a thousand years ago. He wrote, 此⼼安处是吾 乡, translated as “home’s where the heart is.”
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
crosscultural
connections
9languages, 11 passports, 7girls
Julia Mendes Queiroz
Coming to Hopkins as an international student during the pandemic, I really had no idea what to expect. We were still under some pandemic restrictions, especially on the Homewood Campus, and I had barely met anyone who would also be attending Hopkins that fall. I felt scared and a little isolated Specifically, I remember my dad saying that I would make a new life for myself here in Baltimore, and that the chance to live in a country like the U S during university would open my eyes to a whole new range of perspectives.
Like most parents, they were right. You see, growing up in Rio de Janeiro and London, you get a lot of exposure to very different people. Before coming to Hopkins, I assumed I was knowledgeable about different parts of the world worldly, if you will but alas, you know what they say about assuming.
All I can say is the past three and a half years at Hopkins have made me realize how I truly knew very little about all the wonderful traditions, dishes, expressions and history that exist in countries and cultures other than my own
Before I continue, I have to give credit where credit is due. A lot of that change is due to my friends and our joint enthusiasm for sharing our respective cultures. I caught myself thinking about just how many new words, religions, traditions and recipes I’ve learned about from just hanging around them More importantly, I’ve also learned how our cultures can intersect and how we can bring together all of our traditions So, I wanted to share with you guys some of our favorite ways to share and bring our respective heritages together.
American Traditions with a Twist
I was a little worried about adapting to the way of life in the U.S., because it is quite different to how I grew up I definitely didn't expect to end up liking American holidays as much as I do. I’ve been attending Thanksgiving since my freshman year, when my now-
roommate very bravely offered to host me and another friend despite knowing us for, like, a week. Getting on the Amtrak, I had no idea what to expect from this holiday. Cut to seven days later I didn’t want to get back on the Amtrak.
The parades, family gatherings, Thursday night football and countless flavors of pie it was amazing. Not only did I learn the rules of football, but I also walked away feeling really privileged to be able to experience this new tradition.
As the years went on, the three of us have started modifying our Thanksgiving traditions to include some of our own cultural heritage. For example, in our second year together, I took the girls to a Brazilian restaurant near my friend’s home and introduced them to Pasteis de Queijo. My birthday also usually falls on the week of Thanksgiving, so we often have brigadeiros and cake from the Brazilian bakeries my mom manages to track down.
Multicultural Movie Nights
This is one of my all-time favorite college traditions If you are like me, discovering new movies or shows to watch is a bit of a challenge because you are a little picky with what you watch But something that’s been incredible is having access to a whole new world because my friends can help me navigate it.
One of my roommates grew up on Bollywood movies. So last year on Diwali, we sat down to watch one that she termed as a “modern classic” (Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani) This started a whole trend in our household that summer to watch different movies from our cultures together; it was honestly so much fun When I went home in August, I showed some of them to my mom, who is now passing them along to her friends.
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
Recipe for Spicy Stir-fried Squid (Ojingeo Bokkeum)
Spicy stir-fried squid is one of my favorite Korean meals – it’s a good pairing with rice, simple and heartfelt. This recipe is from my maternal grandmother This squid dish is one of the many Korean dishes she made for a number of reasons: My dad is a seafood lover, the dish is diverse in ingredients and nutrition, and it’s a perfect blend of spicy and filling.
My grandma is why I can still speak in Korean, feel at home after eating at a Korean restaurant miles away from Virginia and continue to turn my head when someone calls out my Korean name. But, of course, regardless of her being my connection to my cultural heritage, I am thankful beyond words that she has cared and continues to care for me with such dedication and gentleness
Ingredients (serves three):
1 medium-size squid (14 ounces)
2 tablespoons of avocado oil or olive oil
1 tablespoon of sesame seeds
1 tablespoon of minced garlic
Vegetables:
1/2 of a medium-sized carrot
1/2 of a medium-sized onion
1/2 of a stalk of scallion
Optional: 1 to 2 green or red peppers
Sauce:
1 tablespoon of soy sauce
1 tablespoon of oyster sauce
1 tablespoon of fish sauce
2 tablespoons of cooking wine
1 tablespoon of Korean chili pepper paste (gochujang)
2 tablespoons of Korean chili pepper flakes (gochugaru)
1 tablespoon of sesame seed oil
Instructions
1
First, clean the squid Make diagonal cuts on both sides of the inside and slice it into bite-sized pieces.
Separate the tentacles one by one and cut them.
Marinate in 2 tablespoons of cooking wine for five to 10 minutes.
2.
While the squid is marinating, wash and prepare the vegetables
3.
Slice the onion into thin strips.
4.
5.
6
7
Cut the carrot in half, then cut diagonally to get angled slices
Chop the scallions into thin pieces around half of a centimeter thick
If you’re adding green or red peppers, cut them diagonally.
