Tufts Blogs

As a kid, I vividly remember the nights when I would turn to my mom for assistance with math homework after her exhausting 9-to-5 workday grind, often right in the midst of her winding down from a long day's work. Whether she was bustling about the kitchen preparing dinner or finally kicking off her shoes after a hectic day, she always made time for me. But it was never exactly a joyous experience. Those memes depicting tear-streaked math assignments post-parental assistance perfectly encapsulated my experience. Yet, in retrospect, I can't fault my mom for feeling frustrated. She had her own worries, her own stresses to contend with. Reflecting on it now, I've come to understand that expecting her to effortlessly switch gears from being a career woman to chef and then to a math tutor wasn't fair. We were both navigating our own worlds of stress, and sometimes, the intersection wasn't easy.

I always knew I had to go to college. It seemed ingrained in me from a young age that a college education was the gateway to a "substantial" and "well-paying" job. I understood that pursuing a college education was the expectation my family had for me. Refusing to work towards this goal felt somewhat selfish, given that I had the opportunity to attend college, especially with the possibility of securing scholarships to make it feasible. But still, school was never my forte. While I excelled academically, the thought of committing to more years of education felt overwhelming. But every time I saw my mom drag herself to my soccer games straight from a grueling day at work, exhausted yet still cheering me on, only to come home and selflessly take care of dinner, laundry, and cleaning so that I could focus on my homework, I was reminded that a college education was a privilege she had tirelessly strived for me to attain throughout my life. So when senior year arrived, I followed the advice of my favorite teacher and applied to my favorite state universities, alongside one prestigious institution I never thought I'd stand a chance at. And lo and behold, here I am. 

The college application process was far from fun. I found myself scrambling to meet deadlines, confused by conflicting dates and requirements. Tensions often ran high as my mom, brother, and I debated over FAFSA details and college application responses. My mom insisted I retake the SAT, while my brother urged me to take advanced math courses in my senior year, even though I didn't see the necessity for either of them. Then arrived the deluge of scholarship links, each demanding essays upon essays. It felt like an unending cycle of writing and rewriting, with the pressure steadily mounting as I struggled to balance school, extracurricular activities, and the relentless demands of university applications. All I wanted was to enjoy my final year of high school and take easy classes, as I thought I had worked hard enough the other years of my life. With my mom in my corner, however, taking the easy route wasn't an option. I reluctantly heeded her advice, recognizing deep down the importance of her guidance and understanding that the effort I was investing now would undoubtedly pay off in the future. Yet, despite her intentions, the application process and senior year strained my relationship with my mom. I felt she couldn't truly understand the pressure I was under, having never gone through it herself. However, in hindsight, I realize that my mom's efforts are likely the reason why my tuition burden isn't as overwhelming as I feared. Mom, if you happen to read this, thank you for all the support and guidance you provided, even amidst the arguments and frustrations. And I'm sorry for all the times I raised my voice in frustration. And the door slamming. 

When I received acceptance to Tufts, I found myself entering a realm of uncertainty about what to anticipate from the college experience. While my brother had attended college in Pennsylvania, his institution differed significantly from the small liberal arts environment of Tufts. I ended up packing an excessive amount of clothes, overloading my course load, and fretting over finding my place among peers. I vividly recall tearful phone calls to my mom, expressing my insecurities about feeling inferior to my classmates. In casual conversations, I found that they effortlessly discussed terms and concepts that were entirely foreign to me. Knowing students whose parents were selective university graduates or Tufts alumni only compounded my sense of inadequacy. I began to question whether my public school education had failed me, pondering if I should have immersed myself in more reading, tackled more math problem sets, enrolled in additional STEM classes, and just pursued more of everything during my childhood. I couldn't shake the feeling of being behind, knowing it was far too late to catch up on the wealth of knowledge my peers seemed to possess effortlessly. Additionally, I couldn't help but envy friends who didn't have to worry about financing their education and could spend money without hesitation.

But, I did well my first year. My grades remained strong, I forged meaningful friendships, became involved in various clubs, and was gradually finding my equilibrium in this unfamiliar environment. One significant revelation came when I discovered that a friend I met through the Class of '26 Instagram page shared a similar background as a first-generation student who also attended a public school. Even as sophomores now, our bond remains steadfast. While we seldom dwell on our shared status as first-gen students, I think there's an unspoken understanding between us that brings a sense of solace. Moreover, without actively seeking out peers with similar backgrounds, I've come to realize that they're all around me. It's reassuring to know that I'm not alone in my journey—there are students here who share my background. While I may have initially hesitated to embrace my status as a first-gen student, I've come to appreciate the strength and resilience that it represents. And the FIRST Resource Center offers valuable resources and opportunities for support, not to mention the fun looking events highlighted on their Instagram.

The places where I've discovered a sense of community on campus are the Indigenous Center and the comforting camaraderie of my suitemates, a group of ten individuals who have become like family to me. Through these connections, I've come to realize that judgment based on background is virtually nonexistent among the people I've grown to love and cherish. We're all embarking on our unique academic journeys, each excelling in our own ways. 

I still called my mom frequently to fill her in on the people I’d met and the things I’d learn. While I certainly put in the work for myself, I also recognize the invaluable role my mom's pride played in keeping me motivated. I hope that, in some way, my mom can experience the fulfillment of my achievements vicariously through me. Because one day, with my fancy degree in hand, I'll express my gratitude to her properly for all the hard work she put in. 

As a first-generation college student, I've learned to take pride in my journey. The challenges we've encountered and the diverse circumstances we've navigated have not only fortified our resilience but have also ignited a sense of determination within us. While the journey may have been arduous at times, I personally like to believe that the struggles faced getting here have played an integral role in shaping the person I am today—someone who resembles their mother in more than just appearance but who also carries her strength, resilience, and determination. 

There's a profound sense of pride in knowing that I made it here with fewer advantages and less financial security. I also lacked the guidance of someone who had firsthand experience navigating the college journey, but I was fortunate to have a strong support network, which now extends to my friends here at Tufts. While I may still lack certain knowledge and may not casually toss around big words in conversation (like juxtaposition - I HATE that word), I've earned my place here, and I deserve to be here.