I still remember the day my roommates and I moved into our quad our first year here, with bustling containers filled to the brim with clothes and supplies and frothy introductions in voices two octaves too high. I had already spent three nights in our room because International Orientation (IO) had started a few days before regular Orientation (a blur that was no match for jetlag).

My first weeks here were strung together by the theme of being lost but not wanting to pull out the color-coded map Princeton kindly provided for fear of appearing like (gasp) a first-year. Also memorable was the constant flux of confusion present in any audience when I told them my name in introduction.

“How do you spell that?”, they’d ask, politely.

“Zet, Ee, X-…”

“…Zet?”

It took a few weeks to extract stray weeds of Malaysian slang from my English. The International Orientation leaders had warned us of the American tendency to ask “how are you?” before walking off just as you conjure up a good summary of your day. (I’ll keep you updated on whether I ever respond to “what’s up?” with anything but “…the ceiling?”).

I’m sure there must have been a time when I doubted if I would ever feel like this campus had a place for me, too — but that time is as long gone as the color-coded map I once stole looks at when I thought no one was looking. There’s hardly room for feeling like you don’t belong when you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with an assignment partner in the trenches of a problem set, or in the cavern of bugs present in code written too late at night.

When I look back on my first year here, all I see is awkward small talk quickly dissolving into a chorus of Disney songs managed while juggling balloons, trips to New York stolen between papers, and study breaks spent arguing over what a biscuit should look like.

(A biscuit is nearly exactly like a cookie.)

Light cascaded through the curved windows as we slopped paint onto the wall.

Mural painting occurred in shifts. First, actually applying the paint. Second, stepping away from the wall to make sure that you could see the entire picture. And third, convincing yourself that the last stripe you painted on the tiger wasn’t the wrong color. Now picture this activity in a curved stairwell, where the tiger looks different depending on the angle. And where there really isn’t much room for you to step back so that you’re sufficiently far from the wall, at least not without flopping your left foot into the welcoming mouth of an orange paint bucket.

As a designer for the Student Design Agency, I work on design projects for various departments at Princeton. This mural was larger than most projects, so I had the opportunity to work with two other designers. Since I was a new member, I hadn’t met either of them before, but that did not stop us from quickly falling in tandem — passing each other brushes of the right size, ducking out of the way when someone had to paint above the current location of your head and quickly handing along the drop cloth when an inevitable drop of paint trickled down the wrong part of the wall.

Only a week before, I had sketched out the design and sent it to the client who commissioned it for approval. It felt like a grander-than-life ordeal, tracking an idea from a thought to a sketch, to 9 feet of curved stairwell.

The issue with working in a stairwell is that of post-event foot traffic where, at times, we had to politely suggest the use of an elevator. But not to worry we benefited by taking one too many breaks to eat tortilla chips leftover from the event. Tortilla chips over salsa, laughter and the scrutiny of drying paint.

The beautiful thing about Princeton is that it gives you many opportunities to create — in whatever form you want, and in the time and the space that best suits you. And in exchange, it feels great to literally leave your mark on these walls.

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Though I have become well accustomed to the University (the life, work and environment) by this time in my studies, there remains a short list of things that continue to stand out and surprise me again and again about this place. Some of those things are mundane; others, peculiar or regrettable, yet most noteworthy are those wonderful moments I have had on campus that remind me of the joys of being here.

With that description, you may think I’m referring to the outstanding opportunities that are accessible at Princeton. Indeed, it seems as if students here are always participating in events led by influential officials, prize-winners and others; attending spectacular plays, concerts, and productions; or most excitingly, venturing into other cities and countries as part of a class, performing group or other University-sponsored program.

Certainly, those opportunities represent a very special aspect of Princeton. But the things I mentioned earlier, those wonderful moments that define my experience here, are quite ordinary. They’re the chance meetings with friends in Murray-Dodge Café as we wait together for fresh cookies; the last few stories and laughs shared with my roommate in our dorm as we set our alarms and prepare for tomorrow; the resolution I feel when I get up after finishing a book or essay to pace the quiet floors of Firestone Library. These things are all so plain, yet I have found an extraordinary appreciation for them, and they are some of the best things I’ve experienced here at Princeton.

It’s important to say that this isn’t just some way of looking at things with rose-tinted glasses, a strategy for convincing myself that “everything is awesome.” I’ve had the chance to appreciate standout events (like moderated conversations with Gustavo Dudamel and Joyce Carol Oates or trips to see Broadway plays and hear Supreme Court oral arguments), but those are only a few moments of my time as a student. The rest of that time is spent doing normal, everyday things, and it is a simple appreciation for those things that really makes my Princeton experience noteworthy.

