Before coming to Princeton, I received an unassuming message asking me to consider a so-called Intergrated Science Curriculum (ISC). The program offered to teach physics, chemistry, biology and computer ccience together, and included a very heavy experimental component. I had recently started considering exploring the sciences, and after looking at length over the syllabus, I signed up.

Now, the first part of ISC is an intensive one-year four-course sequence that covers the typical first-year physics and chemistry curriculum, and one semester each of molecular biology and computer science. That's the equivalent of six courses in four, which should give you an idea of the expected intensity of the course.

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It was one of the most academically challenging endeavors I have ever undertaken, but at the same time, it was extremely rewarding. It was also an experience unique to Princeton, made possible by the heavy focus on undergraduates, and the large amount of resources dedicated to underclassmen. We had over 20 instructors teaching the course, including a Nobel Prize winner, several members of the National Academy of Sciences, Princeton's dean of research and winners of Princeton's Distinguished Teaching Award. We even had a fully equipped laboratory exclusively for us. All for a class of about 30 people.

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I am often asked if the intensity and rigor of the course was worth it, and I have always responded in the affirmative. Apart from a strong theoretical basis in all the sciences, the heavy experimental component exposed me to scientific investigation beyond the textbook. In our labs, we built our own solar cell and photometer, and even designed and executed our own experiment independently with guidance from our instructors.

Also, much of the course was focused on studying the intersection of the individual sciences, where most emerging modern research is happening. We were applying physics to biology, computation to chemistry and so on, breaking traditional boundaries followed by most freshman textbooks. In fall semester of sophomore year, I took a course on biophysics, taught by one of my instructors from ISC, to continue exploring these frontier areas, and I remain fascinated by life ever since. I may not end up studying more of biological physics, but it has redefined how I look at physics, not just as the formulation of a set of laws governing the universe, but as theories for explaining natural phenomena happening around us every day.

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This semester, I have taken to running outside a lot. And I have found that the Princeton area offers many gorgeous paths that both inspire you to run and also pause to let the breathtaking beauty set in. I have selected four of my favorite paths around campus and describe why I return to them time and again.

1. Princeton Battlefield and Institute Woods

When I am looking for a bit of inspiration and a break from Princeton's Collegiate Gothic buildings (yes, I do need breaks from Gothic Castles), I head west. First I pass by the gorgeous Princeton Theological Seminary, and then take a left on Mercer Road. I pass by the house Albert Einstein lived in, hoping to imbibe his genius ahead of my physics problem set, and soon reach the famed Princeton battlefield where George Washington was victorious over the British in a crucial battle in the Revolutionary War. I relish the soft ground and brave the wind until I reach the tall trees behind the Institute of Advanced Study (IAS). I try not to get lost in the dense woods before reaching the IAS, the institute where Einstein and mathematician Kurt Gödel, among many others, conducted researched. By this time I am inspired enough for the final stretch, passing by the Princeton Graduate School and its entryway, before collapsing into my own bed.

2. The Princeton 5K

Numerous 5Ks take place around the calendar year in Princeton, mostly on Saturdays. And almost all take the same path, starting from south campus under Bloomberg Arch (the only arch I know that isn't always occupied by a cappella groups), before passing by Icahn Laboratory, the Peretzman-Scully Building, Streicker Bridge and Frick Laboratory, all swanky glass buildings that offer a contrast to the Collegiate Gothic buildings typical of Princeton's North Campus. I also pass my favorite feline statue pair on campus (there are enough for me to have a favorite), a pair of winged lions lost in the woods behind Frick. After touring Princeton's athletic facilities (including the impressive Powers Stadium), I go back across Streicker Bridge and past the glass south façade of Frist Campus Center, which appears in the opening shot of the television series House M.D. Soon, I enter Gothic territory and take a round around North Campus before sprinting downhill back to South Campus.

