Penn10 2025: Penn 10tative

Cover by Jackson Ford

EXECUTIVE BOARD

Norah Rami, Editor–in–Chief rami@34st.com

Jules Lingenfelter, Print Managing Editor lingenfelter@34st.com

Hannah Sung, Digital Managing Editor hsung@34st.com

Fiona Herzog, Assignments Editor herzog@34st.com

Insia Haque, Design Editor haque@34st.com

PHOTOGRAPHERS

Jackson Ford, Street Photo Editor Staff Photographers: Justin Abenoja, Caleb Crain, Chenyao Liu

DESIGNERS

Kate Hiewon Ahn, Chenyao Liu, Erin Ma, Norah Rami, Vivian Yao

EDITORS

Asha Chawla, Copy Editor Garv Mehdiratta, Copy Editor

Nishanth Bhargava, Deputy Assignments Editor

Chloe Norman, Features Editor

Sarah Leonard, Focus Editor

Kate Cho, Style Editor

Anissa T. Ly, Ego Editor

Sophia Mirabal, Music Editor

Jackson Zuercher, Film & TV Editor

PENN 10TATIVE

Graduation has always been scary. But for the Class of 2025, graduation just got a little bit scarier. These seniors are leaving the frying pan for the fire, trading a University under federal attack for an economy in chaos. National hiring freezes have limited job opportunities for many hoping to work in the public sector or research. Delays to the Fulbright Program have disrupted many students’ dreams to study abroad. And plenty of idealistic students hoping to work on Capitol Hill have paused, given the current status of American politics.

This year’s Penn 10 profiles ten seniors whose postgraduate plans are tentative. Graduating without a job offer in hand, these seniors are braving a volatile economy and uncertain industries. Many of these seniors had already secured job offers, only to have had those plans disrupted by federal policy changes over the last few months. Others actively chose to take the less traveled path out of conviction and commitment to their ideals and passion. All agree, however, their freshmen selves could never have imagined their predicament.

This year’s Penn 10 is only a small subset of Penn students facing postgraduate instability. Street met many students facing personal barriers that prevented them from attaching their names to their stories. A number of seniors felt a sense of shame in admitting to their lack of concrete postgraduate plans. Many more, however, refrained from speaking to Street out of fear of their safety, government retaliation, or visa revocation. Recounting the stories of their friends and peers, these interviewees are part of a broader network of students at Penn grappling with a tentative future, unsure of what comes next.

LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The land on which the office of The Daily Pennsylvanian stands is a part of the homeland and territory of the Lenni-Lenape people. We affirm Indigenous sovereignty and will work to hold the DP and the University of Pennsylvania more accountable to the needs of Indigenous people.

CONTACTING 34th STREET MAGAZINE

If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Norah Rami, Editor–in–Chief, at rami@34st.com You can also call us at (215) 422–4640.

www.34st.com © 2025 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. All rights reserved.

CAN'T TEACH TASTE

BY ANISSA T. LY

They’re breaking down the pipeline, and she's running out of paths.

On a bright spring afternoon, Abie Florestal (C ’25) steps out of her desk position at Holman Biotech Commons to sit under the trees, watching first years returning to their Quad dorms as she readies herself for her walk out of Penn. Thick warm air breaks through after months of frigid cold, letting everyone know the end of the semester is approaching. Newly admitted students wander across Hamilton Walk, lost. Under Goddard Laboratories Abie watches them, oblivious to the commitments, twists, and turns that await them. But Abie knows what is coming all too well.

Abie started college off with a rocky start. She was riddled with homesickness and unsure whether she wanted to stay or transfer. Her relationship with Penn represents a nonlinear path of persistence and overcoming. In those early, homesick months at Penn, Abie clung to the longing of her Haitian heritage, so vibrant in her family’s Brockton household through food, Konpa music, and Haitian Creole. The overwhelming environment made it hard for Abie to anchor socially given her nature of being on the more timid side of the spectrum, and transferring loomed as a real possibility as she faced academic and mental hardship. “I thought about it, but I decided to stay because I wanted to finish what I started here, and I am thankful I did.”

One morning during her first year, Abie was running on first–year standard time—aka late. When she stepped out of her room in a towel heading for the infamous communal Quad showers, the realization dawned on her: She forgot her PennCard. Armed with just her shower caddy, she faced her first true test of first–year problem solving. As the morning rush of students flooded the hallway, Abie’s predicament seemed hopeless. With no PennCard and no option, she climbed the stairs to the floor above, where she spotted a fellow resident. With a deep breath and a halting request, she secured borrowed sweatpants and a hoodie—allowing her the decency to retrieve the ever shameful temporary card. In that moment, she learned a lesson that would carry her through Penn: A solution can arise, as long as she remains keen in her efforts to find one.

Abie was born in Brooklyn, N.Y. to Haitian parents but raised in Brockton, Mass. She was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, a form of inflammatory bowel disease, at an early age. The ordeal of finding an effective treatment, jumping through the hoops of regimens of medications and potential solutions, sparked an interest in the mind of young Abie. Her curiosity led her to explore the biochem-

ical basis of disease and would later propel her to venture into gastrointestinal IBD research.

At Penn, Abie has pursued a major in biochemistry and worked as a research assistant at the Belle Lab, which focuses on understanding the mechanisms of IBD and colorectal cancer. Aspiring to continue into pharmaceuticals for disease treatment, she had hoped to gain more experience through an National Institutes of Health–funded post–baccalaureate program—an initiative designed to support underrepresented researchers like her. Now, however, Abie sits and ponders restlessly at the ghosts of her prospects.

The first email arrived in February. One of the universities she applied to was canceling its NIH–funded post–bacc program. Then came more notifications, clouding the horizon of her post–undergrad prospects like an ominous storm: academic hiring freezes, diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives scaled back, programs vaporizing. Soon enough, the final blow came to strike, the NIH declared that it had pulled its funding and closed the post-bacc program at all schools nationwide. For Abie, everything felt “up in the air.”

“

IF I HAD KNOWN SOME OF THIS STUFF SOONER, I WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO PIVOT FASTER AND MAKE PLANS. EVERYTHING HAS BEEN SO sudden.

“It’s really disappointing,” Abie says. “It’s a program that does such a good job of providing resources for people, if they’re interested in applying to grad school. It’s part of a requirement for being in the program—you have to apply [to grad school] within a year of being there.” She pauses and starts discussing the broader research cuts: “There are so many other areas of research like cancer, women’s health, that won’t get the attention they deserve now.”

In her final semester at Penn, Abie watched the evaporation of her plans and then her backup plans. “If I had known some of this stuff sooner, I would have been able to pivot faster and make plans,” she says, with a sigh. “Everything has been so sudden.”

She’s been planning for her future for much longer than it took for the current administration to dismantle it. “I had been preparing for these applications since last year. It feels like a waste of time.” She had spent three of her undergraduate years spreading herself thin across classes, maintaining grades, working jobs, and research—all with the

hope of attaining at least something. “I’ve put all this effort in my journey,” she says, “and it almost feels like it’s for nothing.”

The whiplash leaves her plans in constant flux: “I’ve pivoted my plan at least three times at this point.” Each time she turns, every new opportunity is only a mirage and seems to disappear in the ether of funding cuts. “It’s a month before graduation,” Abie says, “I have few prospects.”