Prepare the sauce by placing all the sauce ingredients in a bowl and mixing them with your utensil of choice.
8
9
Heat a large skillet and add the two tablespoons of vegetable oil.
Once the skillet has warmed up, add the onions and the minced garlic.
10.
11.
When the onions are not yet translucent, reduce the heat and add the sauce
Stir-fry the vegetables (carrots, onions and possibly peppers) in the sauce, ensuring they are evenly coated. Do not add the scallions in this step.
12.
Add the marinated squid. Stir-fry just until the squid pieces curl up and turn opaque which indicates that they are cooked through. Be careful not to overcook the squid, as it can become rubbery and difficult to chew
13
14
Once the squid is cooked, add the green scallions Stir everything together.
Place the stir-fried squid and vegetables onto a serving dish, arranging it for presentation.
15.
Drizzle the sesame oil evenly over the dish for added fragrance and flavor Sprinkle the sesame seeds on top to complete the dish adding a bit of crunch and visual appeal
This article is abridged in print and the complete version can be found online
A crash course on the Korean media essentials
Ayden Min
As an International Studies major, my entire college education is learning about the multitudes of global cultures and how they intertwine with each other in a continuous ebb and flow Sharing my own South Korean culture and seeing how it fits in to the puzzle of the world has been a constant undercurrent both in my life and at my time here at Hopkins, and so I wanted to share some of my favorite pieces of Korean media with all you dear readers of this edition of The News-Letter Magazine
1. (Book) Human Acts, by Han Kang
There are many times when I wish I was completely fluent in my mother language, and reading this book was definitely one of those times. Han Kang’s novel was originally written in Korean and translated into English by Deborah Smith (who also translated Han’s The Vegetarian). The 240-page (a two-day read) Human Acts follows six different perspectives during and after the 1980 Gwangju student uprisings in response to a coup d’etat that established a national military dictatorship. Government retaliation against protests opposing the new power led to hundreds of deaths, a majority of which were innocent civilians and university students. Han constructs several beautifully heartbreaking narratives by using the simplest diction and sentences it’s almost poetic.
Every now and then, I would come across a sentence or two that I knew would make more sense in Korean due to cultural nuances that are bound to be lost in translation. In a way, this had me reflect on my relationship with my parents, especially my mother’s side of the family. My mom was the one who recommended the book to me in the first place, and being able to connect with her through literature that we read in the languages we knew was something I held close to my heart. Learning that her parents grew up not too far from where the story took place brought me even closer to the story and made the characters all the more real.
This book has a way of painting the most detailed and clear pictures of its events in your mind, whether you like it or not. From graphic burial scenes and mass graves, to delicate memories of innocence and first
love, Han’s ability to effortlessly visualize the most dynamic scenes brings out a myriad of emotions within the reader. Grief, anger, joy compassion, love she coaxes these out simultaneously and so unsuspectingly that it’d be odd to not shed a tear (or a hundred).
2. (Webtoon/Graphic Novel) Your Letter, by Hyeon A Cho
This 10-chapter webtoon centers around Sori Lee, a caring schoolgirl that comes across a not-so-ordinary scavenger hunt that takes her through her past The simple yet comforting artstyle that reminded me of old cartoons really stood out to me, and the ability of the artist to convey emotions through her use of color, light and composition had me pausing on each panel just to appreciate the work. The dialogue between Sori and Eugene, who helps her navigate the scavenger hunt, was plain and direct exactly what you'd expect of young classmates and new friends. Sori’s unwavering kindness and blind trust in people contrast with Eugene’s occasional sarcasm, but their friendship dynamic is what brings the characters to life.
I won’t spoil the ending for you, but it’s one of the most heartwarming endings I’ve ever read. This webtoon is the epitome of beautiful storytelling without using too many words
To conclude...
Although this collection of pieces reflect my current choices of Korean media, they are exactly that my personal preferences. There are undoubtedly so many more beautiful, captivating and life-changing movies, television shows, literature, art pieces, photographs, poetry and musicians with Korean roots that are just waiting to catch your attention. The language barrier is a portal to another dimension of artistry
Being a daughter of immigrant parents, my Korean culture is something I hold near to my heart a lifeline to another place that my family calls home Cultural traditions, fables, and my family history are the parts of my identity that I am proudest of.
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online.
Anew home In Charm City
Kaja Nicolaisen
When I am at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, I feel right at home. My hometown Hamburg is built around rivers and ports, so every time I see ships, water and container cranes, my heart jumps a little But even though I feel the resemblance like waves in my veins, Baltimore is also completely different from everything I know, and I am growing fonder of this eclectic city with every new part that I discover.
Apart from enjoying the maritime flair of the harbor, I also love to stroll the colorful streets of Fells Point and Hampden. I have scoured the aisles of cozy bookstores, such as Greedy Reads and Red Emma’s, and marveled at the rows upon rows of free books that Book Thing offers every month.
