It’s the summer of 2024, and I’m in that weird purgatory phase between years—feeling too old to claim the title of sophomore, but too young to drop the rising which precedes junior. Through these mixture of titles, I came to the realization that I’m exactly halfway through. Halfway through my Princeton experience.  

Princeton moves fast. Just the other day I remember dreaming of what college would feel like. The independence, the late night talks, the college romances and life-long friends waiting to be met. As a rising Junior, I admit these distant dreams now feel like grounded reality, but more importantly, I feel more grounded in myself. I know that I’ve significantly changed from the 18 year-old who walked through Fitzrandolph gate with eyes wide open but with a mind quite closed and ignorant of the challenges which awaited her. 

With time, I’ve become more aware of my freshman year ignorance. I believe I came into college with an over romanticized vision of adulthood, in addition to a blaring confidence that everything will go my way if I work hard enough. Not to discourage anyone, but college will never be a bed of roses. I think facing this reality, and the many challenges at Princeton, knocked down my 18 year old confidence to a certain degree. While my confidence has been lowered at certain points during my time here—I’m happy to report that it’s been on a steady trajectory uphill. 

A recent conversation with a friend enlightened me on a psychology term which I think accurately describes my growth during my two years here: the Dunning-Kruger Effect. If you’re not a psychology major (like me), you may not have heard about it. The Dunning-Kruger Effect is a cognitive bias where someone’s limited knowledge in a certain area causes them to become overconfident in their abilities. Essentially, when people have a gap in their knowledge, they tend to assume they know it all instead of realizing the gap. Funnily enough, I heard about this effect and thought “Wow! That exactly describes my college experience!”

However, I’m now aware of that gap, and I can therefore place more trust in myself and my judgment. From my two years here, I’ve learned a few things.  For example, I still believe things can go your way if you work hard enough, but now I understand it only comes with the addition of patience and flexibility. Further, I still love to romanticize college, but I no longer have the expectation that every second of it will be filled with those iconic moments. 

If I’ve truly learned anything, it’s that mistakes are meant to be made. They’ve helped me learn about myself, gain a sense of independence, and most importantly, given me a stronger sense of self. I’ve realized, I’m growing up a bit. I’m still proud of where I started, and I’m even prouder of where I’m going. Who knows, with my confidence rising, maybe soon I can drop that part of the title. Maybe being a junior isn’t so bad after all. 

Like many of my peers on campus, long before I stepped foot on Princeton's grounds, I dreamed of attending this school. It was my absolute dream school — by every definition of the term. And whenever someone asked me why I was so hellbent on fulfilling this dream, I'd have two words for them — Creative Writing. 

Since early in my childhood, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I swallowed any book that was handed to me and would spend hours during summer vacations typing up tales of my own. When I was finally old enough to think about college and all it could offer me, the one thing I knew was that I wanted to go somewhere I could write — and write well. Princeton charmed me. So many of the professors who filled its Creative Writing department were known to me from the bookshelves of my household. A.M. Holmes, Paul Muldoon, Tracy K. Smith. I knew if there was anywhere where I could fulfill my dreams of becoming a good writer, it would be Princeton. And so it became my dream school. And when I arrived on campus last autumn, I was committed to making my Princeton Creative Writing dreams come true. 

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Unfortunately, I ran into a couple of issues. Sometimes, Creative Writing classes at Princeton can be challenging to get into. For class camaraderie, these courses are typically limited to 10 people. Additionally, 2-3 spots are saved for students of each class year. In my case, for the Introductory Playwriting class I dreamed of taking last autumn, exactly two seats were reserved for first-year students. So, on the day of course enrollment, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. When the clock struck 7:30 am and it was time to hit the "enrollment" button, I found that my Princeton Creative Writing dreams were not over yet. I had somehow snagged one of the two first-year seats. Thus, my creative journey at Princeton could begin. And the start of this journey was everything I dreamed it would be. My playwriting course was wonderful. So many of our class sessions were filled with enticing laughter, helpful feedback, and nuanced discussions. My professor seemed to have an unlimited fount of advice for all of us young playwrights. And I ended the semester with a budding portfolio of plays I was proud of. It was indeed a dream.