Although the application cycle is over for the majority of opportunities, with each passing week, she persists. “My PI has been helping to keep me sort of sane through all the changes, and recommending opportunities where she sees them, encouraging me to keep applying and keep being positive. And sort of just navigate the storm however I can.” Abie has evolved her strategy and broadened her horizons, casting her net wherever she can. She’s considering positions in the United Kingdom and Canada, where scientific opportunities still beckon. Her mentor’s advice lingers around the corner, encouraging her to pivot toward public health or genomics and circle back to her original passion later. A compromise, but one that stings.

Abie has also considered entering the workforce as academia’s carrying capacity is being funneled, with grants and programs cut, and many academic positions either experiencing hiring freezes or firing. In her search, she attempts to assemble functional employment and personal interest. Yet she explains that there is a cost. “I’m trying to stay within the research realm. So I don’t lose the skills that I’ve been able to gain at Penn.”

Abie has come a long way from the timid first year who first stepped into the Quad. Warming up to Penn, she has opened herself up, allowing herself to get help when she needs it and putting herself out there, whether it is by going to the floor above to ask for help or sending yet another cold email. The NIH’s abrupt funding cuts have pulled the foundation from beneath her carefully laid plans, but in this new uncertainty, Abie is now more open than ever—not just in professional networking, but in prioritizing the people around her. She has increasingly invested time in friends, knowing these moments can’t be reclaimed. Where institutional support failed, her circle became both anchor and lifeline—sustaining her mental health, grounding her in the present. She fondly recalls her 21st birthday, which she spent with her friends in the city, “for one night, not thinking about all of the chaos that is happening and enjoying being a young person in Philadelphia,” reminding her that happiness in her twenties is the least that she deserves. k

BY NISHANTH BHARGAVA

No amount of budget cuts can stop this senior on her quest to build a fairer world.

Though many come into college unsure of what exactly they want to do, Jenna Boccher (C ’25), a former Daily Pennsylvanian staffer, has faced no such problems. Sitting across from me in the yard outside Carriage House, she tells me she always knew she wanted to dedicate her college years to studying policy. “I was a huge freak when I was a kid,” she says with a laugh. “I would have debates with my parents over dinner all the time. … I just loved politics.” But politics can be a hard business to love—like many hoping to work in the government after graduation, Jenna’s career plans were derailed by the devastation wrought by Donald Trump on the federal workforce. Despite this upheaval, her commitment to building community and uplifting others has continued to guide her in both her personal and professional lives.

It’s a warm Thursday evening when I meet Jenna. Before our interview can begin, she makes me swear an oath: “You have to quote me in the article saying I’m awesome and chill.” It wouldn’t be a lie. Leaning back in one of the courtyard’s rickety metal chairs, Jenna seems just as comfortable in an interview as she is guiding first years through the woods as a PennQuest leader or tutoring African immigrant students in West Philadelphia through the Technology and Inquiry into a Multicultural Bilingual Academic Setting program. But Jenna’s calm exterior conceals a deep passion for justice, a commitment that comes out as we speak about her time studying international relations. She remarks that she decided to study IR because political science always felt stifling—IR gave her the room she needed to explore the questions she cared about most, particularly those surrounding human rights.

When I ask Jenna what drew her to the subject initially, her answer makes it seem obvious: “It’s hard to make an argument for why not to study human rights!” Her emphasis on community is more than just empty rhetoric—the value Jenna places on being there for others has led her to dedicate much of her time to service work.

Jenna’s commitment to inciting real change in the world eventually led her to intern at the Department of State. Dealing with practical foreign policy work made a deep impression on her. “Coming in, I really hated the State Department,” she admits. “But I met some of the most amazing people in the world there, trying to do good in the world. … It really redeemed my faith in the federal government.” With government experience under her belt, Jenna hoped to work at the United States Agency for International Development after

graduation. “I don’t really know what happened to them,” she jokes. USAID’s merger into the State Department and subsequent gutting by the Trump administration has left millions in the developing world without vital food and medical aid and has put thousands of former government employees out of work.

Her backup plan, working for a big nongovernmental organization, was similarly shattered by Trump’s spending cuts. With the Department of Government Efficiency slashing government contracts at will and putting federal grants in jeopardy, large NGOs have been forced to reallocate their budgets and considerably shrink their staff. In today’s D.C., new graduates vying for a dwindling pool of job openings aren’t just competing with each other—they’re competing against former staffers with years of experience in government or NGO work who have just been cut loose into the job market.

Jenna admits to being frustrated about how, after years of preparation, three months of Republican governance have torn her and her friends’ career

“

I NEEDED TO EXPERIENCE SOMETHING NEW, THEN COME BACK AND TRY TO MAKE THINGS be .

plans to shreds. “It’s hard. I don’t know what to say to myself most days,” she says. “It feels like I put in four years of working hard to try and get here, and coming to Penn, and paying the price of Penn … just to get fucked.”

But sitting idly by as the world collapsed around her didn’t sit right with Jenna. “I needed to do something,” she tells me with conviction. “I needed to experience something new, then come back and try to make things better.”

Taking the skills she’s learned from mentoring and tutoring children in West Philadelphia, Jenna has a new plan in mind: working to promote literacy in the Dominican Republic with the Peace Corps. A Latin American and Latinx studies minor who wrote her thesis on grassroots organizing in Chile and Colombia, she isn’t out of her element doing service work in Latin America. Still, she admits that this certainly wasn’t what she envisioned her future looking like post–graduation.

The Peace Corps itself is by no means safe from Trump’s agenda. Volunteers engaged in HIV prevention work, for example, are in a state of panic following Congress’s failure to reauthorize the U.S. President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief.

Additionally, with DOGE placing the majority of AmeriCorps staff on leave, many in the Peace Corps are bracing for a similarly sized impact to the nation’s foreign volunteer program. Thinking about what might happen to the nation’s remaining foreign service programs is a source of anxiety for Jenna. “It fills me with fear every day,” she confesses. But despite the ongoing firestorm in the federal government, Jenna is glad she’s able to contribute to building a better world as best she can.

For Jenna, joining the Peace Corps isn’t an attempt to outrun the domestic turmoil Trump has brought about. With international tensions continuing to escalate and the Peace Corps itself being in such a precarious position, such an endeavor would be futile. Instead, serving in the Dominican Republic will allow her to live authentically, applying herself to building community and improving people’s lives through service. It’s a line of work she hopes young people continue to strive for, even with the current tumult in Washington. Jenna opines on the fact that many who were formerly interested in political science have pivoted to consulting as government jobs go up in smoke: “That’s great, go get that bag, but … it’s draining more good people from this field. … It’s scary to think about who would be left once all these good people leave.” Jenna certainly won’t be leaving anytime soon.

Though her demeanor is calm and cool, Jenna admits that she’s “angry every day, still.” But that anger hasn’t led her to give up on the values she holds close to her heart. “I really think politics is a pendulum,” Jenna says. “America is a really scary place right now, but I think things have to get better.” While it won’t be an easy process, she believes that young people taking action really can make a difference. “I’m not sure the government can be fixed, from the inside at least,” she says.

The core principle of Jenna’s politics is the same as that of the rest of her life: community. Whether organizing grassroots resistance to policies that victimize the most vulnerable among us or simply speaking to those around you about politics, she exemplifies how the true root of all politics is the hearts and minds of ordinary people. Politics happens all around us, and action at every level, from the halls of Congress to the streets of West Philadelphia, is vital in changing our nation—and our world—for the better. Though the federal government may seem like it’s on the ropes today, Jenna hasn’t given up hope in building a more just America. “The day that the hiring freeze gets lifted,” she vows, “USAJOBS will be seeing my name—repeatedly!” k

BY JULES LINGENFELTER

Across the political aisle, Chloe Hunt is standing frozen on the outside.