3. The Tow Path

Ask anybody at Princeton for a running path, and they will almost definitely mention the tow path along Lake Carnegie. This is probably my favorite path as well, mostly due to the soft earth. But this also means that the path is not safe for running for most of the winter. The tow path is a thin strip running next to the Delaware Raritan Canal, and is flanked by the canal on one side and Lake Carnegie on the other. Trees on the banks of the path create a constant green arch. This is also a great path for biking, though one must be aware of the puddles.

4. Princeton Town

North of the University, the town of Princeton offers a great suburban setting for running. You can see many different types of houses, often with their own little quirks. You also run into institutions such as the Aquinas Institute and several churches. If you run in May close to the time of reunions, you will see class banners hanging on several houses, some adorned with several banners, telling the tale of a thriving Princeton legacy. Try not to get distracted by the eateries though!

Underclassmen at Princeton live in one of six residential colleges, each with its own distinct identity. Yet perhaps no other college prompts as immediate a reaction as Forbes. It’s a name that inspires both sympathy and curiosity—the former sentiment because of its location, and the latter because of its uncommonly effective ability to foster community.

Housed in an early 20th-century hotel bookended by more modern additions, Forbes is situated just behind the train station, perhaps a three-minute walk from the edge of central campus. As with many things, though, the additional distance has taken on a hyperbolism of almost mythical proportions, and for many campus residents, Forbes seems impossibly remote. Prospective students hope not to live there, fellow Princetonians invariably express sympathy that you do, and a surprising number of your peers will never venture there once during their four years at the University. Yet strangely, ‘Forbesians’ as they are affectionately known, seem perpetually content—uniformly happy with their residence, despite the perception of their peers. What gives?

As I enter the final months of my time as an underclassman (and a Forbesian), I wanted to offer a few words of wisdom about this building and community that I’ve called home for two years. If you’re reading this post as an incoming freshman or as a recent admit, perhaps dreading the fact that you’ve drawn into a room at Forbes (or hoping that you won’t), I understand the feeling; I’ve been there, too. But I hope to convince you that things are likely far better than you think, and that should you end up here, you may very well come to appreciate Forbes as the most important feature of your first two years at Princeton.

While it is true that Forbes is less central than its five other peer colleges, its location off-campus offers a variety of unforeseen but rather pleasant benefits. Perhaps most prominent among these is a sense of real detachedness, an impression that Forbes is at once well-integrated yet uniquely distinct from the rest of the University. Princeton can be a hectic place, and after long days filled with classes and activities, coming home to a building physically separate from everything else can be wonderfully refreshing. For me at least, there was always something grounding about having home and high school as discrete entities, and if you appreciate that feeling, then Forbes fits the bill.

In much the same way, the walk to and from your classes offers something of a decompression zone, a space separating your life at Princeton from your life at Forbes. As strange as it might sound, the few minutes of solitude afforded by this trek have proven endlessly valuable, and as you cross Alexander Street each day, you are reminded that there’s more to your time at Princeton than the academic grind.

There’s something to be said, too, about a sense of community. Forbes is contained in a single, sprawling building, and the other end of the complex is never more than a five-minute walk away. Self-confined as it is, the faces of your neighbors become quickly familiar, and by the end of your sophomore year you will have the distinct feeling that you recognize nearly everyone. In a campus that can sometimes feel overwhelmingly large, it’s a comforting feeling.

Speaking more practically, Forbes’ proximity to the train station means you’ll be the envy of many when you return from holidays. Instead of lugging your baggage across campus, the Dinky is mere steps away from your room. Near the train station is also the newly renovated but historically famous Wawa, a campus fixture for decades, recently rebuilt in sleek black aluminium. Inside, you’ll find all the trappings of college cuisine, including warm hoagies, steaming coffee and greasy pretzels, all available 24 hours a day.

All told, Forbes is a wonderful place to spend two years, the common myths notwithstanding. So whether you end up in Forbes now, in a few months, or perhaps even in a few years, you’re in for a treat.

