“Give Me A Sponge, Please” was the first poem I ever published, here at the Herald. I had written it in high school, about my nailbiting and terror, but felt much the same two weeks into college. Someone, give me a sponge, please! To wipe up all the messes I felt I was making, the faux-pas and confusions; to soak up this brand-new world and trap every sense I felt in something soft and familiar; to wrap myself within and squeeze, hard, until everything I used to be was wrung out, and I could wriggle out wet and fresh and ready to be remade.
I am old now, it feels, grounded and too-comfortable. I know York and Elm and Prospect and Whitney better than streets in my hometown, and walk them with as much certainty. But, still—I sometimes feel the trail of mistakes behind my mind that I wish I could wipe clean. New parts of the city slapped across my cheek, and I wish I could preserve the sting. I never got wrung perfectly anew. Instead I grew. Hardly fast enough to notice, but, over time, certainly I grew into this comfort. You will too. Don’t reach for any sponge—let it all trail behind you for long enough, and it all but disappears.
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Hi! My advice is to try everything that you can! Adjusting to college life can feel scary, and the amount of stuff to do here can feel overwhelming, but what’s so beautiful about Yale is that even the most active of students will never discover all there is to know about this place. There is always something new to try or do. Yale life, classes, clubs, etc., are so abundant and diverse and welcoming, so go out there and experience all that you can!
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College is where you begin to question everything about yourself, niche-local-cafe orders included. Preserving these small rituals is what will save your sanity. Despite living in Franklin, I spent an insurmountable amount of time my first year cooped up between Atticus Bookstore Café, Book Trader Café, and MOTW Coffee. I learned to stay as far away as possible from Common Grounds and Willoughby’s Coffee & Tea next to the Loria Center. My advice to you is to NEVER get the iced London Fog from Loria Willoughby’s—unfortunately, they pre-make the mix and it will get slimy after the second day (they usually make it on Sundays). Order Matcha at Atticus if you are not discerning about taste and are going there with friends, but the chai at MOTW is where you really belong. Book Trader might be the last bastion of pre-pandemic latte pricing under $5. If you are unemployed enough to be fine with a ~10-minute walk back to campus, though, FEPO Café and Koffee will become your go-to (but not Koffee’s spicy chili flake chai . . . whatever that was). Lastly, shoutouts to G-Café & Bakery for the vibes, though I would never pay again for their drinks (unless you make friends with the workers, they will never put enough matcha into your cup), and to the Elm for unfortunately being GOATED via the points system.
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In my shoebox single on the second floor of Bingham Hall, where I lived on the wrong side of the sun, I consigned several succulents to die a slow death on my windowsill. My mother always asks about the sun; she says / remember to go outside or people will think you’re sick / and / does it feel sad in your room, without the light? / I choose the answer that keeps the conversation short. I don’t know what I was thinking, pushing through a crowd on Cross Campus to grab these plastic-potted echeverias that I don’t even care for. The email said there were only a hundred. It felt special, exclusive, somehow. Maybe Yale has made me this way, aimlessly opportunistic. I’m always hungry for something here. I sort of miss my dad’s dumplings, though the Commons ones will do. The succulents are supposed to be independent, anyway, so why are they still dying? I haven’t cried once yet, if you don’t count that one night when I stared at my fairy lights for three hours and wondered whether my academic prospects were ruined if I got a B+ on my first paper and then got up to make cup ramen since I missed dinner and my face was kind of damp. My mom was right, like always, because the next day my classmate said / you look tired, are you sick? / But then she gave me an extra mandarin she swiped from the Commons line and said / feel better soon. / And I don’t know, the succulents are probably a lost cause, but for a moment I thought there might be something here worth keeping.
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During Camp Yale of my freshman year, I walked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to the (in)famous 101 Lake Place, ready for the night I had been dreaming of all summer. Thirty minutes and what felt like a lifetime of small talk later, I bid my new suitemates a regretful goodbye, and waded through the unrelenting crowd, finally reaching the gas station on Whalley Street. Groups of giggling freshmen walked past me, towards the party I had just escaped, as I fought back tears. I mustered the courage to call the only person I could vaguely claim as a friend, awkwardly asking if he could perhaps make the trek from Old Campus to walk me home. I instantly regretted it. He showed up 10 minutes later and walked back with me, saying nothing about my tear-stained cheeks. I returned to Durfee Hall grateful for his generosity, afraid that I had just lost the one friend I had, and convinced that I would spend the next four years miserable.
Last night, after a long day of moving into my junior-year dorm, my suitemates and I decided to check out 101 Lake Place together. The same press of too many bodies crammed into a backyard, the same pulsing music, the same scent of cranberry juice lingering in the air. I bid my suitemates a regretful goodbye and waded through the unrelenting crowd, finally reaching the gas station on Whalley Street. I dialed the same number I had hesitantly called in freshman year—an act that has become muscle memory—excitedly discussing our plans for when he would arrive the next day. So much had changed, so many memories scattered across two of the most beautiful years at my favorite place in the world. The pain of feeling unsettled at the beginning seems like a small price to pay.