The next Creative Writing course I sought at Princeton was Introductory Poetry. On the day of course enrollment, I found myself in a very similar position to the beginning of the fall semester. 2 reserved spots for first-years. Crossed fingers. Hopes for the best. Unfortunately, it seemed that my playwriting luck had run out. When the clock struck 7:30 am, the class had filled up instantaneously, and I was gutted.

Moreover, amid my melodrama over not getting into a class I wanted to take (for the first (and likely not last) time in my Princeton career), I somehow convinced myself that this failure meant the end of my Creative Writing journey. Luckily, I had some older (and wiser) Princeton peers who had run into similar failures during their time at Princeton and encouraged me to talk to the powers that be within the Creative Writing department. So I marched to the New South building (home of Creative Writing on campus), ready to plead my case. Luckily, the department's Program Manager was satisfied with my passion for writing. After a 5-minute monologue on why I wanted to take the course, she tinkered around and secured me a spot. My dreams were not defeated. In fact, with this simple act of kindness, these dreams began to transform.

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I had chosen to take Introductory Poetry off the advice of my playwriting professor. According to him, poetry courses help with writing dialogue for plays. So, as excited as I was for the course, I had low expectations for the quality of writing I'd produce. At this point in my life, writing poetry was not my passion. However, this quickly changed when I met my ebullient professor, Patricia Smith. Her love for poetry radiated throughout our classroom. She encouraged us to find our poetic voices, be confident, and learn from one another's writing. Thus, we came to every class striving to learn more, write better, and craft a poem that touched its readers.

Additionally, in a short time, our class became a little community. We'd rave about one another's poems long after feedback sessions had concluded. We'd share poetry over email and text from our favorite poets. We even channeled our poetic passion into organizing a class field trip to see the Poet Laureate, Ada Limón, in New York City. With the support of our gracious professor, our class caught a train to New York City, ate dinner at a yummy Ethiopian restaurant, and attended one of the most beautiful poetry readings of my lifetime — hearing nature poems from some of the nation's most renowned poets. (We even got to meet Ada Limón afterward!)

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When I returned to my dorm that evening, buzzing with the energy of the beautiful poems I'd heard and the wonderful memories I'd formed with my classmates, I felt confident in the fact that I wanted to be a poet. While I'd spent most of my life knowing that I wanted to be a writer, I'd never felt as passionate about one specific writing medium as I did about poetry. With my professor's encouragement, I could use what I'd learned in playwriting the previous semester to write dramatic poetry. For the entire month of April, I was encouraged to write one poem a day — 30 poems in 30 days. I devoted this month to creating characters and bringing them to life via poetry. It was challenging but so rewarding. 

As my first year at Princeton concluded, I felt proud that I could no longer say I wanted to be a writer. Instead, I could say I am a writer. I had a portfolio. I knew the kind of work I wanted to produce. In 9 months, I had learned so much about myself and my creative aspirations. I had made my Creative Writing dreams come true. 

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It’s always been you. But why?

Throughout my years at Princeton and even before then, people have asked me why I chose psychology as my major. I wish I had a perfect response that would provide some clarity, but the only thing I can say is: it just felt right.

I’d like to preface my journey to choosing a major by saying it was in no way conventional. When I was in high school, I racked my brain trying to figure out what I should major in. My dad wanted me to major in architecture, which I wasn’t totally opposed to. I was really leaning towards a major in English or Creative Writing. I always loved reading and writing but didn’t see myself making a career out of it because I wrote for fun and wanted it to stay that way. One day in biology class, someone mentioned they were going to major in psychology and I don’t know how, but it felt right for me too.

One thing to know about me is that once I decide on something, I stick to it. So I took a deep dive into the field of psychology, not really knowing what I was looking for, but I loved how I could do anything with it. Psychology is one of those majors that can be applied to most fields. I could go to medical school, work in advertising, or even continue with a life filled with research. I loved what seemed like endless possibilities, and while I was deciding on one thing now, I knew I would have multiple options to choose from later on.

Coming to Princeton, I wouldn’t say I was close-minded to other majors, but the more I learned about psychology, the more I fell in love. My first psychology course was Cognitive Psychology with Professor Tania Lombrozo. This course remains one of the best lecture courses I have taken at Princeton; it was so engaging and sparked my curiosity. I was one of two freshmen in this course, and while it was challenging, it solidified that I had made the right choice.

