04.24.19

3 4 t h S t re e t M a g a z i n e penn

Eliana Doft, Special Issues Editor Annabelle Williams, Editor–in–Chief Dalton DeStefano, Managing Editor Daniel Bulpitt, Audience Engagement Director Lily Snider, Assignments Editor Ethan Wu, Media Director Chelsey Zhu, Writer Allison Wu, Writer Sam Kesler, Writer Angie Lin, Writer Bea Forman, Writer Emma Boey & Sophia Dai, Photo Editors Tahira Islam & Katie Steele, Copy Editors Dean Jones & Jackson Parli, Video Editors Alice Heyeh, Print Director Ben Zhao, Digital Director

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April 24, 2019

hen I floated the idea to go random with Penn 10 this year, I wasn’t really sure if it was going to work. I knew why it should work—everyone at Penn has a valuable story to share, reinforcing competition can exclude important narratives, and randomness is a great, fun experiment.

Whenever you do something new, something different, you try to temper your expectations, at least if you’re like me. “Maybe this will work.” “We’ll give it a shot.” “Why not try, right?” There are those flickers of uncertainty and doubt.

And there were times when I really thought this wouldn’t work.

But I was blown away by the people we found, and what they were willing to share with Street and the campus community writ large. Every person in this issue shared their good days and their bad days, their relationship to this campus, their relationship with their families. We learned which seniors use a cat licking their face as an alarm clock. We learned which seniors had a childhood obsession with covered bridges. We learned where these people spend their time, and what their Penn experience means, looking back on four years on this weird, wild campus.

And we learned that everybody’s Penn story matters.

This issue could have been populated by any permutation of the thousands of seniors at Penn, and it would have still been amazing. That’s not because my staff is amazing—even though they are—but because everyone at Penn has a meaningful story to share.

I’m really proud of the work we did on this issue, and I hope that, whatever your Penn experience, you can find kernels of it represented here.

Design Editors: Gillian Diebold, Lucy Ferry, Jess Tan, Tamsyn Brann Associates: Dannie Watson, Joy Lee, Ian Ong, Jackie Lou, Isabel Liang, Christy Qiu, Nancy Kang, Ian Ong, Ava Cruz Copy Deputies: Sarah Poss & Kira Horowitz Copy Associates: Kate Poole, Serena Miniter, Erin Liebenberg, Lexie Shah, Carmina Hachenburg, Luisa Healey, Agatha Advincula Audience Engagment Associates: Brittany Levy,

McKay Norton, Kat Ulich, Emily Gelb, Ryan McLaughlin, Valentina Escudero, Samantha Lee, Nadeen Eltoukhy, Fiorentina Huang, Rachel Markowitz, Julia Zhu

All Photography by Ethan Wu Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Annabelle Williams, Editor–in–Chief, at williams@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com ©2019 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved.

34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Wednesday.

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Aadir Khan Aadir has presented at the Pentagon three times, but right now he just wants to grill some sausages.

LILY SNIDER

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Aadir Khan (C '19) was going to grill some sausages, but he was too busy prepping for his next presentation at the Pentagon, and got sidetracked. This will be his third time presenting there—in the past he’s presented to various organizations within the Department of Defense about Terrorist Financing, the legality of the Enhanced Interrogation Program, and other measures being employed in engagements against the Islamic State group. This next presentation deals with National Emergency Powers. In these presentations, Aadir acts as a representative for the Center of Ethics and Rule of Law—an institution at Penn Law committed to promoting and preserving exactly what its name implies. Aadir has been working for CERL since his sophomore year—so at this point, these Pentagon gigs are commonplace.

Still, he is sad about the sausages: “My goal for this week was to grill every day, and now I have failed.”

We sit at the Lambda Chi Alpha chapter house at a wobbly red table topped with a partially infiltrated 30 pack of Hamm’s beer. The chairs squeak underneath our weight. Of the three dark leather couches lining the room, two are topped

with disproportionately large plush toys: one gigantic smiling poop emoji and one huge husky.

Aadir readjusts his sleeves, unintentionally highlighting the monogrammed, red–knit “AAD” on his left cuff—a stark mark of professionalism against such a raw, collegiate backdrop. Some-

"Work towards that end goal without getting too caught up in the pathway." how, Aadir straddles the line between both.

A self–proclaimed “Globalist,” “Romanist” (“I don’t care much for the Greeks”), and “pretty academic, studious guy,” Aadir reveals each layer of himself humbly and offhandedly—without even realizing the insanity of some of the things that he does. He is that lovely, quiet, near–oblivious kind of powerful.

Aadir grew up in New York City, just south of

the UN Headquarters. Perhaps it was this proximity that bred such a passion for global law. “A lot of the people I grew up around were children of ambassadors or people who were working at different consulates,” he explains, fiddling with the spinning chair beside him.

Maybe it was his parents, who took him around the world well before he even started high school.

“We used to always just go to historical places because my dad’s really into history too … my dad had this thing where he would more or less force me to read a bunch of guides about [the] history of the different places before I visited them, and then more or less act as his tour guide whenever we went there.” Both from Pakistan, Aadir’s parents brought him across the globe to practice his handle on history. “Quite literally, [my dad would] point to things and be like, ‘tell me about this!’”

Of all the places he’s visited, his favorite city is Rome. “[The Romans] built a lot of things and they did a lot of things, while the Greeks thought about a lot of things. It's just a matter of what you think is important. I liked the fact that they took concepts and then they built things on it … they were very focused on getting things done and [there wasn't] a culture of sitting around,” he

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casually gushes. “If you read Latin authors, they complain about the Greeks and how lazy they are. Alexander The Great does a lot of things, but he's technically Macedonian, so I don't really count him.” Now a learned guide, Aadir rattles these facts off without missing a beat, gesticulating as if he were weighing Pat’s versus Geno’s, instead of comparing complex traditions of ancient societies.

Unsurprisingly, Aadir minors in classical studies as well as history and legal studies. He also majors in PPE and is the president of his fraternity, Lambda Chi Alpha. Still, he seems entirely unconcerned with whether or not he appears impressive. “Sometimes if I have a lot of things that I need to be doing at once, my life just gets into disorder,” he explains. “There [are] some times where I won’t even [brush] my hair … I'll just walk around with bedhead and be like, yeah, I just don’t have time right now.”

Aadir doesn't sweat the small stuff, because he is

busy dealing with things bigger than most of us ever come into contact with.

“Part of it is just I've dealt with so many things at this point,” he says, bluntly. “The jobs I've worked have really put everything in perspective for me. After going to the DOD and doing counter terrorism stuff, it's like you come back here and … [remember that] there [are] bigger things going on in the world.” Now, a United Nations flag hangs on the wall directly next to the Lambda Chi Alpha coat of arms. Aadir hung it up after becoming president.

Still, he's modest. He is a kid who always wanted a dog yet failed to keep a Beta fish alive. “I remember it dying soon after getting it, and then feeling really guilty about killing a fish and never getting a fish again,” he says, eyes on the ground, lightly but truly remorseful. Still, even in this way, he strives to grow, and he knows exactly how he wants to do so.

“I really want a dog,” he says. “A terrier. A West Highland terrier,” he qualifies. He

knows himself and what he wants, and he is honest about it: “I like things that are just maintained properly and done right.”

Still, he is an ordinary college student who has faced the fear of certain years and the triumph of others, just like anyone else. “Sophomore year I remember being an extreme low,” he admits. “I think just going into junior year and realizing I had to get my shit together … that was really it, just entering junior year and being like ‘I have to be serious now.’”

Each friend he’s met might describe him in different ways, reflecting this self–aware pivot. “I definitely changed a lot. I think people who met me at different years have very different first impressions of me. I lost a lot of weight when I came here … [so] physically I changed a lot, but also just I'm pretty nerdy now and I feel like I wasn't very nerdy when I started. My lifestyle’s changed a lot,” he says, adding, “I also had a good alcohol tolerance when I was a

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freshman and [now] I have no alcohol tolerance.”

