Tufts Blogs

Diversity is the rhythm here. I always knew that, but I had never felt it, at least not until I arrived at Tufts.

It was my first time leaving Africa, my continent. It was my first time leaving my country, and I was set to leave my country and continent all at once; no single piece of land connecting where I was going to be to Home. I was going to be moving hours away from home, but jetlag was the least of my problems. Was I going to be accepted? Not just accepted but appreciated.

After a 20-hour long flight from home, I arrived at Tufts. I was welcomed by Global Orientation and it was so heart-warming to see the welcome note posted on the door of my room. “My name wasn’t spelled wrong, so this couldn’t be bad after all,” I said to myself. So, I walked down, just after a long flight, to meet my GO group. I was weak, and the boring icebreakers were about to start. How much more dead could I be?

After the crucial, mind-cracking, nerve-wracking icebreakers, it wasn’t so boring. It was nice to meet people from far and near. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t the only one that landed that day. I wasn’t the only one that came from a different continent. I wasn’t the only one with a different accent. I wasn’t alone. Out of my group, I got to know more and more people who came from all over the world. Soon I made friends with students from Thailand, Bangladesh, Vietnam. A friend from Vietnam whose first and middle names were Viet Nam; icebreakers weren’t so bad.

I tell you there’s a lot of times I could swear that I was back home even though it was miles away. Those times when I am surrounded by so many people who are like me and who look like me. Don’t get me wrong, though. I wasn’t just looking for people like me, I was looking for the perfect mix. I was looking for the world in a college, and Tufts gave me that. We had a lot of events where diversity was celebrated. Lots of clubs where diversity is appreciated.

Looking at Tufts, there is no doubt that Tufts is a big fan of color. It isn’t just about seeing the colorful red-orange-yellow leaves of the trees falling. It isn’t just about the Rainbow Stairs viewed from Winthrop Street. It isn’t just seeing The Canon that has been painted a million times being painted again. It’s about the people. It isn’t just about how colorful Tufts is, but the people who make the color; the people who are the color.

I remember referring to Tufts in my supplement essays as a “jigsaw” where every piece, every student, has a role to play. But now, I would refer to Tufts as a “collage” where every color has its effect on the overall beauty of the painting, the college. Now I ask myself, is Tufts a college or a collage?