Ithink it’s such political theater to attack a very important scholarship. This is a shame for all people who are already on the program—in different countries or in the U.S.—or who are applying now,” Chloe Hunt (C ’25) says, with a little laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. She’s a semifinalist for the Fulbright English Teaching Assistant Program, and she’s been a semifinalist for about four months now. She hasn’t heard anything of substance since she received the offer in January, the program pushing the announcement deadline further and further back.

“They said, ‘Oh, you should hear early April.’ And then early April passed, and another email, ‘You should hear mid–April,’” she says. Now it’s May, graduation is on the horizon, and Chloe has been left in limbo as to what will happen after she tosses that grad cap into the air.

Don’t get it wrong, Chloe can handle change— that’s what allowed her to fully switch her major in the spring of her junior year from political science to English, with a concentration in creative writing. “Penn is a unique place where sometimes students forget their passions,” she says. “I knew that I loved writing, and I loved political science. I just didn’t think that I could be a writer.” But Chloe found that her writing classes were where she really thrived, and her joy for the subject outweighed any perceived risk of pursuing a creative major.

Her new pursuit of her passions didn’t stop there. Now, Chloe will be graduating with not only her newly minted English degree, but also a triple minor in hispanic studies, international relations, and political science. Chloe’s interests never aligned perfectly with one major, but this hodgepodge collection of programs gave her the freedom to explore the topics she desired. “I feel like all of the different kinds of minors and my major fit together well, because I get to write about stuff that I really care about, but also do the creative side.”

Chloe has found her niche at Penn, using her writing as an avenue to explore all of her interests, from sports (Chloe used to write for The Daily Pennsylvanian Sports section and is a part of the club tennis team) to United States and Latin American politics.

As much as she might’ve let herself be sucked into the creative side of things, she ultimately finds herself drawn to the world of politics; she did, after all, come in as a political science major and has always had a staunch interest in the scene. Through her experiences organizing, she’s

experienced every side of the aisle—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Chloe reminisces on a childhood filled with political endeavors: “I always loved politics from a young age. I think I’m very grateful that my mom instilled in me how important civic awareness and engagement are. Every single night, instead of talking over dinner, we’d watch the NBC Nightly News. I wasn’t really allowed to talk until the segment was finished, and then we would talk about what we thought.” From there, Chloe was hooked.

In 2016, when Hillary Clinton ran for president, 12–year–old Chloe volunteered for her campaign. In her home city of Roanoke, Va., Chloe would knock on car windows and doors with her fellow volunteers, most of them far older than her. In high school, she started a political alliance in southwest Virginia for young voters to encourage civic engagement—“We had, like, 600 students in the area, which I was really proud of.”

Chloe was geared up and ready to get into the political scene at Penn, but she quickly became disillusioned by what she found. Penn is a place known for pushing people into boxes, and she

“

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE COLLEGE WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I DID SOMETHING MEANINGFUL THAT WASN’T NECESSARILY through Penn.

found the political scene here to be no different: “Some moments I thought I was too far right for Democrats or too far left for Republicans. I didn’t really know where to fit into that.”

During her first–year fall, Chloe attended both Penn Democrats and Penn College Republicans meetings, making friends on both sides and engaging in constant debate. “I guess just that intellectual kind of culture at Penn forced me to think outside of my party definitions.” For Chloe, being able to challenge her own ideas and preserve her “intellectual humility” was very important.

That spring, she settled into College Republicans, eventually serving as their vice president before ultimately parting ways. “I was involved until the most recent election. I still cherish all those friendships and really love a lot of people that I met, but I think the party is not the most current leader,” she says. “When you conflate those things, you can lose yourself.”

Last semester, Chloe watched the presidential election from the outside—literally. She was in

Argentina as the results came in. After participating in Penn’s Global Research & Internship Program the summer after her sophomore year, where she worked at a public policy think tank in Argentina, she decided to take a gap semester and return—this time as a freelance journalist. “I didn’t want to leave college without feeling like I did something meaningful that wasn’t necessarily through Penn,” she says. She describes how engrossed she became in many of the women she was profiling, as well as in the Latin American politics that became a part of her everyday life. But she had conflicting feelings about being abroad, surrounded by people not tuned into U.S. politics the way a citizen is, during a momentous election season. On one hand, she says, “Hearing their kind of impression of U.S. politics was quite interesting. And I think it also got me thinking more about what America’s role internationally should look like.” But on the other hand, as someone who had spent nearly a decade entrenched in U.S. politics, she felt suddenly uninvolved and isolated. “I think overall, I wish I had been more active in this election, and that’s going to be a huge regret of mine for a long time.”

Chloe rambles through her thoughts, her feelings, and the turmoil she and everyone else she knows have been going through. She’s quick to acknowledge that she’s in a better situation than most—“I am lucky, I think, compared to other students that are in limbo, that I could always go home whenever I wanted”—but that doesn’t deflate the disappointment she’s felt for her own future. “I mean, if [Fulbright] comes through, I think I would definitely do it. But it is stressful to consider that even if I do accept a full ride and it pans out, that it could still be jeopardized after that if they attack the State Department in some way,” she says. “So I think even if it pans out, I’m not too optimistic, which is a shame.”

In the meantime, the soon–to–be graduate is weighing all her options. She’s letting herself fall down the rabbit hole of writing, considering two different graduate programs: New York University’s master of fine arts program in nonfiction and the University of Virginia’s master of fine arts program, which has the added bonus of being close to home. But she’s also holding out hope for a return to Argentina. Though she might not have the financial stability that Fulbright could’ve offered her, she’s built her own connections and network, and she’s found that freelance journalism might be the most stable opportunity for her now. k

Pivoting from perfectionism to possibility

BY FIONA HERZOG

Mathieu Perez (E ’25) sheepishly admits that as a sophomore, he didn’t know what “Stommons” was.

““I was a first–generation international student that barely spoke English. I had so many dumb questions I couldn’t ask my friends.”

The irony? Mathieu is now the creator of Lucy, an AI–powered adviser app designed precisely to help students like his past self—those caught in the churn of a campus that assumes you already know what you’re doing.

Mathieu previously attended an academy in France, where he lived in a world defined by discipline and preprogrammed days. A high–level soccer player, he followed a tightly regimented schedule built around practices, games, and academic excellence. “There was always someone watching—your coach, your recruiters. Everything was structured.”

Eventually, Mathieu chose to attend Penn precisely because it didn’t force him into the binary decision that many European systems demanded: athletics or academics. In the United States, he saw the opportunity to pursue both at a high level without sacrificing one for the other. What especially appealed to him was the flexibility: the ability to explore different disciplines, to shift paths if needed, and to compose a more personalized journey through school. Unlike the rigid tracks in France, Penn offered room to pivot and experiment. And he saw a U.S. degree as a kind of passport—one that could open doors not just back home, but in any number of countries, giving him a kind of global mobility he didn’t find in the French system.

Once in college, it felt like no one was watching for the first time. No coaches, no recruiters, no school staff, no constant pressure to perform. “I realized I could finally try things—mess up, figure it out, start over,” he says.

On a whim, he took an introductory computer science course. But he continued along the course track, even though he had never coded before, simply saying it was “just because I enjoyed it.” He admits that he was by no means a natural. Taking note that he was average—if not below average—in a lecture hall with hundreds of people, Mathieu knew he needed to do something different.