What seems to have really changed for Aadir is his tolerance for imperfection.

“I just didn't know what to do and I was freaked out a lot of the time and really stressed out and really unhappy,” he says of his fraught sophomore year. “At some point I just realized that none of this accomplishes anything,” he recalls, shaking his head. Eventually, Aadir came to the realization that, “no matter what happens, I have to accept it, and I just need to try as hard as I can. As long as I put the effort in, I'm not going to beat myself up over the results.”

Aadir recognizes how this outlook has differentiated him from his peers at times.

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calmer than a lot of other people here.”

This calmness is maintained in his steadfast commitment to his principles. He is methodical, to a degree that levels him instead of stressing him out.

“I have to do X, Y, and Z, “ he says, hypothesizing. “So I will do X, Y, and Z. But I can't get myself twisted up in the fact that maybe X won’t turn out the way I want it to, or Z won't,” he shrugs. “Don't let it overwhelm you.”

Next year, Aadir will attend Columbia Law School.

Eventually, he dreams to be a judge. While his goals are lofty, his journey towards them is remarkably grounded: “Work towards that end goal without getting too caught up in the pathway.”

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Vivian Dai

Farmers markets, computer science—Vivian does it all, but she wants you to quit.

BEATRICE FORMAN

Vivian Dai (C ’19) is the kind of person who would order dessert at the bar. She sits with her legs crossed, hands moving frantically, telling a story about the time her urban studies professor invited his class out for drinks. Instead of alcohol, which she claims causes her signature flush and a litany of blotches, she opted for a large piece of layer cake.

“It was the best decision I ever made,” she jokes, her eyes darting to the side as a friend comes into the peripheral. We’re sitting outside Commons, and nearly every passerby stops to greet Vivian. She coats the morning in laughter and hyperbole. Everything is “the best,” or “super chill,” or “really good”—even the things she wants you to quit.

“Advice I give to everyone: Quit everything as soon as possible. After you get to a certain point, quit everything,” she confides. I was confused. At the time, this advice felt counterintuitive, like Superman revealing to you that saving the world is pointless.

Vivian does it all. She’s a cognitive science major with a computer science minor who spends her free moments tucked in the corner of the Starbucks in the Penn Bookstore, staring at lines of code on a laptop screen. She’s a member of Alpha Phi Omega, Penn’s service fraternity, and spends her weekends volunteering at farms or farmers markets. She runs half–marathons and tutors high schoolers and spends entirely too much time on obscure corners of YouTube. Mostly, however, she spends her time searching for the serenity that imbued her childhood in A P R I L 24 , 2 01 9 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E

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upstate New York.

Hailing from Schenectady, Vivian misses suburbia, even if she realizes it’s taboo to say.

“It was a nice childhood,” she admits, “I like the quietness. I like driving.” It all sounds so simple, so quaint in the fullest sense of the word. But underneath the facade of suburban peace lay the kind of memories that cling on for lifetimes, like the ones of her eighth grade Language Arts teacher, Mr. Kavanaugh. As Vivian looks toward an immediate future as a Teach For America fellow with a high school 8

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chemistry classroom to manage, she hopes to emulate him.

“He talked to us as equals,” Vivian says, speaking of a six–year book club she and Kavanaugh created where they would chat every couple of months. His approach gifted Vivian with a teaching philosophy.

“I really think that with teaching, half of it— well most of it, I would argue—is methodology. So if I teach in a good way, it would be just as important as knowing the content,” she says. I can’t help but feel she applies this

same approach to every facet of her life.

Vivian lives with a method, assuredness dripping from every movement. She walks the stretch of blocks between Commons and Clark Park, the site of the farmer’s market, with her head high and straight, never stopping to dawdle or doubt if we’re crossing at the right intersection. Even her browsing has a quiet confidence as she beelines to the free samples at the farmers market. It’s a mixture of sauteed root vegetables, and she sneaks a photo of the recipe before beginning her vol-

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unteer shift with The Food Trust at checkout. Somewhere along the way, we share a blueberry brioche Danish that she quietly splits into three perfectly even pieces. Vivian paces life with a deliberate ease, her days dallying by despite a jam–packed schedule.

On Mondays, she rises early to go to her work– study as an algebra and chemistry tutor at Benjamin Franklin High School in Spring Garden, which she later discloses is ranked as one of the worst schools in the district.

With a low rating and looming controversy over a merger with a Philadelphia magnet school nearby, Vivian maintains an optimistic mindset, even if “high schoolers can be really fucking mean to each other and to you.”

Her favorite student is ShayKayla, who is one of the few to address Vivian by her first name. She has a brazen maturity and sense of place and privilege, rendering all their conversations thought–provoking and educational, even if they’re only about Spotify playlists.

“The other students tend not to remember my name or they’re just like, ‘Miss,’— she just calls me Vivian,” Vivian says, “And she’s very aware. We had this conversation about the Philly school district the other day. We also had a conversation about like music that she listens to and she’s like, ‘You’re really not with the times,’ and I’m like, ‘Tell me more! Give me your Spotify playlist. Educate me. I want to be young!’”

Vivian’s silent strength is due, in part, to a regimented love of running.

What began on the beaten

paths of high school cross country trails has spawned two half–marathons and a deep love for Schuylkill River Trail. She runs it routinely, but never with music, and likes to use the time to silence her brain.

“I try to think about life when I’m running if I’m really trying to distract myself, but that’s not the thing to think about because it’s gonna make me, like, more tired. So I just actually try to empty my mind, I guess,” she says, a small chuckle punctuating the sentence, “I used to do this more often but I like to meditate and practice not thinking about anything and I do it under that second bridge [on the Schuylkill]. I like to sit there and dangle my legs over the river … and breathe.”

With a mindset open to that kind of emptiness that spurs growth, it’s no wonder Vivian wants you to quit. But to her, it appears that quitting doesn’t mean a full stop—it means a breath. To Vivian, life moves gradually, especially at Penn. According to her, there was no pivotal moment where she felt like she could claim the campus as hers. That ownership came in dashes and sprints.

“It happened incrementally because there’s never that one turning point where you’re like, ‘Whew!

This feels like home now.

Everything is great,’“ Vivian said, nodding. She talks with her whole body, head moving to emphasize the quirk of a story or voice inflecting to signal internal dialogue. That said, Vivian cites Alpha Phi Omega as essential to her life on campus and the driving force behind her time at Penn. It’s where she met

her best friend and her boyfriend, gaining a sense of community, however elusive that sometimes feels.

“Freshman year, I was really trying to find my people, like that one friend group where you have one group chat and hang with those ten people. In high school I was really lucky to have that. It was like 8 girls and we just like didn’t care about anyone or anything.

So, I really was looking for that, and over the years I honestly kept looking. But,

I realized that in college that’s kind of not the natural state,” she reflected.

“But APO has become my family.”

The close–knit group touches every one of Vivian's favorite Penn memories, like when she skipped her sophomore fling to choreograph a senior send–off dance in the Harnwell dance studio or when she played wholesome broomball at the Penn Ice Rink. They were even present as she neared the end of her second half–

marathon, greeting her at mile 10 with a bottle of water and a smile.

Ultimately, Vivian leaves Penn with the uncertainty of every college graduate—the notion that careers are as transient as the clubs and majors we cycle through. But, she also exits with the knowledge that a good life isn’t always a busy or crowded one. It’s one that is quiet, with happiness coming in cups of tea, slices of cheesecake, lopsided smiles, and long runs down the river.