This year, I’ve had the opportunity to take part in an exciting program that operates somewhat under the radar in the Princeton community -- the English Language Program (ELP). The ELP, which works mostly with graduate students, aims to help non-native English speaking Princeton students become more comfortable within the Princeton community. By pairing them with an undergraduate student for a weekly get-together, non-native English speaking Princeton students are able to gain confidence in their English language skills. Those meetings provide an opportunity for casual conversations about student life, holidays, sports, food or whatever seems relevant that week.

When I joined the program, I was paired with two STEM graduate students from China, Hui and Hauxi. Hui studies Molecular Biology and Hauxi studies Electrical Engineering. I’ve enjoyed getting to know them over the course of a semester. We’ve explored the various dining halls on campus, gone hiking on the towpath, discussed the major cultural differences between the United States and China and toured my dorm room (which didn’t take long).

We’ve had some fun meetings, talking about the “holiday season” in the United States and the various ways in which people at Princeton celebrate different holidays. As part of our discussion, we made and decorated delicious Christmas cookies, which we shared with friends. Then, we went to the Center for Jewish Life where we braided Challah bread for a local charity and lit Hanukkah candles.

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I look forward to my Thursday afternoon meetings with two amazing people who I may not have had the opportunity to meet outside of the ELP, a program that reinforces the powerful diversity of the Princeton community. 

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On a winter afternoon, I set out with my friends, Hannah and Jake, for an impromptu visit to New York City. Our primary objective was to attend the 2019 New York Jewish Film Festival, though our chosen film, “Autonomies,” was already sold out. So, as we boarded the train, our excitement for the trip was tempered by the knowledge that our plan to try for standby tickets might not work, and we’d have to find something else to do in the Big Apple. Our excursion was funded by Princeton's Center for Jewish Life (CJL), which is always looking for ways to give students new opportunities to connect to their Jewish identities. 

Our train ride featured plenty of laughter, including each person telling the story of their first concert (mine was Taylor Swift, Jake’s was Zusha and Hannah’s was A Great Big World). Before we knew it, we’d reached the city and Jake, the native New Yorker, expertly guided us to the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, where the movie was set to take place. 

As we waited, we marveled over the beauty of the Lincoln Center at night, popped into the Metropolitan Opera for a look, and talked about our next adventure. After scoring the standby seats, we went inside. The mini-series was directed by Yehonatan Indursky, producer of the show “Shtisel,” which I had recently binge-watched with my little brother over winter break. Indursky was in New York for a Q&A session after the movie, so we settled in for what was sure to be an exciting night.

“Autonomies” has a plot so incredibly complex, nuanced and dramatic that no summary can do it justice. It tells the story of an alternate reality in Israel, which is depicted as a country literally divided in two by a barrier. We left the theater energized, drained and full of questions. We marveled over the plot and its complexities and lamented the ways in which we saw connections between this terrifying dystopian reality and current events. It made us realize how much division and violence have become an expected part of our reality today.

Although initially exhilarated by the excitement of the night, we were all soon taking turns dosing off on our train ride back to campus, dreaming about New York adventures and dystopian worlds. 

Our adventure was in the middle of finals week at a time that we absolutely could have been spending every waking moment studying. That said, the fact that a Princeton group (the CJL) gave us the funding and means to take a break and try something new shows that despite Princeton’s intensity, there are more than enough opportunities (and resources) to live life and make friends. 

My first stay inside a Princeton dorm was so-so. As a recently admitted high school senior, I was on campus attending Princeton Preview, a one-and-a-half-day program that included an overnight stay for admitted students. I lodged with my host and his roommates in Little Hall, one of several beautiful, Gothic buildings that make up Mathey Residential College.

To be clear, the accommodations were not uncomfortable in any way. I only felt that the dorm did not seem quite like a home or a homey place you could happily return to after a long day of studying. The place was slightly untidy and sparsely decorated, as if its occupants had moved in only yesterday, and not eight months ago. It was not at all like what I had seen on college websites and video tours of dorms. Still, my host seemed pleased with it and I soon forgot about its deficiencies.

The experience came to mind a few months later, when I moved into my dorm as a first-year student. The place was bare except for the same basic furnishings I had found in my host’s room. Weeks later, it would still have empty walls, though textbooks, shoes and papers would spot the floor. My roommates and I did clean fairly often with our Swiffer and vacuum, and we did consider purchasing some decor, but for the most part the place resembled my host’s messy and undecorated room.

