To everyone who makes me so happy it turns back to sad
The idea of starting a list of thank-yous without mentioning my parents is still absolutely, completely unfathomable to me. To my father, who, with a broken neck and inflamed ear, would drive eight hours in a thunderstorm to get to me. To my father, who would plan meals out weeks in advance so I could eat all my comfort dishes on the few days I spent at home. To my father, who has loved me so strongly and through an infinite chain of acts of service that "acts of service" is no longer a love language for me, but a standard. My father is more than the first man to ever love me; he's the one that does it best. Today and always.
To my mother, who is my guiding light in an overwhelming, inexpressible way. Somewhere along the way, probably around the time I began calling her six times a day just to talk, I realized that she has always been my best friend. Her uncanny ability to understand me, in all my shades and complexities, is alone already a debt I'll never be able to repay.
And my sister -- the newly graduated! -- for her endless sarcasm and equally plentiful wisdom. If you tell her I said this I'll deny it, but she is the funniest, smartest person I know. She's the blinding star I'll spend the rest of my life trying to impress, and I hope it's never lost on me how lucky I am to have such a force in my corner.
My first semester at college I threw myself into every club and class within reach, hoping to find a circle of friends in at least one. Fate, in her endless kindness, made my wish come true a million times over, so it's hard to know where to begin. But I'll try...
First, my Tartan Student Fund sector group, led by one of the greatest human beings I've ever had the honor of knowing. I joined the Fund knowing absolutely nothing -- and yet, I was welcomed with a smile of recognition and a handshake, treated as an equal, protected like a child. I've never considered myself a lucky person, but after accidentally stumbling towards the most generous, diligent, intelligent mentors imaginable, I don't think I can consider myself anything else. I'm not quite eloquent enough to explain why or how, but each memory with this odd group of seven (from beer pong and fancy dinners to Thursday night Zoom calls) is a golden corner piece in the puzzle that is my freshman year.
My TEDx girlies -- every minute with you felt like girlhood. It was laughing until my cheeks hurt, making references to obscure internet memes I thought only I had ever heard of, crying over burned banana bread, building something we were proud of. As a woman who is entering a career not exactly famous for its gender equality, I cannot understate how empowering and reassuring it was to find you. I read somewhere that women produce more oxytocin at pajama parties with their closest girl friends than they do during sex. Knowing you all, I have no doubt that's true.
To UEA, the goofiest and happiest place in my heart. Our meeting times were never convenient -- Sunday nights after ten straight hours of other work; Saturday morning photo shoots when I'd just returned from New York at 3am; Thursday night committee meetings the day before my Concepts final. And yet, I was always eager to show up to the Swartz conference room and see your faces, sell you meal blocks, and joke about texting Mark Cuban. Your friendship feels less like superficial chatter and more like bone-deep belonging to an ecosystem -- I feel the roots buried in the soil touching me, loyalty that runs thicker than maybe even blood.
And my little circle of fellow masochists in Concepts, thank you for diving into the shark-infested waters with me. From our first recitation, when I found myself doubled over, wheezing with laughter because I couldn't prove that 1 wasn't equal to 2, I had always hoped that we'd become this close. I showed up to every lecture this semester to see your faces, whisper about Taylor Swift and the Indian cricket teams, and laugh incredulously when Greggo (as he inevitably did) made us rethink everything we had ever learned about the entire field of mathematics. They were simple pleasures, and somehow top the list of things I'm most grateful to have experienced in these past months.
To my roommates, who make living easy, and I don't mean by splitting the cost of toilet paper with me. To my cousin, who is finally close enough to be nuclear. To Ananya, for driving four hours to visit me during Carnival Weekend and play Secret Hitler with me. To Iliano (and my other professors), for all the late nights I spent listening to Spotify's "Bollywood Mix" and crying about that week's programming homework -- it has made me infinitely better.
When I graduated high school, I had this emotional conversation with my father about the fear of losing everyone but my closest two or three friends. Losing those that fell between 'acquaintance' and 'best friend' -- including classmates, those I smiled at in the hallway, partners in projects, teammates -- was, realistically, going to happen, and the people I'd been ten feet away from for four years would soon become vaguely familiar strangers. And that, somehow, was a colossal loss.
So I want to thank Ray and George for refusing to let that happen to us. Your collective commitment to regularly scheduled weekly FaceTime sessions, your genuine interest in my life, your constant, uncomplicated support...there are no words to express how much it means. Ray rushed down into the city to come find me when I texted that I was in New York for the weekend, then proceeded to spend hours showing me around campus and theorizing about the lives of our old high school friends together. George commiserated with me when we were interviewing for consulting clubs together, and cheered the hardest when I got in. Very few people had the power to make me feel less alone during those first few weeks on campus, but somehow you two always did. And in case I don't say it enough, your pillars of warmth is the best happy accident gift I've ever received.
And on a related note, to the girls from back home (or at least the ones who respond in the group chat). From you, I've learned that sisterhood extends beyond geography, and I thank you for providing a space where I never have to explain myself. A text from you feels like coming home.
I'm not far enough through college to reflect on my place in it yet, so all I'll say is that this past year has felt like screaming. It's been happy and made my voice hoarse, pumped adrenaline through my body and probably annoyed everyone in my general vicinity. It's been a series of small wins -- travelling alone, passing exams, filing taxes -- and occasionally some big losses (see: crying to my mother about failing an interview). I've learned one thing: that I'm capable of doing difficult things over and over and over again, so I have no doubt I'll be back again next year, glossing over just how hard it was for me to move away from everything I have ever known in favor of melodramatic sentences about how important you all are to me. But before I do, I have one more thank you:
To me, for getting through it.
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