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Scott MacGuidwin

Scott’s recipe for success: a fountain pen, exactly eight hours of sleep, and a cat as an alarm clock ALLISON WU

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Scott MacGuidwin’s (C, W '19) cat, Luna, wakes him Passion Projects, an initiative that provides $300 grants up in the mornings by licking his face. During the day, to students each year to “basically pursue anything you Luna roams the halls of Scott’s fraternity house, Sigma find interesting.” A few months ago, Scott and a friend Nu. At night, she sleeps in his room. from LSM received the grant to fund a project on founHe tells me that perhaps the only negative about Luna tain pens. is that she catches mice in house. But Luna doesn’t kill Writing is “a lost art, especially writing letters to the mice. She brings them to Scott “as presents.” people, to friends, and to professors who meant some“Which is always a little startling when you’re doing thing to you,” he says. After receiving the grant, Scott homework and you’re like, ‘what’s in your mouth?’” and his friend held an event in Huntsman, where peoHe pours me a cup of loose leaf tea that he brewed ple wrote letters to those who were important to them. in a French press in the Life Sciences & Management He shows me their new “hype video,” which features (LSM) lounge. The lounge, located on the first floor numerous fountain pens, professional cinematography of the Stephen A. Levin Building, is where he spends and transitions, and also a special appearance by Luna, much of his time, since a lot of his friends work there. the cat. He then suggests that I follow their instagram The tall windows make for good lighting and the free account: @pensatPenn. He pulls out multiple fountain coffee isn’t bad. pens from his backpack and hands me a black pen “It’s just a roommate. What’s not to love?” Scott con- and a notepad. I’ve never written with one before, so I tinues. I ask if he’s a cat person. “Very much so.” He tell him that the pen is surprisingly smooth on paper. tells me to wait while he finds a “particularly cute pic- “Right?” he says proudly. ture” of Luna on his Android.

Scott’s parents have a flower business. He refers Scott is from Williamston, Mich., located around ten to it as his mom’s “own passion project.” Since their miles from Michigan State’s campus. He’s a student in property in Michigan is pretty large and his mom has LSM, a coordinated dual degree program that enrolls bad knees, his family owns a golf cart to get around around 25 students each year. In May, he will receive and take care of their plants and flowers. Once, Scott’s a Bachelor of Arts in computational biology from the parents were out of town, and he drove the golf cart College, as well as a Bachelor of Science in economics around their house with his cousin. with a concentration in finance from Wharton.

“So we have these large fences to prevent the deer Perhaps the most unique aspect about LSM is the from coming in and eating all the flowers, so of course, Capstone project, Scott says, where seniors in the program gather into teams of five, take a biotech product, and build a company with it.

He and his team—who are working with a gene therapy product that would halt certain forms of frontotemporal de5 Bedroom Available At 4048 Spruce Street mentia—are responsible for everything, Call For Details ranging from designing preclinical and human trials to coming up with safety guidelines and investment strategies.

The project culminates in a final presentation delivered to leaders of the biotech and medical industries.

As a senior in high school, Scott fell in love with the LSM program and its combination of biology and business. His appreciation of the program has grown since freshman year, when he would fall asleep in class or check Facebook on his laptop when guest speakers talked to his proseminar class. Now, he realizes how “crazy” and “amazing” it is to have such Complimentary Shuttle Service prominent speakers present regularly.

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I crashed into it with the golf cart. It all fell down,” he says. When his parents came home, he did the, “responsible thing and told them it was probably a deer.”

I ask him if they ever found out what actually happened. “Well, they might when this comes out.” He laughs. “I never did tell them. I'm sure they knew. They had to know.”

Scott is the only one among his four other siblings to not attend the University of Michigan.

He’s the youngest in the family. The next youngest sibling is seven years older than him, and two years separate all the others.

In fact, his brother’s wife just gave birth a few weeks ago. Scott tells me that at least one of his siblings has been pregnant constantly for the last four or five years. “As soon as one gives birth, another one gets pregnant,” he says. “If I visited every time they had a kid, I’d never be here.”

Scott grew up in rural Michigan with his family of seven. He participated in Quiz Bowl in high school, and became captain of the team in his senior year.

All of his friends were in it and he grew to love the “rush of being in the competition.”

When it came time to apply for college, he knew

he wanted to go to a city.

Coming to Philadelphia after living in the Midwest for his whole life, he realized that the two regions are “worlds apart.” In the Midwest, people smile at those they don’t know walking down the street and spark up conversations with people in stores.

In Philadelphia, it’s different. “Not that that’s worse or better per se, but it’s just very different.”

Scott adopted Luna, a domestic short–hair, last August, when he confirmed that he’d be moving to New York after graduation to work in biotech investment banking at Houlihan Lokey. He decided to

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get a cat since he knew he could find an apartment in the city that allows pets.

Moving to New York isn’t too scary, Scott says, since, “everyone goes to New York,” and he’ll probably be living with two of his LSM friends. He mentions how when he interned in the city at Houlihan Lokey last summer, he found himself recognizing Penn people in stores and bars.

“You might not know their name but you’ve definitely seen that person on Locust. It’s like Penn part two, honestly. I love it.”

The hustle of the city seems fitting for Scott, who enjoys “having a packed schedule, knowing what [he is] going to do on any given day, and compartmentalizing [his] day.” He likes to plan events among his various social groups— the friends he goes to EDM concerts with, his LSM friends, his fraternity brothers, friends from his freshman hall, and even a few people from New Stu-

dent Orientation.

He tells me that his best memories at Penn haven’t been in the classroom.

They’ve been in the LSM lounge, where he sees his friends everyday and they write with fountain pens.

They’ve been on Sansom Street, where he goes to White Dog for happy hour even though it’s too crowded. They’ve been in his fraternity house, where he cooks egg noodles and caramelized onions, has photoshoots with his cat, and gets eight hours of sleep every night. These eight hours, “definitely contribute to my overall positive outlook at Penn.”

Coming to Penn, Scott says he expected to be a lot smarter than he, “actually turned out to be … In my first week, I was really full of myself, like I'm hot shit. Look at me, I'm Scott.”

Since then, he says he’s learned not to compare himself with others—especially academically. “Everyone’s just so different.”

Erumuse Momoh PENN 10

Muse works as hard on the varsity soccer field as he does in the classroom, and he's finally figured out the meaning of 'Black Swan.'

ANNABELLE WILLIAMS

Erumuse Momoh (C’19) started playing soccer at four years old. He’d been inside his family’s house in Silver Springs, Md., kicking around a ball—maybe a soccer ball, maybe a basketball, maybe one of those toy balls for kids to play with. Somehow, the ball got away from him and he shattered four of his father’s prize vases, leaving only the tallest one—as tall as he is now—intact. His dad walked in, saw the carnage, and carted him off to Little League soccer sign ups around the corner.

And, as Erumuse says, “the rest was history.”

Muse, as he’s known to his friends, particularly on Penn’s soccer team, stands around 5’9 and smiles infectiously. He insists he’s shy, but as we talk, his more bubbly side comes out, chatting about memes, his parents, his older sister, and Black Swan. He’s spent much of his time at Penn playing defense the varsity soccer team, bearing #4 on his jersey.

When Muse was in high school at the Mc-

Donough School in Baltimore, he drove 45 minutes every day to get there. He lived at home in Silver Springs with his parents, his sister, who is seven years older, and for a time, his uncle.

He learned humility from his family: “staying humble is one of the main things my family has prided itself on.” His sister, now in medical school, is his only sibling. “We’re pretty close as you can get for being seven years apart.”

"I feel, honestly, I feel like my sister has made me a better person.” He doesn’t want to compete with her—he says they took different paths to the Ivy League, her getting to Dartmouth through top–of–class academics and club involvements, him focusing on soccer and trusting that the details would fall into place.

When he talks about just chilling and watching Netflix with her, he beams.

Muse is easygoing enough that the college process wasn’t too stressful. He realized he was getting good at soccer around 15. “I started

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off on B teams and I got promoted to A teams and I never really equated that to me being good, I just thought ‘oh, they need players’ … And I think when it really clicked is when I started getting D1 offers and I was like, alright, I might be good.”

So he decided to come play for Penn.

