The rain came in late October, and with it, the homesickness. I had been at Princeton for six weeks, and on that particular rainy day, with my first paper and a mountain of reading looming before me, I would have given anything to be snuggled up on my couch at home. All of sudden, college seemed so overwhelming. In any other situation, I would have gone to my mother for comfort, but she wasn’t here. Moreover, I was hesitant to trouble my hall-mates—though we hadbecome good friends in our short time together, our friendships were still new. I was on my own, and the thought was terribly scary. I tried to hide my tears from my roommate, simply brushing it off as “a bad day,” and went on with my routine.
The rain continued, and that evening, ensconced in my room among my books, I heard my roommate enter the room. In the corner of my eye, I saw her slip a small object onto my desk. It was a vanilla cupcake from Bent Spoon, decorated with pale pink icing and small sugar dots. I’d raved about these cupcakes many times before.
“Getting this was an adventure! Did you know Bent Spoon closes early on Mondays?” she asked exasperatedly. “And then there was a study break with their cupcakes so I went and subtly snuck one.”“Anyway,” she continued, “I know you really like these and I know you’re having a bad day, so I hope this cheers you up a little.”
No sooner had she left than I received a text from a sophomore who’d gone to my high school, inviting me to dinner with her the next night. Suddenly, the day didn’t seem so dreary anymore. Maybe my parents weren’t here with me, but I was surrounded by kids who had also felt the aches of homesickness. Together, we could be there for each other and make college the adventure it’s supposed to be. At that moment, Princeton didn’t feel like home quite yet, but I knew that I wasn’t alone, and it would only be a matter of time before it did.