I've written in the past about leaving the "Orange Bubble," which, for those of you who haven't heard the term before, refers to the insular, world-unto-itself atmosphere that tends to muffle anything outside of Princeton's campus.

Last spring semester, I attended an information session put on by Princeton’s Fellowship Advising about the Rhodes Scholarship. The session described Oxford as a good place for postgraduate study, the Rhodes as a good and prestigious way of supporting that study, and urged attendees not to underestimate their chances of winning. A lab near Oxford is home to some exciting fusion research, so I thought the fellowship might be a good fit for me, and decided to apply.

In early November, I received an email telling me that I had been selected as one of 12 finalists in the Boston region for the scholarship and inviting me to a dinner with the other finalists and the Rhodes committee members on a Friday night, followed by a Saturday interview, after which the winners would be announced. I was thrilled to be invited, and immediately began preparing for the interview and travel to Boston. The Rhodes Trust does not arrange or reimburse travel to the interview, which I found frustrating (last-minute transportation to Boston, plus two nights of accommodations at a hotel close enough to the interview site to arrive at 8 a.m. on Saturday without getting up ridiculously early, plus two sets of business formal clothes for the dinner and interview equal around $700 for a one-sixth chance at the scholarship). However, when I met the other candidates, I realized it could have been a lot worse; at least two of them had flown in from Africa specifically for the interview.

The dinner and the interviews took place at the Beacon Hill mansion of Bruns Grayson, a venture capitalist who is the secretary of the Boston Rhodes committee. Since I was unfamiliar with the neighborhood, I arrived about half an hour early, and waited about 20 minutes in the cold before finally going in. I was still the first to arrive, and was the first to meet the committee members who would interview me the next day. I developed a reputation for being early, which my friends know does not typically describe me.

I wasn’t sure how to behave during the dinner; it isn’t often that I have to eat food with people who are directly competing with me and people who are assessing me. So I set my expectations low: I decided to try not to spill any food. Unfortunately, I failed there, dropping a piece of asparagus that was nearly eaten by the Graysons’ dog. At the dinner, we drew slips of paper to select interview times for the next morning. I was unsuccessful there as well, selecting the earliest interview time, 8 a.m. 

I arrived around 7:40 the next morning, and after a short period of nervous waiting, Bruns Grayson led me to the interview room. About half my questions were relatively easy queries about my background (“Can you give us an overview of fusion research as a whole as you see it?”; “What makes you a good physicist?”; “Can you describe what your role in your co-op is?”) and half were weird philosophical physics questions (“Do you think God rolls dice?”; “Does the field of physics as a whole evolve towards a central goal, or on an ad-hoc basis?”; “Define beauty in physics and in Latin American Studies, then compare the two.”). I am earning a certificate, by the way, in Latin American Studies.

Before the interview, I had been worried about getting quiz-like questions that I couldn’t answer (something like “Who is the American ambassador to Argentina?”), and since I was able to answer all of my interview questions without hesitation, I felt good immediately afterwards. In retrospect, however, I’m not sure what the committee wanted from many of its questions, and thus how well I did; I, for one, have no idea if God rolls dice. Albert Einstein, who was not a believer in the inherent disorder of the universe predicted by quantum mechanics, once famously answered this question in the negative.

After the interviews, all the candidates waited together in the basement of Bruns Grayson’s house while the committee deliberated. This time was in fact one of the most interesting parts of the entire experience, because it revealed the different ways that people deal with stress. Some of the candidates sat alone, others nervously chatted over an Apples to Apples game, and one in particular told a lot of jokes. I was especially grateful for this last candidate, since he helped us all feel more at ease.

After a few hours of increasingly antsy waiting, Bruns Grayson came down to the basement and took us all upstairs, where the committee members named the winners. Those who had lost shook hands with the committee, then exited the house at remarkable speed. I had barely gotten my coat when I realized everyone was already gone.