His freshman year was marked by a huge adjustment—not soccer, but classes. "I think it was just like thinking about the form of how to pass classes and like be a better student … So definitely adjusting. It was hard, but I feel like I've gotten there now.”

Having the routine of soccer, up until last semester, was helpful. He’d schedule morning classes and get to the gym around 1 or 2 p.m. to shower, before practice, then study in Fagin Hall after picking up a Sweetgreen salad.

His relationship with the guys on the team has also been a constant. Traveling, a lot of it concentrated during freshman and junior year, along with daily workouts and seeing each other every day, kept them close. He currently lives with two of his teammates in a Harrison apartment.

And his relationship with his current coach, Brian Gill, has also been an anchor. Muse says that Gill’s approach, where he “sits down with each individual player gets to know them, gets to know their personal life,” has helped.

“There is no B.S. passing by him.”

When Muse and his father weren’t getting along after the end of high school and through his sophomore year, spending time with Gill helped Muse get through it. "I think it just made me a better person.”

At Penn, where Muse majors in Psychology, a few classes that have stuck with him include Cultural Psych, Social Psych, and one film history class with Timothy Corrigan. In the film history class, which his team's goalie recommended to him, Muse got an overview of film history from 1950 to present and he also got to solve one of the enduring mysteries of his life.

You see, when Muse was younger, his sister took him to see Black Swan in theaters. He remembers sitting next to her when the movie ended, dumfounded.

“And I asked, like, ‘what just happened in front of me,' and she just refused to explain it to me. She’s like ‘Oh, if you don’t know, you don’t know.’” So, in an effort to find out, he did his final project on Black Swan. “This class actually gave me the opportunity to research the film and really dissect what happened.” He laughs. “A 1 4 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E A P R I L 24 , 2 01 9

lot of the answers in my life were finally fulfilled. That’s all I can say.”

Now that soccer is over, Muse has his eye trained on a fun semester and his future plans. His dad suggested that he drive Uber in the meantime, which he’s fine with. The deer–filled suburbs where he grew up prepared him to drive well. Right now, he’s weighing two options.

He wants to keep playing soccer, and he’s attending open trials for the United Soccer League with a friend. Muse says, “we're really just gonna be playing it day to day …

Then hopefully we'll be doing that for a couple of years and then eventually find a long–term career.”

But he’s also looking at pharmacy school, either down the line or right out of college. His mom attended pharmacy school at 38, and he admires how “she just persevered through that.” She’s now a pharmacist, and she encourages him “to just do what you want to do while you’re young, as long as you do it to the best of your ability.”

His dad suggested he start driving Uber to make some money in the meantime. He’s visibly grateful for the support of his family, smiling every time he talks about them. He says that many of his Nigerian friends at home face pressure from their families. “If you ask any Nigerian, it’s really hard telling your parents like you don't want to be something that's not a doctor or a lawyer or a surgeon.” But his family has continued to support him through school, and now the uncertainty of graduation.

But for now, he’s focused on enjoying his senior year. He’s changed a lot since high school. Back then, he thought the world was perfect.

His soccer seasons played out “like a movie.” And, he says, “that mentality almost carried through into college. I wasn’t really concerned about where I was going…wherever I go, I’m just going to make sure I work hard.” But now, his friends, his coaches, and his Penn experiences have taught him something valuable. “You can work hard and things still might not go your way, but you still have to keep that same mentality.” So Muse will just keep on working hard, come what may.

wednesday, may 1st

7–8 pm • McClelland south Lounge quad

in the

Come take a break from studying and listen to Ware’s Music Fellow, Ruby Lee, as she plays live piano pieces from Howl’s Moving Castle, Yiruma, and more, with delicious food from Shake Shack and Federal Donuts!

You must RSVP for this event by scanning the QR code or visiting the website below: ware.house.upenn.edu/event/cramjam

presented by: Ware College House

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PENN 10

SAM KESLER

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It’s Wednesday, and Eden Harris (E '19) is peeling an orange.

She removes the rind and picks at the pith until each slice is clean, then breaks them in half to eat them. We’re talking at the Penn First (First–Generation Low–Income) Town Hall, which is far less formal than it sounds. Today, we’re making lip scrubs out of brown sugar and coconut oil. There are apples and oranges for people to eat on the table, and everyone is making idle chit–chat.

Eden has wavy, auburn hair, speaks in a low voice, and smiles constantly, especially when she’s talking about her friends. As the social chair of Penn First, she has the challenge of catering events to what people need while sticking to a cheap budget. She recently needed to make an activity for everyone to help with self–care. While she could have used the budget Penn First has, she thought of another idea.

"I wanted the theme to be ‘self–care doesn’t have to be cost– prohibitive,' she tells me, "So I stored all these old jam jars that I had, washed them out, and basically had these 'compliment jars.' If you’re having a good day, or something good happens, you write down, like, 'I just aced my quiz!’ and throw it in there.

And if you’re having a bad day, you fish for something and pull something out, and you’re reminded like, you’ve accomplished a lot! You’re at Penn, you’re studying what you want, whatever it may be. Or even just like, ‘My hair looked really good today,'" she says with a sly smile.

Re–using jars is key to the idea as well; Eden cares a lot about the environment, which often goes hand–in–hand with being aware of cost. Another event she recently put on was a “semi in– formal,” where they got a room in ARCH and served pasta, played music, and hung out. The dress code was nonexistent; some people arrived in dresses and high heels, others in t–shirts and shorts.

Maintaining the social side of the First–Generation Low– Income students at Penn is no easy task, but for Eden, being able to provide help to those who need it is incredibly important. She is also part of the Netter Center’s Moelis Access Science (MAS), which works with STEM students in West Philly schools.

“It’s a bit of a strange feeling for me,” she says, “Because a lot of the students in these schools are from similar socioeconomic backgrounds to me. But I grew up, like, ten miles away from here and in a very different school district.” She’s in an administrative position now, but when she worked directly with the kids, they would often tell her they hadn’t eaten in days.

“I never knew how to respond to those things, because I so was that kid. I really was. You’re waiting on your food stamps, it’s not gonna be deposited for another three days. Your parents can’t buy food. It’s not lunchtime yet. 99% of the students in these schools are on free–and–reduced lunch, and I was [too] my whole life.”

Eden had to learn how to support not only herself, but also those around her. Growing up, her home dynamic was severely affected by her parents’ mental illness, which led to near homelessness at times, and having to take care of her sister, who has a learning disorder. She managed with some help from her high school friends, but also had to take care of herself at times.

“I learned to be my own role model, but also the person cheering myself on from the sidelines.”

Part of that was asking for help when she needed it. In her junior year, her parents were on the brink of homelessness again.

Eden felt helpless, and considered dropping out to go back home.

She spoke with an advisor in the Engineering department, who emailed her professors explaining the situation. Her French

professor reached out and offered her an open ear.

“Normally, I politely decline that stuff left–and–right. I didn’t really like to talk to people about these things, because I was a little ashamed of it, but also grew up never really talking to people about my feelings, so I wasn’t really used to it. Basically, I don’t know what changed in my brain, but I was like, ‘You know what? Yeah, I’ll take you up on that. Like, I’d love to talk to you in your office sometime.’ And we ended up hardcore bonding over similar life experiences.”

That professor, Mélanie Péron, ended up being a mentor for Eden and coached her through the rest of the school year. She encouraged Eden to look into a summer abroad opportunity in France that ended up being incredibly formative for her, but also distilled her Penn experience.

“That was one of the most polarized experiences I’ve ever had, because everyone who went on that trip was able to front $10,000, or they were on a significant–enough amount of financial aid that it basically was like what they would have paid in rent somewhere. […] When I got there, I would go get a 99 cent baguette every day, and that was like my lunch. One kid on the trip was like, ‘I heard this town has a Michelin–star restaurant. I already made reservations.’”

She and the other financially–assisted students became closer,and found ways to save on things like food and activities.