“How can I stand out in the tech environment without being the best in coding? I do it by having side projects,” he says.

While many of his classmates rushed between coffee chats and case prep in Huntsman Hall, Mathieu found himself drawn instead to the Venture Lab at Tangen Hall—a newer hub on campus where innovation trumps tradition. Unlike Huntsman,

where you can follow the well–trodden path—from classrooms to consulting offers, looking to predecessors as blueprints for success—Tangen pulses with the energy of ideas in motion with no predestined roadmap. There, Mathieu found a culture more aligned with his curiosity: students prototyping, building, failing, and trying again.

In 2021, while COVID–19 testing was still in effect, Mathieu and his brother built a secure automation system for French pharmacists to send in COVID–19 test results virtually, who at the time had to manually report results to the government. The project brought in $3.5 million in revenue.

Later ventures didn’t always succeed. A gourmet French food truck concept inspired by his disappointment with Penn Dining never took off. An app for nurses inspired by the struggles his aunt encountered floundered. But the failures didn’t deter him.

Mathieu’s most recent project is Lucy.

The idea for Lucy came during a rough patch. As a first–generation international student, Mathieu

“

I REALIZED I COULD FINALLY TRY THINGS–MESS UP, FIGURE IT OUT, start ov .

took a gap year during his junior year, during which he had started filling out the paperwork to leave Penn and return to France, feeling isolated and miserable.

“No one was helping me,” he says. “So, I thought, ‘OK, if the school won’t give me the support, I’ll make it myself.’”

That instinct became Lucy, which now supports over 5,000 students at Penn, Harvard University, Bryn Mawr College, and Holy Family University. It’s part chat tool, part mentor, and part survival guide.

Despite the app making it to the final round of the President’s Innovation Prize, Mathieu discovered an hour before our interview that the app didn’t win. But he remains undeterred. “Startups are like life, but life on steroids,” he says. “The ups are really high, and the downs are really low.”

When he first started, he worried about people seeing him fail. “Early on, I did my projects all on my own because I was afraid of getting rejected, or someone seeing my failures,” he admits. “But the more I was doing ideas, the more I was like, OK, if I want something to actually work, I need to talk about it.”

This shift paid off as professors reached out to Mathieu as investors, stating that they believed wholeheartedly in Lucy and emphasizing how this

service needed to be in universities everywhere. This type of feedback ties into why Mathieu loves the uncertainty of startups. “Startups are a good combination of having very high ambitions and very high ethics of wanting to do good in the world. When people are using your product, actually enjoying it, and telling someone else to try it—that’s when I remember why I love the everyday work of this.”

Thus, with the uncertainty of his visa status looming over him, Mathieu still plans to move forward.

Mathieu flexibility has become one of his greatest strengths. While his original plan centered on growing Lucy within the United States, shifting immigration policies and uncertainty around international student visas have forced him to rethink the “how.” He says, “The more we see changes in policy in the U.S., the more startup people are looking to Europe, Australia, Canada.” A recent conference with Paul Graham, co–founder of Y Combinator, confirmed that sentiment for Mathieu. “He said, ‘with how things are now, you’re better off starting your company outside the U.S.’” Mathieu took it in stride. Now, with early traction and venture conversations happening in France, he’s preparing to pivot operations if needed.

As for what he’s doing in the meantime? “I’m waiting for my visa. But the company that’s sponsoring me? It’s my company.” In order to stay in the United States, Mathieu now needs approval from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services to be recognized as a valid employee of the very company he created—a situation he never imagined when he first arrived.

He turned down a full–time offer from McKinsey & Company three times. “In September 2024, I said no. Then I pushed it to January 2025. Then January 2026. And now I’m calling them back and saying, actually, never mind. I want to work on Lucy full time.”

It’s a bold move—especially now, with the looming instability of his visa status and increasing pressure on international students to choose stable, corporate paths. On paper, staying with McKinsey would be the safest, smartest choice. But for Mathieu, it doesn’t align with his goals. “I want to help people. I want to build. I want to do Lucy,” he says. And so, even as the world nudges him toward predictability, he continues to choose the path that feels true to his mission.

“I used to stress so much. About games, about grades. But now, I don’t give a fuck. And that’s when the good stuff started to happen.”

At the end of our conversation, Mathieu laughs, “Did I tell you that now I don’t give a fuck?” k

BY SARAH LEONARD

From biomaterial engineering to clean air policy, Shivani’s determined to make her work meaningful—no matter the setbacks.

Not everyone sees much potential in shrimp shell waste. But Shivani Chawla (E ’25) knows that with a little cellulose powder, sodium alginate and a 3D printer, it can be transformed into a floor–to–ceiling biomaterial modern art installation that also changes color to warn of high levels of ultraviolet light. It’s this kind of innovative thinking, mixing practical engineering knowledge with a passion for nature, that drives Shivani forward.

“Natural landscapes were always my thing,” she says, describing her hiking–filled childhood in Colorado and New Jersey. A mind for math and science spurred her towards engineering, and she recalls being immediately drawn to Shu Yang’s materials science lab and the concentration in biomaterials and biomimetics. “So I applied for that, got into Penn, and my life changed.”

She lights up at the chance to define biomimetics: “Using nature–inspired motifs, designs, and materials for the human environment.” Take concrete for example, she explains. It uses a lot of water, generates a lot of carbon dioxide, and is generally pretty environmentally unfriendly. There must be a better answer somewhere, right? One solution resides in the use of shrimp shells. A compound found in their shells can be used to strengthen the material, all while reducing seafood waste. “What nature has selected for is so simple and beautiful … for me, it’s intuitive. Nature already did this for us, so we can just engineer that,” Shivani says.

Shivani’s introduction to Penn’s engineering program didn’t always spark this much passion, though. Spending her first two years consumed mostly by math and chemistry, she recalls a moment in the office of her major advisor, Pete Davies. “I had just bombed a math test, crying … I was like, ‘Oh my god, this is actually really difficult.’ [It was] way harder than I thought it was going to be.”

She remembers hearing her friends gush about their political science and finance courses, all while feeling uninspired and overworked in her materials science program. “I didn’t have the best time with what I learned in class,” Shivani says. “I think materials science at Penn is very battery–oriented, very materials–oriented, rather than the natural thing I was looking for.”

Some clarity came to her in the form of a summer Penn Undergraduate Research Mentoring Program position with professor Laia Mogas–Soldevila, director of DumoLab Research at the Stuart Weitzman School of Design. Dumolab works on interdisciplinary, environmental, and health–focused designs, from biodegradable packaging to regenerative buildings. “It kind of broke me out of that hardcore engineering stuff that I didn’t like [and] into the whole space of design and architecture,” Shivani says.

This is where the shrimp flakes come in: As the lab’s materials engineer, Shivani worked with shrimp and cellulose waste, which has the potential to become

anything from sustainable packaging to textile. “Anything that comes into this lab, you need to be able to eat it,” she laughs, describing the goop she would have brewing in industrial mixers. Keeping things clean and organic like this forgoes the need for typical lab precautions, Shivani explains, and ensures that everything is sustainable. With the help of some 3D printers, she would make the biomaterial sludge into “organically informed lattice thing[s],” which have been on display at the Institute of Contemporary Art and took her all the way to Milan Design Week.