I was disappointed after learning the committee didn’t select me, in part because of the unique opportunities that the fellowship would have offered me, and in part because of the effort I put into writing my essay, arranging the eight (!) recommendations Princeton’s Fellowship Advising suggests you should get, and preparing for the interview, especially at a time when I could have worked on my thesis or my graduate school applications.

Some people say that the most valuable part of the fellowship application process is what you learn about yourself while writing your essay and coordinating with recommenders, but I don’t think I learned much while I was preparing my application. So I was initially left feeling that I’d put in a lot of work and money for absolutely nothing.

I have been surprised, however, by the many things I have learned (or been reminded of) by losing. One is how random applications like this one can be, a lesson that is perhaps useful for those who are waiting to hear about their college admission applications. I didn’t feel like the committee members knew me well when they made their decision, and I didn’t see a clear reason why they picked the two winners over the many other talented candidates I had met. Who knows what they were looking for in our applications, and what they noticed. 

Other lessons are more personal. In the past few months, I have realized I became too wrapped up in the excitement and prestige of winning the fellowship, and neglected to adequately consider and prepare for the intriguing possibilities available in the United States. I’m now looking forward to deepening my command of physics in graduate school and refocusing myself on science—I think I can actually have a more beneficial and productive experience without the additional networking and dinners that the Rhodes might have entailed. And I have still applied to Oxford as a normal graduate student, so there is still a chance I will get the exposure to UK fusion research that in part inspired me to apply.

I awoke to see the reading room much as I remember it before I rested my head on my crossed arms—that is empty and well lit. My skin burned lightly under my left eye, which had adopted the weave of my sweater but was now trying to regain its normal texture. My watch read 12:30 p.m., half an hour since I last looked at it. The response I was writing to the artwork of a friend lay there in a half done draft of blue letters but more blue deletions. I was not ready to pick up my pen again to fill the page. I considered reading, as the library room I was in is a literary flea market of new bestsellers, too many newspapers and an extensive collection on how to preserve then hunt wildlife. But reading would have been a distraction. I packed my things, walked out of the room and left Firestone library.

Outside I found the plaza empty like the room but the tower of the library blocked the sunlight so one stood in shadows. On the other side of the plaza is the University Chapel. The mild breeze that blew in between both Gothic masses perhaps took a moment as it coursed to notice the openness of space as I did. Without much of an aim, I went into town, which from Firestone only means walking several dozen feet to cross Nassau Street.

Once across the street, I saw a little girl running, box in hand, attempting to beat the street walk timer already flashing its prohibitive hand. She made it. A motorcyclist wearing all green and black on a green and black bike cleared his visor under a red light. Further along a young dog was tracking a scent intently as if after prize or prey. I hope he found one or the other. I came upon the local bookstore and gravitated to its outdoor stalls as I do every time I am near fulfilling a law of personal physics. A title read, "Higher Gossip: Essay and Criticism"  by John Updike. I picked it up and leafed through its full pages, the production of a life knowing of art, literature and that wonder so often considered un-wonderful that we call everyday life. I placed the book back atop two or three more copies like it. Even reading these words would be a distraction right now. For some reason I smiled as I glanced back at the book before continuing my walk.

I crossed back onto campus. The ground was covered in snow delineated and bisected by diagonal, straight and curving paths of stone and gravel cleared with salt and shovel. The snow was in turn illuminated and dimmed as the clouds blocked then revealed the sun light from above. No people walked nearby and the bustle of town was muted as if I had closed a door to it. Very soon I noticed a certain emptiness again, that same openness of space. The emptiness did not say, “You are alone,” nor did I feel such. Rather it asked to be filled, and I wanted to fill the emptiness but not with the thought and experience of others, no matter how well articulated and arresting they may be, but with the thought and experience of myself no matter how poorly articulated and quotidian they may be. So I listened, went to my desk and wrote this. 

