One. Two. Three. Eight crabs! I never knew how much I loved the sand and ocean until I had sat along that shore in my hometown a couple of months ago.
There was an odd sense of relief, of calm. No worrisome thoughts emerged — about academics, job prospects, or my relationships with others. Sitting along that shore and tempting those eight crabs to snap my fingers off brought a level of serenity I have yet to fathom. I found my true home, and I did because Penn redefined “home” for me.
The college experience does not necessarily change who you are, but how you perceive where you come from. Many of us approach this stage of our lives as a chance to redefine ourselves, to leave behind a past character we’re shy to claim. Yet, when we meet our high school buddies or listen to our parents talk about their college years, more often do we hear about people “growing” rather than “changing.”
At least for me, nothing has inherently “changed” about who I am. Sure, I may argue less, though still enough to keep Socrates smiling. I might be less combative. I like pink flowers more than I used to, and I now swim towards instead of away from jellyfish (not recommended). But, while my views and habits may have shifted, the ideals I work toward, be it tolerance or decency, or my quirks, namely social awkwardness, haven’t.
And this trend doesn’t just apply to me. How many of our Wharton or Engineering friends suddenly decided to minor in fine arts, whose core is known to be quite the time commitment? There are countless “lighter” courses these already busy students could take instead to fulfill requirements. Why did they choose art? Because it’s where they “find refuge,” as Wharton graduate Mindy Zou put it.
It is a refuge sought out as a result of Penn. What defined that refuge was what these students were historically “passionate” about, not because Penn changed their passions. They grew, not changed.
That is the disconnect between “changing” and “growing.” “Changing” is when our ideals deviate. “Growing” is when we alter our views and habits to work towards our ideals, or learn what those ideals are. And I argue that when we grow, we redefine our understanding of where we come from, of “home.” In that sense, Penn doesn’t change who we are; it just helps us grow into who we were meant to be.
Too much theory? I have that tendency: my condolences to anyone who has talked to me. So, to help make this confusing logic concrete, let me offer an anecdote.
I used to associate where I live, both the country and my physical house, with “home.” To little young (and culturally insensitive) me, “home” was where you would eat with your hand and wear serious white dresses and funny-looking head scarfs on a Friday. “Home” was where you would greet people with “peace be upon you” instead of the all-too intuitive “sup losers.” In a nutshell, my “home” was taught to be synonymous to my “culture.”
But I didn’t like this “home.” First of all, why wear an all-white dress when you can glam it up with some rhinestones and color? Second of all, and a tad more seriously, it’s a superficial way to interpret where you come from. “Hey, who are you?” “Ehhh … funny-looking headscarf?”
I know there is much more to it than that, but there is also more to a person than a bunch of “cultural” standards and your average dose of groupthink. Penn, through its rigor and severe pressure academically and emotionally, has helped me understand that. My “home” is not my “culture;” my “home” is the place that does not reflect how I act or think, but how I want to feel and what I idealize. In the words of Zou, my “home” is the “refuge” where what drives me is represented.
That’s not something you learn overnight. It takes time. For one, you have to take very different courses; I recommend “The Religion of Anime” for you STEM majors. It requires consistently dipping your toe into a variety of uncomfortable settings and extracurricular activities, which for me included dance and tutoring. Above all, it necessitates patience from yourself to learn, to see, and to connect the dots about which sounds, visuals, and even temperatures rub you the right way.
For me, learning dance introduced me to R&B/soul music and Luke Chiang. The rhythm of his music, mixed with the acoustics of waves hitting the shore, made the sound of my “home.” My humanities classes focused my visual tastes, and I began to adore looking at the anatomy and movement of crabs on the rocks and seagulls in the sky. That juxtaposition of sand, water, crabs, and seagulls combined with the smell of sea salt and fish made the look and smell of my “home.” You get the idea.
Simply put, it is my ability to redefine “home” in such a way that is the greatest indicator of my growth, not change, during my college years so far. While it is different for everyone, the growth you experience will be more subtle than you anticipate. Once you recognize it, though, you’ll be home. And I’ll be there with a housewarming gift (probably some crab-themed socks) when you do.
ZAID ALSUBAIEI is a College junior studying mathematical economics from Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia. His email address is zaidsub@sas.upenn.edu.
