My experience as a Cuban immigrant brought me a very concrete idea of change after moving to the United States. I came to believe that any other life-altering event from then on would have little significance relative to the impact that had produced on me—if it wasn’t a huge change, then it was no change at all.
Time has flown by. I’m already halfway through my internship. In five more weeks, I will be going back to Miami and having a few days of vacation before I return to school in mid-September.
Not even in my wildest dreams when I was younger did I picture myself leaving my office IN MANHATTAN and walking back to my home IN MANHATTAN—not to mention encountering such stupefying things as the Empire State Building during my daily walk.
The end of my first year in college has arrived amidst so much craziness that I haven’t even had time to realize that in just three days I will be returning home. The last few nights have been work-intensive. I usually head to the library after dinner and stay there until the early hours of the morning, finishing written assignments and going over my notes for the final exams. It’s amazing seeing so many people powering through the night in the library rooms, as if this routine were completely natural. The library café serves lattes and croissants until very late, and many of us gather there for mini breaks and mutual encouragement.
It’s such a beautiful day today. The yard is green again and the trees have started to bloom. Walking to breakfast this morning, I truly enjoyed the warmth and sunlight of the newly arrived spring. Everybody is outside today, wearing shorts, playing frisbee, and watching playful squirrels on campus.
Walking out of the first Economics midterm of the year, I felt as stress-free as I’ve felt in a long time. I let my mind wander and think about going home next week for Spring Break, knowing I still had a lot of work to do before going home to Miami.
It was after midnight last night when I decided to take a break from my macroeconomics reading about mutual funds. Coffee mug in hand, I walked barefoot toward the large, old wooden windows, where I met the reflection of my Caribbean silhouette on the humid, frozen glass. There I stood almost in trance, shocked, unbelieving, in awe before the sight of my very first snowstorm, falling on an already iced, snow-white Prescott Street.
It feels so good to write from the warmth of home, relaxing with 80-degree temperatures and the satisfaction of completing my first semester of college. I just finished my finals yesterday and I’m still recovering from the experience. It was an intense three-day journey, nine hours total, not counting the last-minute cramming and the alarm clock waking me each morning, marking the beginning of anxiety.
Time seemed to stand still amidst the never-ending midterms, day after day of salty cafeteria meals, and frozen walks on cobblestone sidewalks destroying every heel on my shoes. Pencil in hand, fervently writing the last paper on Saturday, I anticipated my homecoming. When you’re so far away, the smallest sensory details of home are magnified in your mind. For me, they include the taste of Cuban plantains; the soft texture of Mia, my Yorkshire terrier; and the sight of my grandma’s fingers as she plays the piano and her head turns in perfect rhythm. I couldn’t wait to get home.
The second round of midterms has begun. After a long weekend of nonstop review sessions, key-terms memorization, and dissipation of last-minute doubts, this week brings no prospects of calm. The chaos started this morning with an hour-long Comparative Politics exam. Tomorrow a presentation on Waiting for Godot awaits, followed by another presentation and 8-page paper rewrite on Thursday, and a science midterm on Friday. While I dive into a pool of the thickest course packs and notes, anxious that I not miss the smallest detail, I try not to forget that, inevitably, the week will soon be over. Then I’ll welcome the most fun event that Harvard life has to offer.
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