Last Tuesday, I turned in my Junior Paper (colloquially known as a JP)—a semester’s worth of work compiled into a 24-page document. You’d think after I pressed submit that all the weight would be lifted off of my shoulders, that I could finally breathe easily. Sadly, that was not the case, because exactly one week later I had final papers due for two of my other classes. With Dean’s Date (the day papers are due and consequently an unofficial Princeton holiday) squarely behind me, now must surely be time to relax. Alas, it isn’t, because final exams are just around the corner!

If you’re anywhere near as confused as I was my freshman year, I'll explain:

Our unusual schedule is my favorite least favorite thing about Princeton… or my least favorite favorite thing about Princeton. Nearly three years in, I haven’t completely decided, so let’s just say the schedule and I have a love/hate relationship. Essentially, in lieu of having finals in December, they take place in January after a three-week winter “break.” The first three weeks of January are then devoted to studying for tests, writing papers and submitting final projects, with the ultimate reward being a week-long Intersession break for the last week of the month. The spring semester then begins the day after the Super Bowl.

I’m not going to expound on the joys and pains of our innovative schedule, a topic frequently discussed around campus at this time. Briefly though, the pros are these: less stress as classes wrap up, more time to prepare (read: procrastinate) for finals, an extra break in January. The cons are: stress during the holidays, guilt over not studying during the holidays, stress over your guilt over the source of your stress. And here's what I generally take away from reading period:

1. The struggle is real. Everyone says it, and they are not wrong.  In the same vein… 
2. Motivation is hard to come by. Even with gems like this posted all over campus (that’s not even the best of it), it’s hard to motivate yourself to stay off Facebook—or Netflix or Hulu or Instagram—and be productive when there’s no definite structure to your day. Sleep and movies sound nice. Studying for tests and writing papers, not so much.  With that said…
3. You are capable of more than you think. When all the dust of reading period settles, I’m always amazed at and frankly kind of impressed with myself. Not because I absolutely nailed reading period or made it through in particularly spectacular fashion, but because it’s easy to underestimate my ability to get things done. More often than not, I become the biggest obstacle to my own productivity by making a mountain out of a slightly smaller mountain of a task. Ultimately though, reading period ends and I can reward myself with a pat on the back and a very long slumber—and Netflix and Hulu and Instagram.

Now, is this feeling of accomplishment worth a cloud hanging over my three weeks of “holiday” or even a stress-free Super Bowl Sunday? Right now, I’d say “Not so much.” But if you ask me again after finals, while I'm snuggled up in the blanket from this year's Dean's Date giveaway, it'll probably be a different story. 

Para la mayoría de los estudiantes internacionales en Princeton, la experiencia de estudiar en Princeton es muy diferente que de los estudiantes estadounidenses. Soy de la India, y estas diferencias han sido una parte muy definitiva de mi experiencia. La experiencia de estudiar en un país desconocido, con estudiantes de culturas desconocidas, me ha desafiado mucho, pero creo que también he crecido mucho por eso.

Mientras que los estadounidenses hubieran venido por lo menos una vez a Princeton para ver el campus antes de matricularse a la universidad, casi todos los internacionales no tienen esta oportunidad. Yo había mirado por los folletos de la universidad y navegado por el website por lo menos un mil de veces antes de postular a la universidad para Early Action, e incluso más después de que recibí la noticia que me habían aceptado. Éste era mi perspectivo de Princeton antes de llegar acá, la proyección de Hogwarts sobre papel y estadísticas increíbles. La primera vez que llegué a la universidad jalando mis tres maletas, me tuve que parar para digerir que estaba donde andaban Einstein y Goedel, que las letras que había recibido no eran el producto de mi imaginación, que el universo no me estaba "haciendo trampa".