“That was interesting, because I knew all the science behind it, but these people are architects,” she says. Most of the passersby could appreciate the visuals of the large, latticed spirals of Sensbiom 2, the lab’s installation at Milan Design Week, but it was Shivani’s role to explain the chemically caused color change the material would undergo when exposed to ultraviolet light, and how this can help notify viewers of environmental hazards. “It makes it feel like the work that we do in the lab is actually speaking to people. … I was like, ‘Wow, someone’s taking a picture of my work because it’s beautiful to them.’ It translates science into beauty in my mind.”

Shivani is not just limited to engineering and design,

“ YOUR WORK SHOULD FEEL GOOD AND CLEAN AND beautiful.

though—a class on environmental policy with professor Sarah Light inspired her to add an interschool minor in sustainability and environmental management. “I’m at Penn. I want to use every single school, why would I not?”

It was this interest in policy that landed her in San Francisco last summer to work for the Environmental Protection Agency. “The office was amazing. Everyone’s mission–oriented,” Shivani says, reminiscing on the cozy, friendly workplace culture where people would bring in fresh–baked bread to share with coworkers. It was “a little ahead of the game,” she says of the EPA’s Pacific Southwest branch, but a “very humble, very hard working place to work.”

While her peers were getting recruited for finance, or planning out master’s degrees and Ph.D.s, Shivani was drawn to the Pathways Program, which connects undergrads and recently graduated students with federal employment. After a certain amount of hours worked, she would be able to be hired full time. “That’s amazing, even if I don’t want to be in San Francisco, even if I don’t want to work in environmental policy. I was like, ‘This will be my backup for when I graduate,’” she says. She spent that summer in San Francisco working on Title V of the Clean Air Act: standardizing air pollution parameters, emailing district officials about emissions permits, and dealing with the back and forth. “Everything kind of takes a long time in the pipeline of bureaucracy,

so I was on seven or eight different things at once, and then you kind of just have to keep track of what’s where.” Maybe not as material as her work with cellulose and 3D printing, but Shivani had a tangible, traceable effect all the same.

In the fall, she returned to Penn to complete her final year of undergrad, but continued working part time remotely for the EPA, three time zones away. Then came the election, the founding of the Department of Government Efficiency, and the chaos and uncertainty of the first months of the Trump presidency. “A lot was going on, but I was still plugged into it, because I needed to hit that certain number of hours,” Shivani says. “And then, literally as soon as I did, I got laid off.”

On Friday, Feb. 14, when most students were celebrating the Philadelphia Eagles’ recent Super Bowl win, Valentine’s Day, or some combination of the two, Shivani got a text from her manager at the EPA; an email had been sent out to probationary employees, warning her to check her work laptop as soon as possible. “I tried logging in, but I couldn’t, and I later found out they got rid of our access within 30 minutes,” she says. “I didn’t even see the email that laid me off.”

After months of planning for the public sector, Shivani realized she needed to seek employment elsewhere, at least for the time being. She’s started applying for jobs in the local government, trying to maintain that “mission–oriented” feel she found in San Francisco.

At the moment, Shivani sees herself working in New York, specifically in affordable housing. “I’m just kind of networking around,” she says, explaining how she wants to see how her interests in engineering, policy, and service can be used in the built environment.

Wherever she ends up, Shivani makes it clear she’s going to use her degree in the most positive, gratifying way she can, and she encourages other Penn students to do the same. “Your paycheck is gonna take a hit, but that’s the only thing,” she says. “You’re gonna feel way more fulfilled every single day if you’re applying your knowledge to anything that is helping other people. … Your work should feel good and clean and beautiful.”

When asked about what she likes most about Penn’s campus, given her interest in the built environment, Shivani pauses for a moment. Then, she says she loves the way college housing migrates throughout the years: In perhaps another instance of biomimicry, we migrate together from the freshman dorms on the east side of campus to the high rises, then finally west to the off–campus housing of upperclassmen. “It keeps us together,” she says, reflecting that she’ll miss “small interactions and just passing people on the street,” the most. Nevertheless she remains hopeful about the futures of her and her classmates. “We’ll all be okay. We are positioned to be the best in the entire country, so if anyone’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay.” k

BY CHLOE NORMAN

Politics gave Angel a purpose. Now, it’s taking that purpose away.

While many students enter college frantically searching for their professional purpose, Angel Ortiz (C ’25) has always had a clear vision of the work he hoped to accomplish. From a young age, he harbored an ardent interest in ancient history, but the 2020 election marked a turning point in his career trajectory. Recognizing the power of politics to tangibly impact the lives of those around him, he’s dedicated his time at Penn to cultivating a passion for civic engagement and political advocacy.

Though he attributes his political awakening to the 2020 election, his initial interest in politics can be traced back to an unconventional childhood shaped by movement and multiculturalism. Born in Puerto Rico, Angel grew up in San Juan, but he spent his early years traveling the globe with his mother, a performer in a touring magic show. He recalls how his exposure to diverse perspectives and engagement in cross–cultural dialogue sparked a lasting curiosity about the ways in which political systems influence international communities.

On one fateful trip to Philadelphia as a child, he visited Penn’s campus with his family, keeping the memory tucked away until it came time to apply for college. As a first-generation college student, Angel was drawn to Penn’s strong financial aid program and extensive student support networks. He also jokes that the University’s academic prestige was a salient factor in his decision to attend. “Honestly, at that age, I saw the Ivy League logo and was like, sure, why not? That doesn’t hurt.”

Since his first year, Angel has been pursuing a double major in history and political science with a minor in legal studies. Despite describing his life on campus as a “washed–up senior vibe,” his resume reflects a different story: He’s a senior balancing his coursework with roles in the SNF Paideia Fellows program, the West Philadelphia Tutoring Project, and an ongoing internship with the office of United States Sen. John Fetterman (D-Pa.) in Philadelphia.

As an intern, he assists with community outreach across West Philly and works to build connections with vulnerable populations. “We talk to Latino and immigrant organizations where people are terrified of leaving their houses,” Angel says. “They’re afraid they’re going to be deported, so the work we’re doing is very impactful. It’s very charged.”

In addition to fieldwork, he also helps people navigate issues with federal agencies and perform administrative tasks. His internship has reinforced his commitment to pursuing a career in government. “It’s convinced me that this is the type of job that I want full time, and it’s been great to work with a really amazing

team,” Angel says. “I’m very grateful for them and that experience.”

Beyond creating a local impact across Philly communities, Angel also had the opportunity to gain invaluable experience through the Penn in Washington program. While his peers were flocking to Europe in hopes of fulfilling romanticized fantasies of studying abroad, he decided to immerse himself in the heart of Washington where he could enact purposeful change. During his junior spring, the program allowed him to take courses in the city, conduct policy research, network with Penn alumni, and intern full time for the Department of State. He extended his stay into the summer to intern with then–Sen. Bob Casey (D–Pa.).

Through his hands–on experience, he was able to forge lasting relationships with his cohort and gain his first glimpse of what a career in government work would entail.

“It was a lot of professional growth and experience. I hadn’t ever had a federal internship before, so it was eye–opening and confirmed that government work is something that I really love to do,” he says. “I met a lot

“ WE LIVE IN SUCH A CHARGED TIME, BUT THIS IS NOT THE MOMENT TO BE BACKING DOWN AND COWERING IN FEAR, AND IT IS NOT THE MOMENT TO BE inactive.

of people that I’m still in touch with, and it’s been good to stay in touch with them given everything that’s happening now.”

Although he had hoped that all of his intensive academic training would culminate in working a full–time position on “the Hill,” Donald Trump’s mass firings of federal workers have forced Angel to reconsider the feasibility of his post–grad plans.