I can’t say I didn’t explore my options. I thought I might be interested in philosophy, so I took an Ancient Philosophy course. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a meeting of the minds when I read the ideas of Aristotle and Socrates. Then, I thought anthropology could be something interesting, so I took “Empire of Debts,” an amazing course taught by Prof. Julia Elyachar. While I loved the course, I had a strong preference for the discussions over the dense readings. Even though some psychology courses can have dense readings, I find myself enjoying them. A few honorable mentions are “Zen Buddhism” (a religion course), “African American Studies and the Philosophy of Race” (an African American Studies course), and “American Television” (an English course). Most people find general education requirement courses annoying but I loved all of the ones I took, even if they weren’t going to be what I chose to study.

So, when sophomore spring came and I had to choose my major, it was an easy choice. Every step was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Finding my junior paper advisor, joining a lab, submitting my junior paper abroad – all of these things weren’t easy, but I was happy doing them. Even now, my last summer at Princeton, it was an easy choice to work on my thesis research. I had the support of my advisor, the support from the Office of Undergraduate Research (OUR), and my own volition to create something special. Now, I’m working on a longitudinal project that I created with my lab titled “First Year Narratives,” where we recruit First-Generation Low-Income (FGLI) students across different institutions in NJ. In the midst of creating flyers, sending emails and preparing survey items, I find myself so happy with the choice I made.

This blog honestly could’ve been pages long with all the reasons I chose psychology, from fMRI studies to the amazing courses I have taken. When choosing your major, there are so many ways you can come to a decision. But I hope at the end of the day, you love it.

My sophomore classmates and I celebrated Declaration Day this past April. After we declared our majors, we gathered on Cannon Green, and took pictures in front of our department banners. Needless to say, it was a beautiful way to finish the Spring 2024 semester. 

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Declaring African American Studies was filled with several plot twists. I initially came to Princeton as a prospective English major. Yes, I was that voracious reader who spent hours immersed in fictional worlds. As I got older, I would write as a form of activism at my predominantly White high school. It only made sense that if I wanted to pursue writing full-time, an English degree was the way to go.

That all changed when I took my first African American Studies/Philosophy class, “Race, Racism, and Racial Justice,” with Professor Lidal Dror my first year. We would discuss whether race is a social or biological concept. We would read about long standing racial justice issues like reparations, affirmative action, and racial profiling, all of which further informed my activism. I walked away from every lecture eager to continue these difficult, yet necessary conversations with my classmates. 

One must take five African American Studies classes to complete the certificate. But I knew five classes wasn’t enough to satisfy my thirst for Black knowledge. I wanted to go all the way – Junior Paper, Senior Thesis, Senior Colloquium – because the field became my special interest.

Additionally, the Undergraduate Board of Advisors (which I am now a part of) inspired me. Despite majoring in the same field, they were committed to different paths. One student merged their interests in race and computer science through her independent work. Another student aspired to be a photographer. And still another student wanted to work at a museum. At that moment, I realized that I would not have to choose between my academic and creative work. The African American Studies department would hold space for me to merge the two together, so I can produce the best independent work possible.

As much as I loved the department, I made a brief detour to Anthropology in Fall of my sophomore year. I thought my parents – who thought African American Studies would leave me unemployed – would find it more acceptable. Although I did well in my Anthropology class, the readings did not excite me compared to my African American Studies readings. I was not looking forward to doing fieldwork, either, which is required for the Anthropology Senior Thesis. 

More than anything, I missed studying my special interest. Returning to the African American Studies department feels like returning home. No matter how many times I switched my major, the professors and students have always welcomed me back with open arms. And just like the books I read as a child, our readings gave me a new purpose as a writer: to tap into Black joy, love, healing in my work. My department is just the beginning.

As part of the various distribution requirements that one is expected to fulfill before graduating from Princeton, there is a mandatory course that all Princeton students must take: Writing Seminar—or colloquially called "Writing Sem." Even before I stepped onto Princeton's campus as a bona fide student, this course haunted me. Given that so much of a Princeton student's academic work relies on independent research and writing, the University kindly allows students to foster those skills in a classroom setting during either their first-year fall or spring semester. While most of the Princeton I spoke to before coming to the University lauded the independence of choosing classes and exploring niche topics in these classes, the conversation often got menacing when we reached the subject of the Writing Seminar. I'd quickly become intimidated as these students spoke of the hours of writing they had to do, the harsh grading, and the (sometimes) strict professors. Princeton writing seminars, at the time, required three papers: one 5-6 page paper, one 7-8 page paper, and one 10-12 page paper. On top of that, there are many other smaller assignments, readings, and feedback sessions that one has to complete during the 12-week semester. Thus, while I was lucky enough to take a Writing Seminar during the spring semester of my first year—after having some rigorous Princeton courses under my belt—by the time January rolled around and it was time to brave this beast of a course; I was very anxious.