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Go out there to meet new people, but don’t feel like you have to befriend them if you don’t like them. Go to that function or hangout, but don’t feel the need to stay if it’s not slay. Try out that class, that club, that basement Neo-Amish meeting and linger around if you love it, but leave if you don’t. Life (and Yale) lasts too long not to experience everything it offers, but it is also too fleeting to waste time on anything you don’t like. Now, here are some of my recs on what’s worth your time, but again, only take it if you vibe with it. 🙂
Find time for: the TD Buttery. Skipping down Rose Walk. Bass Library study room hangouts. Stargazing in the Silliman courtyard before it gets too cold. That chicken katsu dinner. Impromptu sleepovers. Late night Popeyes runs. OC lawn & Costco picnic blankets. Decorating your common room. Adopting a plant. Calling someone from home and telling them all about your ups and downs. The Lunar New Year’s dinner. Charades. New York City daytrip with a disposable camera. That first warm day in spring when the sun shines down on Cross Campus.
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As an old and wise sophomore, I’ve been told I need to give some advice to all the first-years just settling into their cells on Old Campus (or, if they’re lucky enough, rooms in Franklin and Murray). My face is still tightly pressed up to the glass that peers into last year, so I still don’t have a clear picture of whatever the hell it was. But, I’ll give some probably entirely unhelpful bits of guidance for anyone who cares enough to listen:
– Don’t compare yourself to everyone else: you’re here for a reason, believe that.
– The doors are a Push, not a Pull.
– Find a buddy to laugh with, it makes life a lot easier.
– Read for pleasure, there’s always time.
– Prepare yourself: winter is depressing.
– Complaining about how stressed you are is just annoying.
– Take a First Year Seminar.
– That other door is a Pull, not a Push.
– Nap.
– If you’re bored, put on a wig.
– Pull your fire alarm at 4am, everyone will love you.
– No one wants to hear what your grades are
– Hike East Rock at sunset.
– Create campus celebrities for you and your friends.
– Don’t believe everything you hear: rumors spread quickly, and most of them are wrong.
– For the love of god, take your hair out of the drain. It’s gross, and I can tell it’s yours.
The reality of our existence is hilarious. Don’t take life that seriously. Every day is another day closer to death. Do what brings you satisfaction and make a friend. Forget the rest.
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How to Have a (Not-So-Horrible) Time at Yale!
One: For the love of all things observable, take care of your science credits early (unless you’re a masochist). They’re somewhat harder to register for later on, but you’ve already got an opportunity to knock one out thanks to the first-year seminars, so use that to your advantage.
Two: Go up to a stranger and start talking. They might end up being a close friend. 🙂
Three: Don’t wait until Fall Break to start taking things seriously. You will hate yourself and everyone around you!
Say yes to more opportunities, even if you’re unsure of what exactly you want from life. During my first year at Yale, I struggled with not knowing what I wanted to pursue, which made every club or extracurricular feel pointless. I hesitated to commit to anything, afraid of wasting time on something unrelated to my future. But avoiding everything just left me stuck. I was missing out on experiences, friendships, and opportunities with real value. So, try stuff out. You don’t need a five-year plan to join a club or apply for something.
Yale is a weird place. There are days you will either feel like the BFG in a music room or a light speck of dust. Nevertheless, you (and you alone) can find your place here!
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During my first semester at Yale, I was debilitatingly addicted to jigsaw puzzles. I would wake up in the morning, and I would puzzle. I would eat dinner, and I would be puzzling at the same time. In my dreams, I was puzzling. It got so bad that during Reading Period, when I was supposed to be studying for exams, going to review sessions, writing my essays, I was puzzling all day and every day. By the time I had realized that maybe I shouldn’t be puzzling so much, I had four days to write four essays and study for two exams. I would wake up at 8am, study from 8:30am-2am, and go to sleep at 2:30am. I did that for four days. I would not recommend it. It was really really awful, actually. I almost failed all my classes. If I had any advice to give first-years, it would be to stay away from jigsaw puzzles! Develop healthy coping mechanisms! If you ever reach the point where you’re not able to recognize yourself, as in you stop caring about school and all you want to do is hide away in your dorm and puzzle all the time, you should talk to someone because that’s lowkey not normal. And lastly, take care of yourself! You will always be more important than any accomplishment, achievement, or ambition you may be looking for at Yale.
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Honey butter. What an interesting phenomenon. A fatty yet sweet, smooth yet strong, gorgeous yet terrifying spread. This is how I would describe one’s first few steps at Yale: confusing, often hypocritical, memorable, but also often disheartening. As a senior, I am proud to say that I no longer recognize the girl who entered Pauli Murray for the first time in August of 2022. I do not say this because Yale made me more brave or wise or social. Truth be told, I say this because after three full years of Yale, I have realized what I am worth, what is tolerable, and who I definitely do not want to be. Yes, being at Yale will change the person that you become; still, you do not have to let Yale define you. In fact, I do not think that you should. Be brave enough to stand up to Yale, to the students who seem to never have learned the word “humble,” to the girls who care more about the photos than the post-bar pizza. Be brave enough to define a new version of yourself when you step onto campus. Maybe you will become the guy who works at Watson Center with the sole purpose of stealing their tea bags or the girl who bench-presses 200 lbs after chowing down on Nutella for the extra carbs. Maybe you will travel to New York on the weekends to watch every musical possible or join a fraternity in which you trade your textbooks for a Corona. There might be expectations and standards at Yale. My advice? Forget about them, and make your own.