“I was looking a lot more seriously at applying for federal agencies after graduation up until the Trump administration started. But ever since he won the election, I had always had the feeling that things were about to change,” Angel says. “I loved working at the State Department, so I was considering roles there as well as other organizations like USAID, the Wilson Center—basically every agency that’s gotten defunded.”

Even though a job on the Hill remains his ideal post–graduate pathway, Angel has become increasingly concerned about the feasibility of obtaining a job amidst the job market’s amplified competitiveness.

“Right now [Congress] is one of the very few places that is left where the people that are committed to this type of work can still exist without being threatened. … The side effect of all of these firings and shuttering of so

many agencies has been to make D.C. very hostile and extremely competitive, as if it wasn’t enough already, which has not made my life any easier and has definitely thrown a wrench in the works.”

He describes how Hill hiring is “random” in the sense that it is entirely dependent upon when a position opens up. Because the field is constantly fluctuating, students do not have the privilege of having an offer extended to them the summer before graduation, meaning that they have to balance their commitment to public service with a lack of job security.

The tenuous nature of federal job security has only been exacerbated by the current political climate. Since Trump’s inauguration in January, tens of thousands of government employees have been forced out of their positions under the Department of Government Efficiency’s mass layoffs.

“If you were a federal employee, that [used to be] considered not only an honorable job but a very stable one. It was one where you had the chance to really be a changemaker, but now you have people that have been working in places for 35 years that have never had any cause for complaint in terms of their performance at work, being fired. … It’s just scary.”

As federal workers continue to be targeted, he has found himself forced to consider alternative avenues of employment that diverge from the path that he had initially envisioned.

“Maybe I’ll go to New York. Maybe I’ll take a summer off and just apply to law school and do that. There’s definitely ways for me to achieve [my goal]. There’s private think tanks or there’s lobbying firms. But it’s hard, because the thing that I had put my energy and connections towards is a lot harder to achieve and basically under constant attack nowadays.”

Angel’s story reflects a broader phenomenon among students nationwide, many of whom are watching their meticulously cultivated career plans unravel under mounting political volatility and institutional instability.

Although it’s difficult to remain resilient amidst ceaseless political turmoil, Angel hopes that students, such as himself, who are genuinely passionate about using federal work as a vehicle for justice will not be deterred by the field’s instability.

“Regardless of what you’re going to go into, what your major is, or what you want your life to be like after you’re done with Penn, don’t get disengaged with politics and public service because that is something that is going to affect everyone: your life, the life of your friends, the life of your family, and everyone that you care about,” he says. “We live in such a charged time, but this is not the moment to be backing down and cowering in fear, and it is not the moment to be inactive.” k

BY NORAH RAMI

This senior once considered herself someone who always had a plan.

Now, she’s graduating unsure of what comes next.

Morgan Faist (C ’25) walked into her lab on Monday, March 31. Since last fall, Morgan had been discussing a job offer with her research lab to join them after graduation in a full–time position as a lab technician. A pre–medical student studying health and societies, she was enamored by the work of her lab and excited for the opportunity to further explore academic research—though it was a pivot from her childhood dream of becoming a doctor. That prior Friday, she had spoken with her boss about the Penn hiring freeze, but he assured her they would be able to figure things out. “I was so excited. I had the best weekend ever. I was over the moon that I had a job,” Morgan says.

That Monday, however, her principal investigator asked her to step into his office. “He just kind of shook his head and was like, ‘I’m so sorry,’” she says. “He almost looked like he was going to cry.” Between funding cuts and the Penn hiring freeze, her lab was no longer able to offer Morgan the position it had previously promised her.

“Like, what am I supposed to do now? I didn’t apply to any med schools. I don’t even know if I want to go to med school,” she says. “How am I supposed to figure it out?”

The first time Morgan stepped on Penn’s campus happened to be the first time she had heard of the school—and the Ivy League. In middle school, she visited Penn for her brother’s ice hockey tournament at the Class of 1923 Ice Rink. It was a far cry from her hometown of Factoryville, Pa., a rural town two hours away from Penn’s campus with a population of around 1,000, but Morgan immediately decided that this was where she wanted to be.

“I was like, ‘I’m getting out of town. I’m going to go to Penn and I’m going to go to medical school,’ and that was always my trajectory.” She worked as hard as she could, graduating as valedictorian of her class of 70 and becoming the first person in her high school’s history to go to an Ivy League school. Now, her once straightforward plans have been thrown awry. “This is definitely one of the first times that I do not have a plan, and it is so frightening, but also I just need to look at it in a way that frames it as being exciting, because I don’t know where I’m going to end up, but I’m sure I’ll make the most of it.”

Morgan joined her research lab at the beginning of junior year while looking for a work–study job on the Center for Undergraduate Research and Fellowships website. She was drawn to its work on substance use disorder and the neurogenetics of alcoholism. When she emailed the PI, however, he told her that they weren’t hiring at the moment. “I emailed him again, and I was like, ‘Wait, that’s OK. Can I still come in and

talk to you? Like, I don’t care that you’re not hiring, because I just think your project is so cool,’” she says.

Morgan visited the lab under no presumption of future job prospects, openly acknowledging that she had no prior experience in wet lab research, but her PI took note of her interest in addiction research and offered to create a position.

“It ended up being my favorite thing I’ve done at Penn because it was something new and unexpected,” Morgan says. “I’m really passionate about it, and I’m really sad that I have to leave my lab. I don’t want to leave. My postdoc and I were both so sad.”

Despite coming in with no previous experience in neuroscience research, Morgan’s lab trained her and included her in discussions on research design and implementation. On occasion, she would even spend up to 20 hours a week in the lab—more time than she spent in her classes. Morgan worked at her lab through the summer of her junior year while studying for the MCAT. At the end of the summer, she took the long–awaited medical entrance exam—the gateway to her childhood dream of becoming a doctor. But ever since she joined her lab, she had begun to rethink whether

“ THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT THE SITUATION IS EVERYONE’S PLANS SEEM VERY tentative RIGHT NOW, SO IT FEELS LIKE WE’RE NOT alone IN THIS, WHICH IS VERY COMFORTING.

medicine was her chosen path.

“I probably would have studied harder for the MCAT the first time,” she says. “But I think in the back of my head, I started having doubts when I realized how much I hated studying for this test and how much I loved going to work all summer when I was studying.”

Her original plan at the beginning of senior year was to retake the MCAT for a second time in January. But, she began discussing the possibility of continuing with her lab after she graduated. The lab was more than excited to keep her on for another year.

“When I decided not to take the MCAT again, it made the decision easier, because I was like, ‘Well, I can work in this lab and really take that year and figure it out,’” Morgan says. “But now, I can’t even think about the MCAT or medical school because I don’t even know what I’m going to do next week.”

Morgan stayed at work for the rest of the day after being told that she would no longer be able to stay on that next year. That night, she went home to her friends, who were all in a similar boat. After spending the night ranting and sharing their anxieties, she and her friends went to a coffee shop the next morning and

mass–applied to jobs. “The only good thing about the situation is everyone’s plans seem very tentative right now, so it feels like we’re not alone in this, which is very comforting,” Morgan notes. “It’s the forefront of all our conversations and on all our minds all the time.”

For the most part, Morgan has been applying to other wet–lab jobs. “They’re all things I never thought I would do,” she admits. “I don’t feel qualified for anything that I’m applying for. This lab really took a chance on me and now that I’m applying to other labs, I’m almost reverting to my old small–town self where I don’t know if I can do anything.”