However, upon arriving at my Writing Seminar classroom for WRI 129: Disrupting Nature, I was immediately assuaged by my professor's kind smile and warm welcome. Our class session immediately started with icebreaker questions—favorite TV shows, recommended books, etc.—and it was clear that this seminar would be more than just a class that the university required us to take; it would be a community. I won't lie; I had no idea what I was doing when I arrived at the seminar's first graded paper. I scribbled out six pages of (what I like to call) nonsense about climate change and human sacrifice, but I'm not sure what the seminar expected of me. And when I received my professor's feedback, I was pretty disheartened. I felt like I had written a failure of a paper. However, the hidden beauty of Princeton writing seminars is that you always get a second chance:

• You turn in drafts of your graded papers.

• Your professor returns these drafts with meticulous feedback.

• You revise.

The revision is what's graded. So, I rallied. I engaged with my professor's feedback, asked numerous questions in class, pored over my materials, and revised. And even in the end, I did not get the grade I had hoped for on this first paper. But, for what seemed like the first time in my academic journey, that didn't matter as much to me. What mattered more was a comment my professor left on my revision. "I can see the improvement from the draft to the revision." She could see my progress, and so could I! I was learning. I was growing. It felt good.

For the rest of the semester, I committed myself to caring more about progress than grades: engaging with reading materials that I typically would avoid, spending more time brainstorming essay subjects than I'd ever done in the past, and asking questions that I usually would keep to myself. All for the sake of growth. When the second paper came around, I was genuinely excited about writing it. I felt like I knew what I was doing, and I was excited to learn more while writing it. My grade on this paper improved from the prior, but so did my motivation. The task of academic writing was no longer intimidating; it was kind of fun. 

For our final paper in Writing Seminar, we were allowed to write about a topic of our choice. Given my interest in literature and what it says about us as human beings, I chose to write about the importance of nature-related children's literature during the pandemic. With the help of my professor and classmates (who I'd become so comfortable with in a matter of months), I was able to find intriguing sources and go down intriguing rabbit holes. Although I spent most of my spring finals season tucked into Firestone library, analyzing depictions of talking rabbits and bears, I was enjoying myself. The tools that I had learned in Writing Seminar allowed me to approach writing this 10-12 page paper with some ease. There were moments when I got stuck and felt unsure of where to go next while writing, but the resources of my professor, my classmates, and the Princeton Writing Center enabled me to brainstorm and move forward. By Dean's Date (the date at the end of the semester when all written academic work is due), I was beyond proud and excited to turn my paper in. I had completed Princeton's daunting Writing Seminar. And I was a little sad to leave it behind.

There are many academic beasts that Princeton students must brave on the path to obtaining their degree. However, braving this specific beast of the First-Year Writing Seminar has taught me that difficult academic obstacles are a part of the beauty of higher academia. Facing these obstacles, struggling, getting past them, and learning new things in the meantime are all part of academic growth and success. Moreover, looking back and seeing the hills you climbed to reach the next steps of your academic career makes the process all the more fulfilling. So, I'll get excited the next time I feel daunted by a step in my academic journey. I'm ready to grow.

Toward the end of my first semester at Princeton, I came to the harrowing conclusion that I could no longer study (productively) in my dorm room. 

It was the beginning of the winter reading period — a week-long interval at the end of the semester devoted wholly to producing final essays and projects and, of course, studying. I had an eight-page Modern Fiction paper to crank out. But, sitting at my messy desk, with the temptation of my warm bed calling to me from two feet away, I found that I could not type a word of this essay. So, like a good student, I stashed away my study materials into my backpack, donned my massive winter coat, and prepared myself to brave the impossibly terrifying world outside of my dorm: campus during finals season.