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Y compartía este sentimiento con muchos internacionales más. Antes de iniciar clases en la universidad, tuvimos una "Orientación Internacional" (más conocido como IO) donde conocimos a los otros internacionales, recibimos información acerca de las logísticas de vivir en los EEUU, participamos en juegos divertidos para acomodarnos y también tuvimos un viaje al complejo comercial para comprar necesidades. Sigo siendo buenos amigos con los que conocí en IO, y el consejo de los upperclassmen que recibí en IO me sigue guiando hasta hoy día. Con 150 estudiantes de casi cien países, IO era una semana loca con conversaciones hasta las tres de la mañana mientras que intentamos de combatir nuestro jet lag.

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Y poco a poco llegaron los estadounidenses. En el primero año, los internacionales solo tienen room-mates estadounidenses, elegidos aleatoriamente (desde el segundo año tenemos la opción de elegir nuestros room-mates). Me encontré en en suite gigante con nueve room-mates, todos estadounidenses.

Antes de conocer a mis room-mates, pensé que será difícil, porque no sabía nada de la cultura popular estadounidense. Pero, mis room-mates se convirtieron a unos de mis amigos mejores en Princeton, y todavía paso mucho tiempo con ellos aunque no vivimos juntos. Por ellos, conocí mucho de la cultura y sociedad estadounidense, especialmente las costumbres sociales.

Me imaginaba que los grupos sociales en Princeton serán divididos por el origen de los estudiantes, pero me sorprendí al ver que esto casi nunca es el caso. Mis amigos son de todo el mundo, desde Tejas a Moroco, desde Idaho hasta Montenegro. Y aunque los estudiantes de la India y Pakistan me apoyan cuando esté frustrado con los estudios y los amigos, porque me entienden bien por venir de las mismas circunstancias, no son mis amigos más cercanos. También, conocer a los estudiantes Pakistanis ha sido una experiencia transformativa: no sabía mucho de su cultura por el clima político de nuestros países, pero ahora veo que muchos me entienden mejor que mis propios paisanos, y hablamos mucho acerca de Cricket y la política.

Nota del editor: Avaneesh aprendió Español durante un año en Peru Bridge Year, un programa de Princeton.

The night air was chilled not cold, more like a drink with three respectable crackling ice cubes than the Arctic beverages more careless waiters bring filled with more ice than water. Or maybe it was cold but our bodies were so hot as we crossed back into campus under the Mathey College arch that instead of making us frigid we were further vitalized.

By this point, I had taken off my gloves and hat and wanted to remove my shirt, but as I glanced right, Doug, glowing in sweat under the half moon was speeding up. One hundred meters were left.  I straightened my head and lengthened my stride to take a slight lead, but Doug contested it immediately quickly pacing forward, and prompting me to push deeply, lift my legs faster and swing my arms harder.  

“Woooh, get it!” some voice cheered as we passed. Indeed we were try to get something. Victory? Perhaps, but more than anything we sought exhaustion, the kind that is a pleasure come by pain. You have it when your legs do not feel all that different from much dated milk, which is to say not in a liquid state but only having pretensions to being a solid.

Side-by-side we continued and just as a tied crossing became inevitable so too did unintended pain… almost. We forgot the path after our intended finish changes to steps. Just enough light was cast ahead to avoid a rapid stumble. Our feet not far from the edge we laughed and began walking taking a left into the courtyard of our dorm.

Much too hot to go inside we cooled outside, reclining on a table perhaps, as Phidippides would have done if he had run just as intently but over a shorter distance. Each heavy exhalation came out as white cloud before disappearing into the air. 

As our breathing slowed, and hearts took a more moderate beat, I realized how still were the lawn and view extending in front of us. The miles we had taken up just before were filled with passed scenes and things on campus – dark and lit rooms, the football stadium lights, that student who cheered us – and in town – oncoming cars, a beautiful friend I shouted hello to, a slight fall over raised pavement – but now there was just this one scene. Two young friends happily sweating in below freezing temperatures, looking out onto a campus quiet and still over the holidays.

More lights shone from the peculiarly white glow of the lanterns dotting the paths leading across campus than could be counted in Pyne, Henry, Little or any of the other places in view where students should reside.