As she weighs the possibility of pursuing a Ph.D. to continue working in academic research, she’s been approaching this setback as a potential learning opportunity to gain a wider perspective on wet–lab research. “My thought is kind of like, I love [this job] so much, but do I love it just because of what we study and the people and what they have to do? But maybe I don’t like research as a whole,” she says.

“That being said, I’m also looking at restaurant jobs, because I need something,” Morgan adds. “Every time a prospect of a plan comes through, I find myself thinking, ‘Okay, but is it actually going to work out?’” She considered moving back home to continue her high school job as a pharmacy tech at Wegmans—however, those plans were complicated by the fact that she had already signed a lease in Philadelphia.

Still, as Morgan discusses her postgrad plans, she qualifies each statement with the fact that she recognizes how privileged she feels compared to the stories she’s heard from her friends. “It's very stressful and just like discouraging, but I know that everything happens for a reason, and it will work out in the end. It will be okay. I am so self–aware that my problems are not all that,” she says. “I’m very lucky these are the problems that I have, but it still is very, very stressful, and something I’m still trying to figure out how to emotionally navigate.”

Her new plan is to take two years before applying to graduate school. The first year will be to regain her footing and the second to figure out what comes next. “I don’t know if it’ll be medical school, a masters, Ph.D. At this point, I’m not really sure, which is scary because I used to know, but I feel like no one really knows.”

Still, one thing is for sure—Morgan remains committed as ever to the research she has been doing at her lab. Even after she learned she wouldn’t be able to continue working with the lab after graduating, she’s continued to be as committed as ever to her work. “I feel like it’s possible to make a huge impact if we can figure out the exact neural pathways that contribute to addiction,” she says. “I don’t have to go in the rest of the semester, but I’m still going in like 20 hours a week because it gives me a sense of purpose—and now, I’m kind of losing that.” k

BY JACKSON ZUERCHER

Despite recent setbacks, this senior’s love for science ensures that he won’t be selling out anytime soon.

High–risk, high–reward, lifesaving: That’s the type of medical research work that Nico Bambach (C ’25) wants to do in his life. And until his post–grad plans suddenly went awry, that was the goal.

Nico is one of those Penn students who seems to have perfected the work–hard, play–hard balance. He’s an academic grinder—submatriculating with both his bachelor’s and master’s in molecular and cell biology, serving as a TA for molecular biology and genetics, and committing his spare hours and summer days to a Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia oncology research lab, where he uses gene editing and bioinformatics to identify new genetic drivers of pediatric thyroid cancer. But he’s also a prominent member of his fraternity and maintains a strong social life. Despite his STEM workload, he stepped up to the thankless role of fraternity vice president in his sophomore year, has always been a strong asset in the recruitment process, and enthusiastically shows face at the vast majority of events.

Ever since October of 2024, when he all but secured a post–graduation job at the Wyss Institute for Biologically Inspired Engineering at Harvard, Nico’s senior year—barring his workload—has been “pretty chill.” The plan was to finish out his complex degree and spend his last few months in his friends’ company, all while getting excited about the amazing research opportunity he was about to embark on. He would sometimes scroll through LinkedIn to check out interesting new biotech openings, but never ended up applying, because the Harvard job felt like a sure thing.

On a Monday morning in early April, Nico sent the Wyss Institute an email confirming that he was ready to begin the onboarding process, and everything seemed like it was going according to plan. Later that afternoon, Harvard’s refusal message to the Trump administration raised a few red flags, but he didn’t think much of it until the next day, when $2.2 billion was frozen in funding to the university. He hadn’t heard anything back from the Wyss Institute in two days.

“And then I got an email Wednesday morning from the guy I've been talking to saying, ‘We have a hiring freeze.’ The specific lab I was gonna work in had gotten a stop–work order for a $20 million grant. Two huge [research] projects were supported by it,” he says. “So, yeah, he’s like, ‘I'm sorry.’ He clearly felt very bad. It wasn’t them just trying to save money. They actually didn’t have money.” It goes deeper than rescinding Nico’s offer; everything at Wyss is currently up in the air.

“A week out, it’s better, for sure,” Nico says. “I think it would have been worse if I had already signed. Like, I’d just started looking at apartment options and stuff like that and didn’t even look into it that much. I think if this had all happened a month from now, and I’d signed already, figured out my apartments and roommates—and then all of a sudden, it’s all gone—it would have been worse.”

The path forward is now far less certain, but Nico is not without options. “The bad thing is that now I’m kind of behind on looking for jobs,” he says. “Of course, I still have my lab here, and they say that they’re 98% sure they can have me. But based on what happened before, I’m not willing to take a 98% certainty anywhere.”

This job was supposed to be the next step in Nico’s journey to grad school and a Ph.D., and

“

THERE'S GOING TO BE A BACKLOG OF SCIENCE THAT'S ALL GETTING STUCK IN THE NEXT FOUR YEARS, IF IT KEEPS GOING. IT'S NOT GONNA ALL magica ly get done.

then eventually take the leap from academic research to starting his own company. He believes in his ability to turn things around for his gap year and pull something together in Philly. But the loss still stings: “The biggest thing that, honestly, really pissed me off, [is that] last semester, I had turned down other biotech offers—really good offers—because I have this Harvard thing. This is going to be better for my resume, better if I want to go to Harvard for grad school,” says Nico. “Biotech is great and everything, but for going to grad school, in my opinion, I think it’s more beneficial to do more academic–focused research. And that’s why I definitely still want to work there, after all this shit blows over, because they’re mostly academic, but they also have a biotech incubator. Their whole thing is new tech.”

Harvard losing this money not only affects Nico and other graduating would–be employees; Nico notes that the devastating damage inflicted on medical research will have fatal consequences. “One of my friends was saying to me, ‘Oh, whatever. Just wait it out until Trump is out of office.’ But it’s not only about these four years. A lot of science is based on continuing to do the same thing over a long period of time. There are clinical trials that

are getting paused now; ten–to–15–year clinical trials that were stopped in the middle. You can’t just pause and pick it up where you left off,” he says. “We’re not gonna really see the effects for an extended amount of time, until maybe ten years down the road. There’s going to be this backlog of science that’s all getting stuck in the next four years, if it keeps going. It’s not gonna all magically get done.”

The fact that people will likely die from the ripple effects of these funding cuts hits particularly close to home for him. While you don’t necessarily need a personal story to dedicate your career to saving lives, Nico’s is striking. He went from a nerdy, science–loving middle schooler to surviving a brain tumor in high school, which set him down the path of pediatric oncology. His involvement in this field has taken on different forms over the past four years as he attempts to marry his passion to the best possible career for his work ethic and personality. He came into Penn vaguely pre–med, but after discovering the possibilities of research during his first year, he never looked back. So while this job would have advanced his career and heightened his chances of getting into the Ph.D. program of his dreams, it was always far more than impressive resume fodder for him. And yet, he remains unrelenting in his commitment to making the world a better place. He just wishes it was a more common pursuit.

“A lot of people go into health care consulting or banking, and I’ve thought about it before. Sometimes I think it would be easier,” he admits, and at this, a mutual friend sitting beside us nods in agreement. “So I wish there was more of an atmosphere [at Penn] of not pushing people towards that, because long term, at least, I hope I’m gonna feel more fulfilled.” He knows he’s in it for the long haul; graduate school will take five years, and it will be some more time before his career really takes off.

