I never hold my gaze too long when I wave goodbye at the station. I see my mother’s eyes water while my father cracks a weak smile as the train slowly pulls away. The 45-minute ride is part of my weekend routine, yet it never gets any easier. I was not much of a social butterfly in high school –– I only had two or three friends whom I considered close. I try to think of them as I peer through the train window. We are all apart now, in different states and countries pursuing our own dreams. I often wonder when I will get the chance to see them again. When times are hard, my thoughts drift in their direction. I cannot help but feel homesick as the train lumbers along. I miss the safety of my room and the company of my family. I think about my mother, working two jobs to put me through school since my father retired last year. I worry about the time I have left with them, but the knowledge of their sacrifices keeps me going.
My therapist tells me I worry too much. Honestly, everyone around me seems to be telling me the same thing. Like many, the uncertainty of college keeps me awake at night. I had always had a difficult time meeting new people and struggled even more with big groups. College was just that: new people in the largest groups I had ever seen. I still remember sitting outside of Sierra Towers after my parents dropped me off during Ignite Week. I downed the ham and cheese sandwich I had packed for lunch earlier that day, treasuring it as my last taste of home and the last bite of meat I would have for the week. I worried about who my roommate would be, if we would get along, if he would snore, if he would fart in his sleep. I worried about who my classmates were, who I would eat with, who I would cry with, who I would celebrate my accomplishments and failures with, and who I would become when I left. But, life has a funny way of dealing with my worries. It gathers them up and bundles them together into the most oddly-shaped, beautiful bouquet of experiences I am proud to call uniquely mine. I am proud to have met my roommate Yannik, whom I eat with (and cry with) very often. I am proud to have met my Honors cohort, who I trauma-bond with on the floors of the Price Science Complex and on the tall chairs in chemistry lab. I am proud to have met my friends: JoJo, Luke, Ivan, Yakov, Morgan, Sam, Paul, Bridget, Josh, Monse, Eddy, Dulce, Kelly, and so many others.
If I had to describe what these people mean to me, I would use the word “home.” They give me reasons to continue when I am at my lowest, especially my Honors Cohort. While fall quarter gave me the opportunity to lay a foundation for these relationships, winter quarter has shown me the importance of the Honors cohort in my life. Raymond’s impeccable singing carries me through the trials and tribulations of chemistry lab, while Adam’s witty sarcasm ensures I do not fall asleep in SEA-PHAGES (sorry Dr. Diaz). John’s pragmatism and Yannik’s humor make them the perfect pair of therapists to vent to after a long day of classes. Moses’ smile and Olivia’s laugh remind me to be carefree amidst the noise. The sound of Julia’s booming giggle juxtaposed against Trevin and Paul’s stoic silence in UHNR 114 Scientific Process still puzzles me and gives me something to think about when I inevitably zone out during Honors (sorry Dr. Motschiedler and Dr. Trueblood). As much as I complain about Honors and many of my other classes, the truth is: I love them. They have given me the chance to deepen the bonds I have with those around me and surround myself with a community of people whom I can call home.
— Eddie Nguyen (Biology, Class of 2026)