Let me explain: campus is not actually impossibly terrifying during finals season. It’s actually very fun and welcoming. It’s just impossibly crowded. Every formerly tranquil space becomes the opposite — dotted with students who’ve emerged from their campus crevices, with their friendly study buddies and loud conversations. Because of this reality, during reading period, despite its name, I found it almost impossible to read, or focus, or write a paper in any public space on campus. But, as my dorm proved not to be any more of a productive setting, I was forced to go on a quest. A quest in search of a place of quiet — without distractions — and full of sunlight (because I cannot study without some encouraging light). My first stop was Chancellor Green. 

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In my opinion, Chancellor Green is one of the most gorgeous libraries on campus. It shares space with the building of East Pyne — home to many of Princeton’s language and humanities departments — and has more windows than I’ll ever have time to count. I love this library because of its light. Sunshine fills every corner of it. I also love it because of its private study cubicles. The Chancellor Green library has an upper level full of single study desks. After I failed to start my daunting essay in my dorm, I was sure that the omnipresent sunshine and solitude of Chancellor Green would be the perfect ingredients for my much-needed productivity. And I was right. Sitting by a large French window, surrounded by age-old books and alone, I cranked out 2/8 pages of my paper. But, as I tried to brave the third page, I was stuck. It seemed Chancellor Green’s well of reading period productivity had run dry for the day, so I, again, braved the outside world to seek out more.

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My journey and midday hunger brought me to Frist Campus Center — home to the Frist Food Gallery (a cafeteria-esque basement level filled with snacks, a grill, a taco bar, a pasta/salad bar, an Asian food bar, and more). After securing a cheeseburger and fries for encouragement, I settled into Frist’s third-floor McGraw Center library. There, fed and encouraged by some more sunlight, I knocked out two more pages of my paper. I was feeling great about my progress and my discovery of some campus tranquility. But then came the lunch rush. More hungry students, with friendly study buddies and loud conversations, filled my study spot. It was time to disembark, again.

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My next stop was New South — a building home to Princeton’s Creative Writing Department, Princeton’s Writing Center, and many empty classrooms, just waiting to be taken advantage of. Unfortunately, upon my arrival, I discovered that other desperate students had nabbed all these classrooms. But, on the Creative Writing floor, I found an empty table with some gorgeous and encouraging overhead light to knock out the next page of my paper. At this point, I was halfway through and still feeling the momentum. As a reward for finishing another page, another student abandoned their rare gem of an empty classroom, and I promptly seized it. Here, with the gift of a blank whiteboard and a room entirely to myself, I was able to brainstorm the final pages of my paper, pacing back and forth, throwing out ideas aloud, and jotting down notes on the board. It was here that I completed the final three pages of my paper.

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With this completion under my belt, I felt brave enough to brave the monster of all study spots on campus — Firestone Library. I needed one last place to do the final edits on my paper. And I also needed a change of scenery. Firestone Library is the monster of all study-spots during reading period. The library has six levels — all stocked with large clusters of cubicles and a plethora of reading rooms where silence is mandatory. It is the motherlode of tranquil study spaces on campus. But, for a first-year still acclimating to the study culture, finding the right spot can be a little daunting. On this day, however, I was ready.

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I sent the elevator to every floor, quietly and discreetly inspecting each reading room to see which one had the most encouraging sunlight and the least daunting amount of people. I landed on the C-floor Reading Room. Nestled behind the library’s Specials Collection section, the C-floor reading room has a ceiling of windows, so sunlight reaches every corner. It also seems the quietest of all the reading rooms — even during the reading period, many people seem to ignore it or forget that it exists. For me, it was the perfect place to conclude my beast of an essay. There, I completed the majority of edits for my paper, even added an aesthetically pleasing cover page, and called it a day. Throughout my spring semester, I often returned to the study spots I found on this day-long journey for tranquility, sunlight, and productivity. I’ve found that, usually, when I’m too deep into an assignment and unsure of what to write/do next, I just need to move. Having several go-to study spots on campus allows me to circulate, and not stay in one place mentally or physically.

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I’m grateful for the opportunity to study on a campus with such a plethora of tranquil, sunlit spaces to focus, and I look forward to the study-spot discoveries that my next three years at Princeton will bring.

Work hard, play hard. It’s a phrase we’ve all heard, but is Princeton a place where “work hard, play hard” is alive and well, or perhaps, where does Princeton lie on that spectrum? Work hard, play hard. It’s a phrase we’ve all heard, but is Princeton a place where “work hard, play hard” is alive and well, or perhaps, where does Princeton lie on that spectrum? 