They spent their time walking in parks, going to museums on free days, and laughing about the rest of the group, who they called "the Tourists." "That’s what they were doing!” she laughs, "They were very much there to see the, not the sights that we were seeing, but the sights as in the shopping mall. And I didn’t get it, cuz I was like, 'I'm pretty sure you can find those pants on the internet anywhere.'"

"They came there for the experience they wanted to have and they had it."

On that trip, Eden met her friend India Allen (C ’21) while waiting over three hours before they could leave the customs line at the French airport. India tells me, “I saw that she was wearing Penn gear, and I was like ‘Ayyy, are you headed to this program?’

And we just hit it off.”

India was also worried about the cost of the trip, being FGLI as well, and nervous about fitting in with the rich people on the trip. But being from similar backgrounds, Eden helped put India at ease and made the trip that much more comfortable.

“She’s let me sleep on her couch before, when I didn’t have a place to stay,” India says of their friendship. “I know she really cares about people, too. Just with her involvement with Penn First, and my personal experience with her, she just really cares about the people that she is around. Whatever group it is, she’ll advocate for people’s best interests. That’s something that I really admire in her.”

Compassion has followed Eden throughout her life. She’s helped her sister to enroll in a community college. She composts while at school, and convinced her roommates to do the same.

She’s preparing this summer to do ecological research testing soil samples. Some people's spheres of empathy stop at themselves— Eden’s has no clear boundary.

As the members of Penn First pack up to go, there’s still plenty of fruit left. Eden considers taking a bag of oranges, but doesn’t think she’ll eat them all, so she pulls out a spare bag she carries with her to take a few. Another Penn First member has the same dilemma, and Eden hands her an extra bag.

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Drew Baltrus An expert in coffee and Philly sports, Drew Baltrus just wants to hang out with Joel Embiid and his dog.

ANGELA LIN

He’s a big fan of coffee.

We meet at Saxby’s. He wears a plaid blue shirt, sneakers, a Penn cap, with a hefty–looking Patagonia snug on his back. It’s 8:46 a.m. on a Wednesday and Andrew Baltrus (C ‘19), better known as Drew, looks ready to head off to his 9 a.m. But Drew isn’t headed to class—in fact, he doesn’t have class at all today. Instead, Drew is headed to Sidecar, a small tech company whose Salesforce he’s run since his sophomore summer.

We leave Saxby’s empty–handed; there’s “better coffee” closer to his workplace, which sits adjacent to City Hall.

It’s a 2.2 mile trek, a walking commute that takes him around 30 to 45 minutes each way. He uses SEPTA when the weather’s shoddy, but it’s early April and beautiful. Plus, his bike’s rusted.

This coming May, Drew will graduate with a B.A. in economics from the College and an engineering entrepreneurship minor from the School of Engineering. Over the past four years, Drew has been involved with Kite and Key, Men Against Rape and Sexual Assault (MARS), undergraduate research, local politics, and TA–ing for an MBA entrepreneurship course. In July, he’ll begin a product management job in Austin, Texas, a big move for someone who's bled Philly green his whole life. There’s a lot to look back on, and Philadelphia to say goodbye to, but Drew has always tried to live without regrets.

As we walk, he tells me about single origin coffee and roasting processes and how he prefers Ethiopian beans from the Yirgacheffe region because of how light and tea– like they brew. “I like coffee a lot,” he admits, which is a bit of an understatement. He tells me that he’s leaving for Austin during Memorial Day Weekend—he’ll take a road trip

A P R I L 24 , 2 01 9 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 1 9

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with his girlfriend of five years and the poodle, Jojo, they spontaneously got over Christmas. They’ll stop in Louisville for the distilleries, Memphis for the country music, Dallas for the family.

Drew doesn’t have any major post–graduation travel plans, but ideally, he’d be on the first plane to the Galápagos. “Really dorky,” he acknowledges, but he wants to see the finches and stand in a place not “touched by man.” He’s a big fan of nature—the pure, the preserved.

For someone so into nature, isn’t Philly a bit shabby in terms of green space?

Drew’s hand flies up, poised to correct. “See!” he declares, with the force of a native Philadelphian, “Philadelphia actually has some of the most green space for a big city. I’m just standing up for my city.” There’s Fairmount Park; Wissahickon Valley Park is great for hiking. Even Penn Park is good for the occasional pick–up soccer game.

When we pass one of the many Starbucks on Penn’s campus, Drew tells me that he’s thankful for the path that Starbucks paved—“they educated a lot of people about coffee”—but his true vote lies with his wallet. Starbucks does not have his true vote. Metropolitan Bakery or United By Blue are Drew’s campus go–to’s, but the real good stuff is downtown.

Drew is downtown pretty often, or at the very least, not at Penn; he estimates that he spends 75% of his waking hours off campus.

“I have two lives, it feels like sometimes,” he says. There’s his job, which takes him down to Center City three out of five weekdays. Drew hangs out with a lot of his high school friends too, who are based around Fishtown and East Passyunk; his girlfriend graduated from Swarthmore College last year and works in the area too.

Although he’ll be 1,600 miles from home in a month, “Philly will always be a part of me,” Drew says. “It’s goodbye right now, but it’s not forever.” He’ll miss the sports, the culture, even the pickle bar and milkshakes at Joe’s Steaks in Fishtown. “I feel sad that a lot of students don’t get out and explore and fall in love with the city,” Drew adds. It can be a bit frustrating when friends only want to go to the same “six places around campus.”

Drew’s college experience is distinctly shaped by his love for the city, but he hadn’t always wanted to come to Penn.

He’s lived in Norristown his whole life, a suburb half an hour northwest of Penn, and was “looking at schools very far from Philadelphia. [He] wanted to leave.” His top picks were New York University and Claremont McKenna College in California. “But I’m very happy I didn’t go to California,” he clarifies. “I don’t have California vibes.”

At his parents’ bidding, Drew took the train in to Penn the October of his senior year. While on campus, he “found twenty dollars on the ground, which is pretty cool. I guess it paid for part of my application.” He ended up applying early decision.

Drew lived in Riepe College House his freshman year as part of the Integrated Studies Program. There, he met his hallmate Andrea Barreras, C ‘19, who would later become

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one of his closest friends at Penn.

Andrea recalls meeting Drew on the first day of school.

“He kind of stumbles around from this soccer accident he had. And I thought he was just the frattiest person ever,” she says (“funny in retrospect,” because Drew had come into college intent on not joining Greek life). They started chatting about “philosophy, I think. Then he built this bookshelf for my room, and I was like, huh. Interesting.”

Freshman year was no cakewalk; “a lot of kids in college don’t have a full understanding of their sense of self yet.

And I was really interested in that ‘see and be seen’ crowd,” Drew admits. Freshman identity crisis aside, college is “linearly going well.”

We enter the La Colombe on 19th Street—it’s bustling at 9:20 a.m., with lots of suits milling about with their lattes.

Dimly lit, too, just like Elixr Coffee—another one of Drew’s Center City faves. He files into line and adds money to his cash card—“I get a dollar off at every coffee shop,” he explains.

As he waits, Drew tells me some of his funkier moments at Penn. Like that time he ran into Hasan Minhaj near the Inn at Penn, where Minhaj had been staying for the Democratic National Convention. Minhaj had asked him for directions to HipCityVeg. Drew, of course, complied, then told Minhaj how much he loved him and his work. “So, like, I’m taking all responsibility for why he has a Netflix show,” Drew laughs. He turns to the barista.

“Can I do a pure black and chocolate croissant?” he asks.

Drew wasn’t there when Minhaj gave a talk at Penn. “I haven’t done a lot of the SPEC events when they do talks with people, and I talk about how they’re great on tours, but I’ve just never gone to any of them.” He’s a bit miffed that he missed Queer Eye’s Antoni Porowski last month; he’s a recent convert to the show. “I was like, I’m not going to watch this. I don’t get it. I don’t need to watch a makeover show.” Drew shakes his head. “And it’s so awesome.”

