All the Lovely People

Hello readers!

I heard there might be some new people reading today, since the Admission Office sent out a wave of emails that with luck sent you to scope out Wellesley :). If so, here’s a sketch of me: I’m Monica. I’m a junior at Wellesley, and I’m a neuroscience major. I’ve been writing for this blog since my first-year fall, and I love the place where I am, in all senses of the word. I do research with Professor Conway on the mechanisms of vision, and right now I’m taking three classes at MIT through their cross-registration program. I was on the varsity swim team for two years, and still affiliate strongly with them. I’m tutoring computer science (the program MATLAB, specifically) right now.

And now, we begin!

…

friends

My first day of school at MIT last week was really, as my friend Tiffany commented, my first day of school. I didn’t have an ID card, solid knowledge of the campus, friends, a sense of how to talk to teachers, school-specific terminology, friends, did I mention friends? Shuffling around the blinding new snow on one of Wellesley’s sidewalks, waiting for the bus that would bring me to Boston to appear, it would have been quite typical of my heart to suddenly start pounding, for my lungs to need to breath deeper, for my mind to spin in helpless circles. But instead a long line of people joined me on the snow, approaching in confident strides on their heels, in complacent ambling in their boots. Connie, a friend from first year, separated herself from this mass of familiar people. And we chatted the whole bus ride away.

I have an adopted “little sister,” a term used on campus for the relationship between a paired upperclasswoman and first-year on the school’s tradition of Flower Sunday. I didn’t meet Christine on Flower Sunday though—I met her through the blog, when she contacted me as a first-year last fall. We now meet every Wednesday to check in, in the left back corner of the Bates Dining Hall. I always spot her waist-length, flowing hair first, then am greeted with an enthusiastic hug and warm brown eyes.

Christine and Tiffany and Gabby, who’s in China, tell me they must read my blog. Why must they? They see me in person. Why spend their valuable time—and time is so valuable—reading about me? And yet they do, my friends on campus, or tell me unprompted that they try. Suman told me she couldn’t read my Nicaragua post right now; that she would wait until the weekend. “It’s like, 5 minutes to read the thing,” I told her; reading is much faster than writing. “No, you don’t understand—I read carefully,” she informed me, and I just shook my head and smiled.

Friday night the bus back to Wellesley was late, and Sebiha and I shivered in the MIT bus overhang. On the bus, we typed away in our own worlds, then were rejoined again for dinner. “What’re you doing tonight?” she asked me. “Homework.” “Same.” “Want to come over to Munger? You can see my room!” And so we did, Sebiha and I, studied in my room until one am in the morning, her at the desk and me on the bed, bubbles of conversation punctuated by hours of productivity.

future

“I have two marvelous choices this summer,” my email said to Dr. Mandana Sassanfar, who had just accepted me into the Center for Brains, Minds, and Machines (CBMM) undergraduate research summer internship. “I could continue to work with Prof. Conway in his lab over the summer, or I could join one of the MIT labs through this CBMM program. Can I come talk to you about it?”

“What could be more marvelous than working at MIT over the summer?” she responded within the hour. “Come to my office at 2:30.”

We did more than talk. When our fifteen minutes were finished, she checked her planner and simultaneously wrapped herself up in her coat. I hesitated on the threshold, but she collected me as she walked through her door. “You said you’re interested in working with these two professors,” she said. “Let’s go see if they’re in their offices, if they’re interested in taking on summer students.”

Later that week I talked to Prof. Conway. “Have you considered a collaborative project between one of those professors and myself?” He asked. “I want to place no pressure on you in any way, and make sure you get the most out of this summer. I think this may be one way for you to do it. You might want to meet with Professor Hildreth to talk about this; keep me updated on what you decide.”

A few hours later, I drafted a letter to the MIT professor, and forwarded it to Professor Conway. “I’m thinking of sending this,” I said. No comment back, so I sent it.

“very good,” he replied that night.

Very good.

school

Professor Cezair-Thompson is teaching me English. I handed in a short paper a month before it was due. She handed it back during our classtime break.

“I’m going to want you to rewrite this—it was very interesting, and had a few insights I’d never thought of. I know you probably did it early to plan and schedule your time, and that’s admirable. I meant for the assignment to be done later, though, so that you could incorporate in what you’ve learned as a writer and what you’ve learned in this course. I will send you an email with a few examples of papers. I had a student who …

“So you see, it can be much more personal. Incorporate some of the literary critique you did, and also about how you think of yourself as a writer. You can do the new draft on the same book that you’ve written this on, or maybe a new book. A new novel might be good practice. I think you may eventually have a novel in you someday.”

On the website of my MIT physics page, I saw the office hours of one of the tutors and made my way over to his building. “Nice to meet you!” his Australian accent greeted an embarrassed me, sweaty from tromping up many more stairs than non-lost people would have climbed. “You said you’re stuck on this problem? Why don’t you go to the board and show me how to set it up?”

I went to the board and set it up. Spent an hour with the chalk piece in my hand, him sitting behind me, acutely observing. “So what did you learn from this problem?” he’d ask once I finished. “What did you learn from this one?”

friends

“So what are you doing this summer?” My opening gambit for all underclasswomen. By the time Jessica and I stepped off the bus back to Wellesley, she told me she would apply to work this summer in Prof. Conway’s lab.

“So what are you doing this summer?” Jennifer, across from me at table in the science center, shrugged. “I’m meeting with a student in Professor Klepac-Ceraj’s lab today,” she told me. “Excellent,” I replied. “Have you contacted the professor?”

“Kaitlin! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

She smiled. “It does seem like a while.”

She graduated early last fall, and it’s her second week working with Prof. Conway as a lab technician. Like her patient responses to my email demands for help, in person she seems busy, confident, happy.

Suman sent me a check-in email. “How was class? How are you doing?”

Caitlin, Micah, and Eleni have befriended me at MIT. Email missives fly back and forth with Caitlin—what’s with the units on this question; do I have to solve this? We eat together at lunch, between our morning and afternoon class together. The neuroscience majors in my math class have welcomed me with open arms.

All the lovely people.

done

All the lovely people.