One very special tradition that my roommate and I had the privilege to witness was the Toilet Bowl Races It was an absolute blast to see so many people from Baltimore come together and cheer on incredibly creative toilet bowl wagons like the Mad Max-inspired “Flusharosa.” Similarly odd but also weirdly charming is the Bazaar on Chestnut Avenue where you can buy macabre postcards, animal skulls or molded tarantulas. I did not lose my appetite in that store, so I could delight in the delicious ice cream at The Charmery on the next street corner
Speaking of food, Baltimore has so much to offer. Of course, there is Ekiben, but I have also tried crabs and other delicious seafood at Captain James Crabhouse and munched on marvelous sandwiches at the Common Grounds Café The only thing missing was some actual bread I could not find anything even remotely like the bread I know from home until I discovered Motzi Bread Thanks to this unique bakery, I could give my fellow German friend the perfect sourdough birthday gift.
Between all these amazing experiences, sometimes I also need a moment to relax You might relate, so
here are some German films and TV shows that are definitely worth a watch.
Victoria (2015, directed by Sebastian Schipper) is a nearly two-and-a-half-hour one-shot, and it sucks you into Berlin nightlife in an instant. What begins as a fun night with newly found friends turns into a nailbiting suspense-fest – pure thrill all in a single take
The drama System Crasher (2019, directed by Nora Fingscheidt) delivers a similarly strong punch to the gut Nine-year-old Benni is on the constant move through the foster care system, unable to find a place to call home because no one is equipped to handle her anger outbursts I suggest bringing some tissues along with the popcorn.
A Coffee in Berlin, originally titled Oh Boy (2012, directed by Jan-Ole Gerster), is a black and white dramedy tribute to Berlin. I simply love watching lead actor Tom Schilling and his ability to bring his melancholic yet strangely funny signature to every role he takes on.
Speaking of homages to Berlin, I have to mention Peter Fox Whenever music tastes clash at a party, put on a song from Peter Fox’s Stadtaffe album and everyone will lose it to the music My personal favorites would be the songs “Alles Neu,” “Schüttel deinen Speck” and “Schwarz zu Blau,” but when he is not working solo, Peter Fox also makes great music with his band SEEED It is impossible to sit still when they play.
It has also been largely impossible for me to sit still since I arrived here I began my journey at Hopkins less than two months ago, and I find it hard to fathom how many new and rewarding experiences I got to add to my memory in merely these few weeks
This article has been abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
My culture is beautiful Maryam Amosu
Being African in the mid-2010s earned me rude comments on my appearance, my food and my way of communication I used to evade inquiries into what I wore to Nigerian parties out of fear that people would see pictures and deem my clothes ugly. I refused to bring anything African for lunch because in my majority white middle school, I had experienced kids making fun of the savory smells or asking for a taste and spitting it out in disgust
Now, I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks about my Nigerian heritage. Fortunately, some of the world has caught on to the beauty of Africa, so defiance in the face of ridicule is no longer a constant issue. I have had the amazing opportunity to not only share but explore my own culture in the past four years
Despite the pain of freshmen fall pre-med courses, I took each Saturday off for two months to practice for the annual (and beautiful) African Students Association Fashion Show. When I say those were the most terrifying but riveting moments of my life, I mean it.
However, these Saturdays also meant that, on a day out of the seemingly endless week of classes, I hung out with other Africans here on campus. There was never a dull conversation Even within Nigeria itself, we have tribes, and as a Yoruba girl, I shared similar and differing experiences in upbringing with those who were Hausa or Igbo My friends with parents from Ghana and Senegal fought at least one time a day over whose jollof rice was the best (even though Nigeria takes the crown). The result of those fun Saturdays was a presentation of the bold beauty that is the whole African continent.
I participated in the fashion show the following year (of course) but I was not able to participate in my junior year. In the fall of 2023, I studied abroad at the University of Oxford, St. Anne’s College. This was another mindaltering adventure for me in a different way than the fashion show was and I can now easily say that studying abroad was a pivotal experience.
I met Africans, but I also met people from Japan, China, Ireland, Italy, India, Pakistan, Korea and many more countries. There were so many things that were different about our culture but also so, so many things
that were the same from the specific aspects like food containers containing everything but the food they advertised to the general aspects like strict parents who valued education a little too much.
Moreover, their identities weren’t solely based on the country they or their parents originated from. Yes, I am of Nigerian heritage, but I’m also Christian, Black, female, in my 20s and so much more When stacked on each other, these individual lenses explain who I am and why I make the decisions I do. And though these are lenses I’ve had for a while, I had never looked at myself through them. Only after long conversations in closed St. Anne’s coffee shops (shout out STACS), listening to music with friends in jazz pubs or talking to teammates during rowing practice did I learn what intersectionality truly meant. And I believe that it is a concept that you never appreciate until you see it illuminated in others
Popping back over to my Hopkins experience, I threw a birthday party at my house. Now, this may sound normal to some, but trust a party in an African household is no causal thing.
