Love Actually: Hopkins Edition

Collected here are reflections across Hopkins Communities. From passing glances to lifelong partnerships, these stories show the many ways love shows up: unexpectedly and often close to home. 

For some, feelings developed so gradually that they went unrecognized. One student anonymously describes a childhood friend she had known since she was six, recalling a ski trip where he was exceptionally bad at skiing: “Every time, he would fall, look up at me and say, 'I fell for you!’ He kept doing this the entire trip and used other cringeworthy pickup lines.” She laughed it off then, assuming it was just another joke. Years later, he admitted that he had meant it. The confession didn’t change their relationship, she wrote, but turned something once easily dismissed into something meaningful.

Another student described small moments that felt instinctive: the absent gaze, looking for someone just to have that empty feeling, realizing she wasn’t there. At homecoming, when her favorite song, “Perfect,” played and she was away on a trip, “ I just instinctively called her and didn't say anything, just let the song play.”

As students get older, feelings sometimes feel like they’re shaped by timing, consequence, and the awareness that moments can run out. In some cases, it is the bittersweet chemistry developed in the labs, undone by timing that never aligned. One senior recalls admiring someone in their chemistry class. They finally spoke one night at a party. “I kissed her,” he said, “and we pretended it never happened after that.” At graduation, he told himself he wouldn’t say anything. But he did: just “congrats.” She smiled and replied, “Thanks. You look really cute in that shirt.” She walked away into her future, he wrote, and from then on, it was his favorite shirt.

In other cases, proximity doesn’t lead to regret, but to motivation. Another student described admiration that took shape over time. She didn’t know where it began, only that it became real when “I realized he was one of the few who spelled my name correctly on the first try.” That attention stayed with her. Admiration turned into motivation: “I want to catch up with him and be just as outstanding as him.” 

While some stories remain in the realm of youthful intensity, others stretch into something lasting.  Mr. Calderone’s story falls under this category: fresh out of college, still living and working in his college town. He was asked to direct a play for a student-run theatre. He hoped a friend would serve as stage manager, but when she couldn’t, she suggested someone else. “I remember shaking hands at auditions with this young lady,” he wrote, “who would not only be my first-ever stage manager, but a few years later, would be my wife.” If that weren’t enough, opening night marked their first kiss. This year will be their 30th wedding anniversary. One play, it turns out, was all it took to change the direction of his life. He continued: “Sometimes the right person is the one sitting next to you, fixing problems, calling you out, and enjoying the same things you do.” 

The sense of longevity also appears when Mr. Young, head advisor and chemistry teacher, recalls his story with art teacher Ms. LaBelle: “I got married on the steps of Thompson in July of 2010. I get to walk past the spot where I got married almost every day.” He wrote: “It's such a gift and lifts my spirit every time I pass or enter Thompson.”

Love at Hopkins defies a single narrative. Some begin early, and others arrive late. Some fade, others endure. So perhaps love is both the search and the answer, emerging in moments that can be awkward, brief, or lifelong. As Liam Neeson’s character reminds us in Love Actually, “It's about being with the person who makes you feel like you're home.” And sometimes, against all odds, home is found right here, between classes and chaos, in the resonating moments long after the bell has rung.