Still, nothing compares to what happened to him earlier this year. “I was walking back to work after I got a coffee,” Drew describes, “and he was getting in his car ‘cause he lives in the building next to where I work. There was no on else in the street at all!”

The ‘he’ in question? Only “the hero of my life,” Philadelphia 76ers’ center Joel Embiid.

“I named my dog after him,” Drew admits, which is crazy because the goldendoodle that basketball star Joel got last month looks nearly identical to Drew's dog. Embiid's dog is unfortunately not named Drew—“that would be really weird; also Drew is kind of a weird dog name, it’s almost like too much of a person.”

Coffee and bagged croissant in his left hand, we stroll onto Chestnut Street.

“I don’t know if he reads 34th Street, but if he does—”, Drew lifts the voice recorder closer to his mouth; he clearly has something important to impart. He addresses Embiid directly: “we should be dog best friends. I know I’m leaving soon, but any time you’re in Austin, you have a place to stay.”

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Isabella Anastassoff Isabella, business maven, lives by the mantra: "Chicago doesn't believe in tears."

DANIEL BULPITT “I’ve only cried tears of pure joy two times in my life: one would be getting into Wharton, and the other would be getting my McKinsey offer,” Isabella Anastasoff (W '19) says, raking her hands through her hair, fighting the wind. “I hate to tie my highest high...of Penn to career only,” she insists, while sighing somewhat halfheartedly. I find this admission surprising because she truly loves business.

For Isabella, pitching to venture capitalists was something she learned at an MIT summer program in 10th grade. She works part–time at a private equity shop here in Philly while finishing senior year. She’d even qualify an anthropology course on “the study of corporate cultures” as her class most “off the beaten path.”

Born to two Bulgarian immigrants living in Southwest Chicago, her early childhood wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. Her dad suddenly left the picture when she was two while her mom was still completing her residency to become a pediatrician.

She tells me, though, that “Chicago doesn’t believe in tears,” a saying that she repeats several times during our conversation when talking about some more difficult topics.

Her mom raised her to be tenacious. A sort of self–assured, focused, but not overconfident rigor underpins Isabella’s words, perhaps influenced by her mom’s own drive while juggling a small child, a job, and residency. She also speaks with a sort of gentle, almost breathy voice. “Picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and figuring it out,” she says, explaining the maxim, “you just have to figure out like, tears, cry it out yeah, but then you have to pick yourself up again.”

When talking to Isabella, it’s clear that her zeal for business has a lot to do with her mother and this “Chicago doesn’t believe in tears” mindset. She describes one time when she was anxious about taking the ACT in high school, her mom took her on a drive through downtown Chicago to ease her nerves.

Coasting through traffic at sunset, taking in the might of skyscrapers and glamorous urban life, the car rides with her mom helped her “get motivated to work hard so [I] can live in one of those penthouses and work in one of those buildings.” She still loves Chicago, a city she even plans on returning to after Penn.

Isabella’s résumé is pretty impressive. Inspired

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“I’ve only cried tears of pure joy two times in my life: one would be getting into Wharton, and the other would be getting my McKinsey offer.” by the sacrifices her mom had to make in order to raise her, she is the type of person who wants to suck the marrow from her time at Wharton.

She’s concentrating in finance, statistics, and marketing—a mix directed partly by her affinity for private equity, and partly by a professor who told her that statistics is integral to the future of business. She also is a member of MUSE and Ivy Capital Management.

But Isabella also lacks the hardened veneer so many post–OCR Whartonites have. She lights up when talking about mentoring the younger members of MUSE and expresses disgust at some of the over–competitive tactics others have used to get ahead—like telling her the wrong room number for an information session on purpose. Although her “Chicago doesn’t believe in tears” mindset may seem like a tough front, she talks about her friends with affection, chuckling 2 2 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E A P R I L 24 , 2 01 9

as she fumbles through a story about how she and a friend bonded over typifying the drunk people at Center City Sips during the summer.

It’s this kind of subtle jubilance that makes Isabella’s biggest regret of Penn inspire a similarly subtle sense of wistfulness. She feels like her social life here exists in flux between a collection of smaller, one–on–one friendships, instead of being structured by a large friend group. That’s not to say she doesn’t appreciate the friends she has, Isabella assures me, but rather that she feels as though she didn’t really choose to join any social club in college that could be just for fun. Instead, she says, “academics, and opportunities, and things that you could put on a résumé were what came first because so many sacrifices had to be made on my mom's side in order for me to come here.”

What clubs might Isabella have wanted to

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join? Well, kickboxing or beach volleyball, for starters. She loves the high–energy release associated with either sport, perhaps as an outlet for some stress accumulated through her studies.

What’s more, her love for beach volleyball emerges from somewhat of a friendship meet cute. It starts like this: Isabella stayed on campus freshman summer, and was introduced to Meghan through a mutual friend.

Meghan, who loves beach volleyball, asks Isabella to play on Drexel’s sand courts one evening after hearing that she’s played before on vacation. What follows is what would become, and still is, a regular date. Any time they have a free afternoon, they walk over to the sand courts on Lancaster and play pickup games.

The best thing about the courts, she says, is that they’re open until, like, 11 p.m., so in the summer they can play well into the evening; far better than Sigma Chi’s court on campus. As she tells me all about the rules of beach volleyball on the sidelines of Drexel’s courts, Isabella points at some shirtless guys in the middle of a volley at the far side with a grin, adding “and we can hold our

own against pretty much anyone now, we even almost entered a beach volleyball competition in New Jersey.”

So, what lies in the future for Isabella? It really depends on what you mean. Professionally, she starts at McKinsey in Chicago after summer ends. Romantically, she has a long–distance boyfriend who just happens to be moving to the Windy City around then as well. And, on the side, she wants to start an Instagram for women entering and navigating professional development, inspired by her own mentors who have helped her her penchant for lifting up others. Maybe she’ll pursue private equity or exercise her entrepreneurial desires in the long term. Her interests are deep and varied, while also focused mostly on professional success.

One thing is for certain, though. Isabella isn’t really looking back. I picture her twenty years from now, living in Chicago, on a drive through the city she knows as home. Her mom is with her. Maybe Isabella’s stressed about closing some big deal or maybe it’s something else.

But, her mom is telling her, “Isabella, Chicago doesn’t believe in tears.”

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Jackson Betz The bells player and self–described architecture nerd reflects on his bumpy and enlightening journey at Penn, and the personal connections he’s made.

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No ordinary person would admit they were obsessed with bridges as a kid or filled camera rolls with pictures of interesting–looking fire hydrants. But as Jackson Betz (C ‘19) tells me about his quirky childhood passions, it becomes clear that he was no ordinary kid.

In elementary school, Jackson was a big fan of covered bridges, which he explains are wooden bridges that have walls and a roof to protect the wood from wind and rain. His current Facebook cover photo is a photograph slide of a covered bridge in Wabank, Pennsylvania, which he discovered on eBay. “People take pictures of them,” he explains. “Mostly sixty–five–year–old couples who are retired, spending their twilight years in New Hampshire and wanting to enjoy some fall scenery. Plus

some nine–year–old loser from the Philadelphia suburbs.”

He chuckles at this, his soft voice bursting out into shy but genuine laughter. Jackson is tall, lanky, and blond, and wears circular black glasses. I first meet him in the Penn Band Room of the Platt Performing Arts House.

It’s 5 p.m., one hour before the usual Monday rehearsal starts. There are only a few Penn Band members in the room at this point, but Jackson says hi to almost everyone who comes in.

The first thing we talk about is his major, which is what leads to his happy tangent on covered bridges.

Jackson has a passion for architecture and transportation, and he loves to study “the way people move from place to place.” One field he’s interested in is traffic engineering, which he says

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addresses problems that are crucial to everyday life. Everybody has to go through traffic, and the shape of an intersection or the length of a red light can mean the difference between a clear road and one congested for miles.