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There was one difference, though. In my host’s room, I was a visitor, only there for a night. My own dorm, however, was familiar to me, and I was its resident. I knew its dimensions. I knew there was a small dent in the wall from the time I swung the closet door too quickly. I knew where one of my roommates stored his chocolate, and also that we’d have some later while laughing about something funny. I knew the missing water bottle on the mini-fridge meant my second roommate was at the gym, while my third roommate’s strident whistling meant he was working on math problems. I knew this and more about our room, which had become our home.

This past spring, my roommates and I hosted six admitted high school students for the Princeton Preview program. They probably did not think much of our room, but one day they might have a home just like it.

Coming back from the summer is always an adjustment, but an exciting time nonetheless. One of the more fun parts of returning to Old Nassau is hearing about all the incredible things friends have done during the summer months. It is also a great chance to hear more about the experiences offered to undergraduates here. In fact, that is what led me to how I spent my summer.

After hearing about some of my upperclassmen friends discuss their experiences, I ended up pursuing the Martin A. Dale ’53 Summer Award. Every year, the Office of the Dean of the College selects 12-15 sophomore applicants to spend the summer working on their proposed projects. The unique aspect of the award is that all of the proposed projects must be non-academic and focused on self-growth. By accepting the award, students are encouraged to take at least eight weeks away from the rigorous sphere of academia and structured internships to interact with the world in various ways and make space for self-reflection.

Some of the successful projects this year include a friend of mine working to gain his family’s citizenship of the Cherokee nation, reaching the summit of Mt. Denali in Alaska and exploring what queer parenting looks like around the globe. My project was focused on exploring the cuisine of the French-African diaspora. Coming from an African American background, food has long been a way for me to understand my family’s history. With my six years of French education, I went off to explore how other groups relate their food to their cultural cuisine.

I learned that the Martiniquais cuisine carried heavily elements of traditional French cooking such as the use of creams and meats. However, some key differences I noticed was the heavy reliance upon seafood, use of seasonings and incorporating side dishes. Moroccan food had similar differences, but with a greater usage of non-bovine livestock as opposed to seafood. Meanwhile, traditional French food capitalizes on France's plentiful grazing space to embrace cuts of beef and foul in the cuisine. 

The project took me to Martinique, the South of France and Morocco. All throughout, I ate some incredible foods- learning a multitude of family recipes, spoke with a variety of individuals about identity and engaged in some incredible personal reflection. At the end of my summer, I was left grappling with questions on patriotism and racial identity and a plethora of memories.

Princeton offers an inordinate amount of summer opportunities to us undergraduates, often with opportunities for funding to reduce financial hardship. But, this awards embodies a special part of the Princeton community, an emphasis on growing together and encouragement to have new experiences.

An iconic part of the Princeton experience is the illustrious eating club, or rather, 11 eating clubs. Usually, if someone outside of the "Orange Bubble" is asking me about Princeton, they’ll mention an eating club. However, what many people tend to forget is that there are other systems in place so students can eat: staying on the dining hall plan, joining a co-op or being independent (currently the system I am using). Choosing the independent dining option at Princeton means that you have the ability to arrange your own dining. This means that you can cook on your own, eat at other campus dining places or eat at local resaturants.

Before starting my junior year, I was nervous about being independent. I never had to cook for myself, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for such a big step. My sister teased me and said I would starve, so it wasn’t looking great on the homefront in regards to support, either. Nevertheless, I packed the car with the bare minimum of kitchen supplies I thought I would need; I knew I would be using a hall kitchen, so I couldn’t bring everything I was using at home.

My parents brought me to the grocery store on move-in day, and I stocked up for the week. Very quickly, I realized I was going to have a hard time; I had never even been to the grocery store by myself, and now I had to become celebrity chef Rachael Ray overnight! I knew I had to learn, and fast. Here are a few things I have found useful during my short time dining as an independent student thus far:

1. If you have a friend with a car on campus, bribe them with snacks and see if they will drive you to the store. If not...
2. The Weekend Shopper, a campus shuttle, that runs every Saturday and Sunday takes you to a variety of places, including Whole Foods, Wegmans, Walmart and Trader Joe’s. It’s free and easy to figure out!
3. Join the Free Food listserv. Princeton has free food everywhere, all the time. Sometimes you can even find full meals through it! Other times, you can find a nice snack. Either way, it’s definitely something to make use of!
4. Independent students get two dining hall meal swipes per week, so make use of them!
5. There are a few quick, relatively affordable options on Nassau Street if you’re looking to treat yourself (i.e., Tacoria, Jammin’ Crepes, Olives, Panera, Qdoba and more). Use this option sparingly; the costs add up!
6. If you have friends in eating clubs, they get a few guest swipes per semester!

I am sure I will learn more as the days go by!