For starters, you often see students lock in during the week and let loose—in many forms—during the weekend. Of course, it depends on the crowd that you gravitate towards. You will meet many students who only “work hard” and only occasionally meet the opposite side of the spectrum. Princeton definitely skews closer towards the work end—not necessarily surprising for the Ivy League. 

The emphasis on work is quite apparent here. Princeton students are passionate about their studies, projects and research. That said during the school year, I’ll admit it’s often hard to feel a separation from school and life. Work often dominates my mind; it’s a priority, and so during the school year most students work, and work hard, sometimes without a second thought about a healthier life balance. Queue, the “Princetonian work ethic.”

But when Princetonians aren't plugged in for the semester, where do our priorities fall? It’s the summer of 2024 and my time off this summer has led me to wonder if this intense “work hard play hard” mentally is a healthy balance. During summer especially, I notice that I struggle when this finely tuned balance between work and play is thrown off. I struggle to enjoy time off without some sense of academic productivity. This leads me to question if Princeton wires us to chase high intensity experiences? Are all Princetonians wired this way? Is it just me?

While I haven’t found the answers to these questions yet, I find them fascinating to explore. During this summer at Princeton, I decided to survey my friends to find some answers. On the work side of the spectrum, I have two friends that come to mind who work hard, and pretty intensely. These friends sleep 4-5 hours a night and are consumed, passionately or stressfully— I’m not sure—with work, projects, and competitions. On the other side of the spectrum, I have several friends who enjoy time off without a second thought. One friend told me “tomorrow is not guaranteed,” so why consume your summer with work? 

With all these different perspectives, the real question is where do I want to lie on that spectrum? I recently realized that it’s very easy for your mindset to conform to the environment that you’re in. That may explain why so many Princetonians feel a need to work all the time: this environment is conducive to it. While I’m still trying to find my own balance between work and play, I admit that part of me is still drawn to that intense balance—partly because I feel it allows me to live life to the fullest. And that’s a theme I see at Princeton. Whether students work hard or play hard, Princetonians have a certain discipline and passion in everything they do. Life is lived to the fullest. 

And while this mentality may serve my college years, I admit that this certain binary scale may not serve me forever. Is my work ethic—my Princetonian Work Ethic—a lifelong thing? I’m not sure. Maybe the wiser of us knows the answer, but all I know is that I’m going to live life to the fullest. Whether that's work, play, or something else, the only thing I can do is keep trying to figure it out. 

3,853 miles away. Six hours ahead. A city I’ll never forget: Copenhagen, Denmark.

This past spring, I spent four months studying abroad in one of the most beautiful cities I've ever visited. However, there was one challenge: I had to complete my spring junior paper (JP) while also trying to explore this amazing city.

Completing a junior paper is challenging enough when you're on Princeton’s campus. My fall JP was not the easiest paper to write, but at least I was surrounded by students also engaged in their research or independent projects. 

Abroad, people traveled every weekend, and I constantly struggled to balance this incredible opportunity with my commitments at Princeton. I had lab meetings every Wednesday, and due to the time difference, they were scheduled for 11 PM local time. This time difference made it really difficult to set up meetings or call people.

For my fall JP, I conducted a literature review on First Generation Low Income Students from Latinx and Asian backgrounds, exploring themes such as cultural mismatch, stereotype threat and family achievement guilt. I found a notable gap in the literature concerning the differences in experiences between two-year and four-year institutions, with most empirical studies focusing on selective four-year universities.

My spring JP was centered on creating a pre-registration for my upcoming thesis research. Pre-registration, a growing practice in psychology, aims to promote transparency, reduce p-hacking and address the replication crisis. My task was to submit a pre-registration form along with a codebook detailing the survey items I intended to measure. This process demanded significant time and effort. I had to clearly define my research goals and outline how I planned to analyze the data.

Fortunately, I had an amazing mentor, my lab manager, Danny. We met weekly to discuss my progress, clarify any questions about the pre-registration process and offer edits and suggestions. Being part of a lab while conducting independent work is one of the best aspects of the process. You not only have your primary advisor but also the support of knowledgeable lab members in various research areas. The support I received from my lab made submitting my JP abroad something manageable. 