But even though Jackson wants to work with roads and buildings, architecture is just his minor. He tells me that he was 100% sure he would major in the field when he got to college, but Penn and campus life in general had more than a few surprises in store for freshman Jackson. As the oldest kid in his family, the only image of college Jackson had was the sunny, easygoing portrayal of university life on TV and movie screens.

“I thought Penn was going to be like the brochure photos. And then I got there and discovered it’s more like a lot of time in Van Pelt,” he says, laughing. “Sitting in Van Pelt doing physics and math problems sets until 2 a.m. and getting most of the answers wrong, and turning it in, and not getting very many points for it.”

Architecture at Penn was a lot different than what he’d first dreamed of, and he found himself wanting to focus on a different subject as an undergrad, saving architecture for grad school. There was only one other thing he’d liked as much as fire hydrants and covered bridges: music.

Like most people, Jackson started playing the piano in the first grade because his mom forced him to. Although

he went through the motions, he didn’t really start appreciating music until he fell in love with bands like the Beatles, Vampire Weekend, and Green Day. Jackson can pinpoint the moment he fell in love with music: when he learned to play a Beatles song on the piano.

“I remember playing around with notes and realizing I had the power to play this song that I love and put my own spin on it …That was the moment it clicked, and I realized I loved music.”

It was his interest in music that led him to join Penn Band.

In freshman year, Jackson joined Penn’s Jazz Combos, a jazz music group made of several smaller performance groups. During their concert, he remembers watching one

of the other subgroups on stage and being blown away by the vibraphone player.

Jackson had only ever played piano, and he decided that learning to play mallet instruments was the next step he wanted to take with music.

Penn Band was the perfect place for him to learn a new instrument, as it’s one of the only performance groups on campus that doesn’t require an audition. He showed up to the first rehearsal his sophomore year thinking that he’d only be in the group to get some experience with mallets. But Penn Band turned out to be an experience that encompassed much more than playing music. Three years and countless rehearsals, football games, and performances later, Jackson has no regrets.

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“I discovered so much more than I’d ever hoped for in the Penn Band. I was thinking I’d maybe join for a year or so, brush up on some musical technique,” he says. “But then I discovered a community of friends and so much more amazing stuff.”

One of his best Penn memories is of a trip the band took to Dartmouth. Late at night, he and his friends snuck away from campus to walk over the bridge from New Hampshire to Vermont, just so they could cross another state off their bucket list.

“It was the kind of thing that actually turned out to be kind of lame,” he says, “but the fact that I had friends in Penn Band who were willing to walk somewhere in the dark just to say we could go to Vermont … I thought that was so cool, you know.”

Jackson believes this kind of intimate connection with

other students is rare at Penn, which is why being a part of groups like Penn Band is so important to him. He says that the most challenging part of Penn is that a lot of the relationships feel impersonal.

“It’s kind of a trope at Penn that 95% of lunch plans that are made on Locust don’t actually happen, or they’re not even made at all because people are just there for you on paper,” he says. “People will comment of Facebook statuses … but when it comes to actually spending time or energy to make that happen, at Penn I kind of feel like it’s not as prevalent.”

But meaningful friendships can come out of this challenging atmosphere, and those relationships and experiences are what make all of Penn worth it to Jackson. He recounts a tough weekend he had recently,

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that were like, ‘You know, everybody at Penn is so achievement driven, like what place is there for somebody like me who doesn’t really know yet what he’s doing next year, and it’s April?’” he says. He was walking to Van Pelt to study when a student at Penn he’d talked to a handful of times bumped into him. He was so surprised when she gave him a hug and asked if they could get lunch some time.

Jackson thought it was just a passing offer that wouldn’t turn into real plans, but then she got out her phone and put down a date in her Google Calendar.

“The fact that somebody would reach out in such a real, human way was really inspiring,” he says. “Things like that are what make Penn amazing. Between all the darties and the people in suits in Wharton all the time and all the toxic overachieving … there are some really good people at this school.”

Jackson doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing af-

ter college, but he’s keeping his options open. He’s been accepted to some grad schools for city planning, but he’s also thinking about deferring for a year to get some work experience and become more financially stable. He wants students to know that being unsure is okay.

It’s 6 p.m., and band rehearsal is now in full swing.

Jackson heads to the back of the room with others in the drumline. He introduces me to the whole section and offers me a cowbell and a tambourine if I want to join in on the music. As the band warms up and explodes into rowdy, energetic pop songs, he dances and sings while he plays, the sound of his bells ringing out across the room.

It would be an understatement to say that the senior is in his element, surrounded by friends and doing what he loves. Throughout our conversation and during rehearsal, Jackson is sweet, vulnerable, honest, and authentically himself.

Vickie Yin

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Equipped with a classical music playlist and a meditation routine, Vickie can conquer anything from the MCATs to protesters.

Talking with Vickie Yin (C '19) in an empty music practice room on the fourth floor of Fisher Bennett, it’s hard not to feel zen. Empty music stands surround us. A french horn can be heard from a nearby room.

Vickie sits crossed legged and poised. She tells me about the emotionally, mentally, and physically draining parts of her Penn experience, all while maintaining a calm voice and a soft smile.

Vickie suggests meeting in Fisher Bennett because she spends most of her time now on 34th Street. Between her math minor in “the lovely DRL,” her chamber music classes, her lab work at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, and her apartment, she rarely leaves the vicinity.

However, Vickie does trek to Center City to volunteer with Planned Parenthood as an abortion doula and a patient escort. She started volunteering there freshman and sophomore year because Vickie is ambitious and was admittedly thinking about medical school. But she chose Planned Parenthood because of the personal connections that she would make there as opposed to a big hospital.

As a doula, Vickie is responsible for abortion patients’ emotional, physical, and psychological support. “We call ourselves hand–holders.”

Her job consists of “holding their hand, reminding them to breathe, telling them ‘you’ll get through this.'”

Vickie thinks that being the youngest volunteer in the clinic works to her advantage. “It takes away a little bit of fear for the patients. It’s

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like, this 22–year–old has seen over 50 abortions. I’ll be okay.”

Her role as a patient escort is even more draining. It’s hard to imagine the sweet, poised Vickie dealing with the protesters that stand outside of Planned Parenthood every day. She stands outside in her bright pink vest, which stands in contrast against the angry crowd of mostly males.

“Sometimes it can be really … hostile. So we’re just there to bring the patient in and make sure that they feel safe,” she says.

To cope, Vickie listens to classical music while she stands outside. While her co– workers have learned to unwind with a happy hour, Vickie prefers to call her friends on the way home. She has learned to separate her work at Planned Parenthood from her own reality.

“It’s really shaped me, though, to be tough,” she says.

Vickie also meditates every day. She created a Spotify playlist called “Spiritually Moving Music," which she uses to prime herself, and connect with her emotions and thoughts.

She started doing yoga and meditation her senior year of high school to get out of gym classes, so that she could take more Advanced Placement classes. “But it actually helped so much. It got me through the crazy college apps and all that.”

Freshman and sophomore year, Vickie took a step back, only meditating when she felt especially nervous. But she picked meditation back up again her junior year when she started studying for the MCATs. She tries all kinds of meditations; she uses mantras, YouTube videos, and body scan meditations, which involves feeling every body part

with your mind. Loving–Kindness meditations is the hardest for Vickie to do. The meditator thinks about something or someone they love, and tries to apply those feelings to themselves.

“I would go crazy if I didn’t meditate every day,” she admits.

In the middle of our talk, we hear a knock on the door.

Vickie runs to answer it. It’s a student looking lost. He wants to find a room to practice piano in.

As she is talking about her Loving–Kindness mindfulness practice, Vickie helps the lost student find an empty practice room, and gives him the contact information of the faculty member in charge of the room bookings. She knows the code to every room. She clearly has been through this before.

We start to chat about how she got involved with music.

She started playing piano and

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cell o when she was in elementary school.

Vickie grew up in a small town outside of Boston.