The shift from speed to rest, of being aware of only one other body pacing beside my own, to the absence of many bodies one would usually expect around here was not particularly alarming, but just an observation that perhaps held a little delight as the uncanny does, and was as passing as it also is.

Rested and finally getting cold we went inside. 

Earlier this month, I stood in front of Frist Campus Center, crying. On any other day I would have been embarrassed. Passersby probably would have been humiliated for me. But on that day, shortly after noon on Dec. 4, it was different. During a 4 1/2-minute moment of silence honoring the lives of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and countless other black lives, I was surrounded by hundreds of my peers, many also crying, and I knew that I didn’t need to hide my emotion. In that moment, my tears were a form of protest, along with my voice, and my presence.

A half hour earlier that day, hundreds of students silently walked out of their classes with their hands raised. Waves of students marched across campus toward Frist Campus Center, voices echoing in the air, meeting others. Hundreds of distinct voices came together to form one unified statement: Black lives matter. I was standing in front of Frist, carrying signs my friends and I had made the night before. I wondered how many students would sacrifice their class time to participate. I did not expect the roar that was coming toward me.

This moment was a long time in the making. Princeton is a quiet place. The grandeur of the architecture and the history and tradition it represents can leave many speechless—including its students. In the three-plus years I have been at Princeton, the Occupy Movement swept cities and college campuses across the nation. Military operations continue in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other foreign nations. Campuses have protested against sexual assault policies, discrimination, investment in unethical industries—the list goes on. There have been rumblings of these movements on campus, but the overwhelming majority of campus has remained silent.

Until now. On November 24, the night that the Ferguson grand jury decision was announced, I was packing my bags to go home for Thanksgiving break, until I saw a post on my news feed: “Frist North Lawn. 11:30 PM Tonight. We are marching in Prospect Ave. in protest of the events that transpired in Ferguson. #BlackLivesMatter.” I was shocked. This was a real call to action. Among the outraged, demoralized posts my friends had made, this one asked me to channel my hurt into something real, and to share this hurt with my peers and the institution that shelters us. I thought about practical things like the reading I planned to do that night, or disciplinary policies. And then I thought about the words I had heard Cornel West say to us on this campus just weeks before: “We are more concerned with creating smart people than creating courageous people.” I knew what I had to do. I hurriedly texted a few of my friends, and we, along with hundreds of our peers, headed toward the student center.

Over the course of the last few weeks, I have joined my peers in chanting across campus, participating in planning meetings, sitting before University administrators, and marching through New York City, and I have never felt more confused or frustrated about my own role and identity. This is not my movement. I am not black. I do not experience the brutalities that black Americans are forced to endure. I am not systematically discounted, oppressed, and silenced. It is not appropriate for me to chant “I can’t breathe,” or stand in front of my black peers. I have never been more aware of my abilities and my limitations.

And for the first time in my Princeton career, I am not supposed to have the answers. It’s a different kind of learning. I may be confused and hesitant, and I may misstep. But out of these moments, I have learned more about myself, and I have learned more from my peers than I have in a classroom. The classroom doesn’t teach empathy, restraint, or courage. Instead, I have looked toward my peers for inspiration and guidance, peers who are selflessly reaching out to the community, planning protests, and drafting letters and op-eds until 2 a.m., on top of their schoolwork.

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Although I have only been at Princeton for a little over three years, I know that what is happening now is new and remarkable. I firmly believe that we are in a pivotal moment where we should think critically about Princeton’s mission and impact on the world. At Princeton, we are privileged to be surrounded by knowledge, resources, and opportunities— just a look around this blog can tell you that. Yet perhaps the question at hand is not whether or not we have these resources, but rather, what we are doing with them. More and more, I see my fellow peers asking these uncomfortable questions.  We are trying to act in the nation’s service. In the “Orange Bubble,” Princeton teaches us to be smart. We are teaching ourselves to be courageous.

For more information on recent protests and organizing, please follow @Ferguson_PU on Twitter.