And, as traditional for even a small Nigerian birthday celebration, multiple outfits must be worn I greeted my guests in a pretty orange and gold dress with fabric my aunt helped pick out. Later in the night, I took pictures in front of my cake in a bejeweled brown gown my mother found the design for. I then bid them all goodbye in my favorite dress of the evening: a gold-detailed chocolate Aso Oke outfit, the fabric of a traditional handwoven cloth dating back to the beginning of Yorubaland itself.
There are many more instances of sharing my culture that I could talk about, like the time I partied it up with friends at a Nollywood-themed party hosted by the African Students Association, visited friends with origins in Ethiopia and Nigeria in London, had a wonderful Christmas formal dinner with Oxford’s African Student Union or ate a late dinner with my Irish-Ukrainian cousins.
The wonderful thing about culture is that it begs for communion to be shared and felt and tasted and seen and loved. By its nature, it is not something that can be kept to oneself, and I realized that more and more as I explored the world. I can’t say that I’ve been everywhere, but I can say with confidence that culture is everywhere. And in most cases, it’s absolutely beautiful
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online
Baltimore to Rio: A story of Jewish connection
Gabriel Lesser
As a Brazilian-American Jew, being Jewish is something that has always transcended my nationalities I am American, and I am Brazilian, but before either of these things, I am Jewish
To me, being Jewish means being part of a peoplehood a home away from home one that goes beyond the aspects of time and borders whether you are in Israel or in the diaspora of communities around the world. It means sharing common traditions and customs like celebrating Rosh Hashanah the Jewish New Year by dipping apples into honey, or simply playing “Jewish geography” every time you meet a new Jewish person
My Brazilian mom and my American dad met each other while they were both studying at Tel Aviv University, and because of this, my Jewish identity has been a beautiful blend of communities throughout my entire life. I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of the Jewish communities in New York and in Rio de Janeiro the two cities where my parents grew up And further, when I got to college, I got to immerse myself into the Jewish community here at Hopkins Hillel and in the greater Baltimore area
That’s why, this past March, I was beyond excited to help lead the Hopkins Hillel spring break trip to Rio Through this trip, I was able to connect the Hopkins Hillel and Hillel Rio communities, demonstrating to my friends that despite the roughly 5,000 miles that separate us, our Jewish communities are much more similar than one might think.
I myself grew up going to Hebrew school in the afternoons in New York, and when summer came around each year, I stayed with my grandparents in Rio where I would attend Jewish day school and Jewish youth group’s summer camps Through this combination of experiences, I got to expand my Jewish identity through both my American and Brazilian perspectives, developing friendships that, to this day, connect me to Jewish communities worldwide.
In my experiences, I’ve learned that because the U S has the largest Jewish diaspora community in the world, many American Jews don’t know too much about smaller Jewish diaspora communities like the one my family is a
part of in Rio That’s why I was so ecstatic to have the opportunity to bring my friends to Rio and to be able to introduce them to so many people who have shaped my upbringing, including my grandpa, my uncle, my cousins and my family friends
Throughout Hillel’s week-long trip to Rio, we got to tour around my favorite attractions in the city while also interacting with the city’s Jewish community at the local Hillel, Chabad and synagogues. We had the opportunity to meet with leaders and young adults from the Jewish community, try out Rio’s kosher food as well as to taste the overall culinary scene, and visit important sites like Rio’s Holocaust Museum and Yitzhak Rabin Park We even had the opportunity to celebrate the Jewish holiday of Purim at a synagogue, which was a great way to show my friends the similar forms of prayers and celebrations that we share
Our final day of the trip culminated in a beautiful Shabbat: the Jewish day of rest At Friday night services, I got to give a speech to the community at the very same synagogue where my parents got married over 30 years ago I got to play the role of translator as I gave half my speech in English and half in Portuguese, ensuring that everyone in the audience could understand what I was saying I truly resonated with what I said in my speech that night, how “regardless of being American or Brazilian, we are all connected by our Jewish identities ”
While I will never be able to express in words the level of belonging and fulfillment that this trip brought me, I can express gratitude to everyone who has shaped my Jewish identity From my parents, my grandparents, and my extended family and friends, I am so thankful for the plethora of opportunities that I have had to connect with Jewish communities and organizations around the world. I wouldn’t be who I am today without this blend of identities, and these experiences have shown me how from Baltimore to Rio, there is so much opportunity for Jewish connection.
This article is abridged in print, and the complete version can be found online as “From Baltimore to Rio: A story of Jewish connection ”