“Growing up, I guess I was, like, super ambitious. I always felt like I had to do things. I was that kid that was trying to take all the APs.” She lets out an “Ugh.” While still driven, she’s past the stage of overworking herself.

“I also was kind of different in that I worked a lot,” she says. From 16 to 19, she worked at Uniqlo, first in Boston, and then in Philly. Her favorite part of the job was hemming pants.

At this point, the lost student walks in again. He’s locked his bag in the practice room. She runs out to help him.

When Vickie sits back down, we talk about her family. She has a younger sister, a freshman at Dartmouth. She doesn’t see her very often, but she does love to give her advice.

“The biggest thing for me is, it’s great as a freshman to take on all these things, but you have to quit when you need to.” As an example, Vickie tells me how she quit her job at Uniqlo because her hours were too hectic with her class schedule.

Vickie is in the orchestra and the string quartet. She

credits the orchestra for a lot of her friends and leadership roles at Penn. In the coming weeks, Vickie has six concerts. I beg Vickie to let me watch her play cello. She's reluctant, but indulges me.

Later, we sit in a different practice room on the fourth floor of Fisher Bennett.

Vickie lets out a “hmmm” as she opens her book of Brahms. “Listening to practicing will make you go insane because it’s about listening to your own sound,” she warns.

She starts to play, but pauses right away.

“It’s very boring when I don’t have a quartet.”

Then, she starts to get into it. She alternates between looking at her notes and her instrument. She uses one hand to pluck the strings on the fingerboard rapidly, while, underneath it, the other hand slowly moves the bow back and forth.

Vickie’s playing mimics her approach to life. While she’s always on the go, quickly moving from activity to activity at the speed of her plucking fingers, her breaths and mindset mimic the tempo of the bow, slow and steady, calm and collected. Fast and slow, exciting and calm: together, it makes a beautiful sound.

PENN 10

Emmett Neyman

Emmett, president of the ultimate Frisbee team, is the kind of guy who will purposely take Locust Walk.

Dalton DeStefano Emmett Neyman (E '19) finds comfort in groups. He thrives when he’s being social; It’s clear from the way he lights up when he talks about tutoring other engineering students, playing on his Ultimate Frisbee team, or how he tries to fit lunches with prospective students during Quaker Days into his schedule. Even his bright purple t–shirt—branded with the “Penn Engineering” logo—links him to a broader community. For Emmett, the Engineering Quad is his home base, and he couldn’t look more comfortable sitting at a small table in the white marble halls of Towne.

Emmett is a computer science major with a minor in math.

He’s completed the Logic, Information, and Computation minor in the College too, but flippantly says that he had to drop out of the major officially to avoid “triple–counting issues.” He’s graduating in May but staying for a few more courses next semester to finish up a master’s degree in computer science.

He has plenty of other accomplishments to speak of, too. He interned at Google last year and is interning at Facebook this upcoming summer. He’s president and second–year captain of Penn’s ultimate frisbee B–team, he worked with Access Engineering (a club that brings high school students to Penn on the weekends to teach them introductory engineering courses) in his sophomore and junior years, and last year he was the president of Penn’s Computer Science Society.

None of these résumé bullet points are what stand out most about him, though. Instead, his defining feature is the way he appears completely at ease talking with people. He feels like a college tour guide in the best ways—warm, knowledgeable, earnest, and never missing a beat. He makes direct eye contact and

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PENN 10

rests his arms comfortably at his side; the neon green plastic on his watch matches the green accents on his sneakers.

Emmett has lived in Philadelphia for his entire life and went to high school at the Julia R. Masterman School, just a fifteen minute walk from Rittenhouse Square. Penn was on his radar from a young age; he had been on Penn’s campus a lot throughout high

school, as his high school robotics team was mentored by Penn grad students.

His grade sent 20 kids to Penn out of his class of 95, which made his transition from high school to college pretty easy compared to most people. He still lives in his hometown and sees people from his high school all the time—his classrooms just shifted 20 blocks west.

Emmett grew up with two

moms that split up when he was in first grade. One still lives in Philly, and the other moved up to Vermont with her partner after Emmett graduated high school. Emmett’s used to being in a city, and it’s where he feels the most at home. He visits Vermont occasionally, but it doesn't take long for him to get antsy there.

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and I’m like, I want to be able to walk to get food at 2 a.m.,” he said.

He has a fraternal twin named Leo, but that doesn’t even come up until 40 minutes into the interview. They’re not too close, as they’ve been in separate schools since middle school. As a theater major who loves writing feminist historical plays, Leo is perhaps the academic opposite of Emmett. However, they talk every once in a while, maybe a few times each semester, to check in or to tag each other on a funny post.

As a computer science major, Emmett is no stranger to long, late nights of homework.

Courses were extremely difficult at the beginning, and he

got so overwhelmed in his freshman spring that he temporarily quit all of the clubs he was a part of. However, he also talks about the tight community that he’s found with fellow computer science students.

“There’s a running joke that CIS majors are only friends with other CIS majors, and I think that’s kind of true," he said. "Two of my roommates were the two people I worked on CIS 160 with in freshman year, and they’ve been my closest friends throughout Penn.”

He’s still close friends with the both of them, and lives with one of them on 40th and Chestnut, right above Distrito. Emmett jokes that they’re

PENN 10

both so busy that they only see each other about once every 48 hours.

While some steer clear of Locust Walk in the morning to avoid seeing an old Quad hallmate or an acquaintance from CIS 160, Emmett does the complete opposite, often making a point to walk on Locust, even if it's out of the way.

“I’m one of those people that actually likes seeing people that I kind of know,” he says.

Emmett says that his friends would describe him as a social person that“somehow knows a lot of people, but not anyone that well.” They would also say he’s funny, or at least he'd like to think that, he says as his eyes widen a little.

His passion is undeniable when he talks about the ultimate Frisbee team, a group that has become his family over the past couple of years. As an underclassman, the Frisbee team was a fratty environment where he didn’t fully feel like he fit in. But the ultimate Frisbee team under Emmett’s leadership is much more communal and relaxed.

Now, it's a group of guys that hang out, play board games, and have nights where they drink wine and try to follow along with Bob Ross painting videos.

“We have an Easter egg hunt—that is never some-

thing we would do when I was a freshman or sophomore," he said. "It would be like, ‘we’ll have a tequila hunt’ or something.”

“It’s terrible that they destroyed High Rise field,” he blurts out before we move to a different topic. As a Frisbee player, the field, which has been ripped up to lay down a foundation for New College House West, was one of the few green spaces on the west side of campus.

“There’s that tiny sliver between Rodin and Hillel, but its so small and so windy there, which is hard for Frisbee,” he sighs. “A lot of people were sad when they announced that they were destroying the field, but I’d like to think that we were the saddest.”

When asked about his favorite nights at Penn, he has to pause for a minute to think.

“Maybe I haven’t had nights to remember,” he laughs almost guiltily. “There are just so many nights where we finish up Frisbee practice at 11:30 p.m., walk back to the Frisbee house … and we just turn on music and just hang out and dance and party for like an hour or two … then we go to McDonalds together afterwards.”

Moments like these—genuine moments of community— are what have made Emmett’s Penn experience so great.

“Find your people,” he says.

“You need a group chat where you can just post something irreverent and nobody’s gonna judge you. Tonight, someone was like, ‘I'm going to an event where there’s a cash bar, does anyone have a flask that I can use to sneak in alcohol?’ and I’m like, ‘yes.’ You need that group of people where you can ask something like that.”

Emmett definitely found his people at Penn, and his contentment with college is infectious.

“I definitely know that I’ll be one of those people that comes back to Penn a lot," he says. "I can see myself like homecoming weekend, coming back and playing in the alumni Frisbee game or things like that.”

“I haven’t told any of my friends that I got picked for this yet,” he says. He laughs as he hoists his backpack over his shoulder to begin the long trek home and flashes a grin.

“This’ll be my little moment of fame.”

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