Overall, despite the difficulties, submitting my spring JP was one of the most rewarding experiences. I grew significantly from the process, setting a strong foundation for my senior thesis, which I'll be working on over the summer. Although Danny is leaving soon to pursue a PhD in Utah, his mentorship is a testament to the incredible people at Princeton. The ARC lab team made 3,853 miles feel not so far away.

Unexplained chronic pain turned my life upside down in October 2023. I soon found myself staying overnight at McCosh Health Center, and asking some of my friends to help with basic tasks like doing laundry. 

It wasn't until winter break that I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia: a chronic illness characterized by "widespread pain throughout the body...[chronic] fatigue...and problems concentrating also known as fibro fog" (niams.nih.gov). 

Though I'm always in pain, I'd like to share ways that I've been able to manage it at Princeton. Let's get into it!

1. Requesting accommodations

For students who need academic, housing, dining, or testing accommodations, they must fill out the Office of Disability Services' online form. They also must provide medical documents explaining how their disability impairs their functioning, and how accommodations would improve their functioning. 

I found it vulnerable to disclose my chronic illness to ODS, but I remembered to not hold back in my application. I was as honest as possible, because I know myself better than anybody else.

I know, for instance, that going up and down stairs is difficult for me. So Forbes College was no longer accessible to me, because the Annex does not have elevators. Next year I will be living on the first floor of an upperclassman dorm building that is much closer to my classes. 

2. Communicating with professors. 

ODS requires students to submit Semester Request forms to notify professors about approved accommodations. 

While I'm not required to disclose my chronic illness, I find it helpful to give my professors more context about Fibromyalgia during office hours. This is especially the case considering that I have frequent flare ups. Flare ups occur when chronic illness symptoms worsen for a few days.

Again it takes courage to open up to your professors about chronic illness. It may be easier to hide behind a screen, typing about why you need to miss class or receive an extension on an assignment. However, I have found it very valuable to meet with my professors in person, so everybody is on the same page. 

3. Getting lots of rest

Fibromyalgia comes with chronic fatigue, as I mentioned before. No amount of sleep can remedy that symptom, but the paradox is that if I don't get enough sleep, I'll flare up incessantly. 

When creating my course schedules, I make sure to leave plenty of gaps in between my classes. This way, I can make time to not only complete homework, but also take naps during the day. And since I am an early bird, I make sure to go to bed consistently between 11:00 PM and 2:00 AM. 

On the other hand, rest doesn't always look like sleeping. Some days it looks like drawing and journaling. Other days it looks like doing my readings from bed. I listen to what my body wants to do, and go with the flow. After all, I can't pour from an empty cup.

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One of the best hidden gems I have discovered during my time at Princeton is the Makerspace! Located in the basement of the Lewis Library, the Makerspace is a creative technology space which serves as part of Princeton’s library system. The Makerspace provides many different forms of equipment such as 3D printers, sewing machines, 3D scanners, cutting machines, large format printers, video production equipment, and so much more!

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I first discovered the Makerspace in my Sophomore year, after taking a podcasting class, during which I borrowed audio-recording equipment from the Digital Learning Lab. Fascinated by the technology that was made available to me, I eagerly inquired about other creative spaces that were available to students. It was then that I was referred to the Makerspace, and discovered all that it had to offer. 

In the second semester of Sophomore year, I would regularly borrow a DSLR Camera from the Makerspace to photograph Princeton’s cycling team during bike races. Over time, I was able to hone my photography and editing skills, as I learned how to use the equipment. My favorite discovery at the Makerspace, however, was the 4x3-foot Large Format Printer. These printers, which are available for students for one large print job per month, enable me to print out large-scale artistic creations at no cost.

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In my Junior year, I took a wonderful class which merged scientific teaching with artistic expression. For our final project, we were tasked with creating an artistic piece to express a scientific issue that we had researched. My group took advantage of the resources of the Makerspace to create a 6x8-foot collage detailing the adversarial health impacts of pesticide use. Dividing our collage into quadrants, each corresponding to one large-print poster, we were able to create a grand exhibition for our project, which is now on display at the Lewis Center for the Arts. It was so rewarding to present such a magnificent project knowing that we were supported in bringing our ambitious ideas into a tangible reality.

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Learning about the resources that Princeton offers to students has been an ongoing component of my experiences here. It feels like every month, I learn of something new that is available to me as a student. I hope that new students are likewise able to take advantage of the Makerspace and bring their creative visions to life!