Sometimes he’ll look at the salaries that some of his peers will be making directly out of college and reconsider health care consulting or banking—still adjacent to his preferred field, but with more of a built–in financial safety net. But right now, the fact that he gets to follow his passion makes it all worth it.

“I’m really interested in the science,” he says. “As cliché as it sounds, every time I go to work— over the summer, in the lab—I enjoy my day. I’ll go home, and I’ll just keep working, because I like doing it. So I hope that continues through grad school and after. And even if I’m not making the most money, hopefully at least I’m happy.” k

BY SOPHIA MIRABAL

For this mechanical engineering major, a summer spent of the grid is simply a return to form.

Eugenia Kritsuk (E ’25) grew up two blocks from the beach in San Diego, Calif. These days, she’s counting down to a different coast—the tree–lined border of Canada, where she’ll end a monthslong journey on the Pacific Crest Trail. “I can take a break from being an academic weapon,” she laughs, seated in the laptop–glow haze of Stommons, where ambient stress is practically built into the floor tiles. After four years of engineering labs and job applications, she’s trading concrete for mountains—one kind of endurance test for another.

The mechanical engineering major spends most of her time around Accenture Café—or any cafe in the greater West Philadelphia area (a personal favorite is Jezabel’s)— Shoemaker Green, and the occasional slackline on high rise field. “I just don’t do the whole club thing,” Eugenia admits, but she’s found her people—mostly fellow engineers, friends of friends, and climbers she’s met through the gym. One of them, as it happens, will join her on her 2,000–mile trek this summer.

“I met the guy I’m doing the PCT with in my first month at the climbing gym, just like, randomly. We were roommates my junior year, and we’ve kind of just … stayed in touch,” she says, as if that kind of luck is both obvious and unremarkable. It’s serendipitous, and despite what Eugenia frames as a subpar extracurricular commitment, it’s obvious her social circle is rich with casually formed, steadfast relationships. There’s something refreshingly unadorned about it all: People show up, and that’s enough. That same kind of quiet, no–frills loyalty seems to thread through her academic life as well.

First a bioengineering major, Eugenia made the decision to switch after what might be called “gentle” peer pressure following a few stints in the medical device sector. “Everyone there was basically harping, ‘Switch into MechE! Switch into MechE!’ So I was like, ‘Oh gosh, I’m in the wrong major,’ but honestly, it was the best decision I made. No regrets about that one.” She talks about the department like a second home, and from her easy, unfussy disposition, it’s clear just how much she values the people who fill it. “I love my major. I feel like there’s a lot of camaraderie, and everyone’s super nice and willing and supportive. There have been times I’ve been in the lab super late, and someone from my class will bring me dinner,” she says. “I'll be like, ‘Thanks, man. Fantastic.’”

Despite the coterie she’s cultivated, the senior reflects on her first moments at Penn as somewhat of a “culture shock,” admitting that a childhood spent within earshot of the Pacific Ocean and visits to Yosemite National Park didn’t exactly prepare her for Philadelphia’s concrete jungle. Adjusting to a city with limited green space—and students that rarely pause long enough to look up—wasn’t exactly seamless. “Touching grass here is really hard,” she laughs. And it’s so painfully true. Her words land as a joke, but read so clearly as shorthand for a particular campus

atmosphere: relentless, career focused, and not particularly breathable.

“I wouldn’t consider my high school very competitive. I feel like that’s not usually the experience of people that come to Penn,” she says. “Penn was the last school I applied to. I was like, ‘Okay, I’ll just send my application and see what happens.’” And luckily, things worked out. Eugenia enrolled in the School of Engineering and Applied Science that fall, and engineering was always the gig. Not only did she reap a passion for the outdoors from her parents, but she also practically inherited the STEM gene. Both her parents are in academia: Her mother is in material science engineering and her father is a theoretical astrophysicist. To boot, her brother is a naval architect and marine engineer. “It’s kind of in the blood,” she laughs.

“ BUT, WHATEVER, REJECTION IS re rection—THAT’S WHAT I’M TELLING MYSELF.

As far as her own career aspirations go, Eugenia combines a love for activity and adventure with building things. “A large part of why I want to work in sports tech, especially the outdoors industry, is that it’s very work–life balance oriented. They understand that everyone loves to go outside.” Having interned at Callaway Golf the summer prior, Eugenia found herself neck–deep in data science design, “working backwards” from metrics to optimize club performance—a first taste of the sports world that left her intrigued by the industry, if not the game. “I think golf might not be the sport for me,” she shrugs. Running, climbing, and those dirt–under–nails activities are more her speed.

Unfortunately for Eugenia, as is the case with a growing number of college seniors, recruitment is a looming obstacle. Hundreds and hundreds of applications later, she maintains, “I kinda haven’t been willing to compromise yet.” Her position is steadfast in a not–so–stable industry, which has, in short, been in a post–COVID–19 tailspin—after a massive boom in outdoor recreation during the early pandemic, demand dropped just as dramatically once the world opened back up again. “A lot of these companies are just sitting on inventory they don’t know what to do with,” she explains. “And that obviously takes years and years to recover from.” Pair that with looming public land policy changes leaving less recreational space, and the result is a drop in demand so massive even entry–level hopefuls like Eugenia are told, sometimes bluntly, “Good luck.”

At the same time, Eugenia looks to an equally dismal area of opportunity: graduate school. “The kind of work I want to do is new product development and design. So obviously, it’s good to have an innovative background, and a lot of that innovation does come directly from research,” she says. Unfortunately, post–graduate education in the

United States, as she puts it, “officially sucks.” Ergo, the senior finds more hope across the Atlantic Ocean. “The combination of getting to live abroad, plus continuing my education, specifically in the sports world, was something I was interested in.”

Eugenia had recently applied to Loughborough University in the United Kingdom, which has one of the best sports technology programs in the world, and made it to the final round of interviews. Only one applicant would be accepted. “If I had gotten that, I would not be here jobless right now,” she says, with a laugh that feels like a half–exhale. “But, whatever, rejection is redirection—that’s what I’m telling myself.”

So instead, she’s doing one thing she can plan: the PCT’s 2,500 miles of longleaf pines and rolling hills. “It’s kind of always something I’ve had in the back of my mind,” she says, recalling her childhood trips to Yosemite. As a kid, the idea of it all seemed silly. “Then I thought about it critically, and I was like, ‘I think this is something I need to do.’ Logically, this is the only time in my life where I could.”

She’ll start about 500 miles in, skipping the dusty desert stretch near the California–Mexico border, as graduation puts her weeks behind the ideal start window. Instead, she’s beginning at the Sierra Nevada—straight into elevation, alpine lakes, and snowmelt crossings—then heading north through Oregon and Washington until she hits the Canadian border. There’s a plan to backtrack when she finishes and go south again, but she’s realistic. “Knowing me,” she grins, “after I get through Washington and see all the pretty green, I’m not running it back to the desert.”

It’s not the first time she’s found solace in travel during her time at Penn. “A lot of my childhood was just camping trips. A lot of camping trips. Now that I’m in college, spring breaks have kind of been my time to frolic.” Last year, she spent time in Portugal for what was the “second–best” week of her life, topped only, she affirms, by her trip to Ireland just this March. She’s definitely not one to shy away from a journey. Her brother lives in Edinburgh, Scotland. She’s spent breaks couch surfing up and down the East Coast. If there’s a cheap flight or a friend with a spare futon, Eugenia’s already halfway there.

“Honestly, the number one bar conversation that I always have abroad is just, ‘Can we talk a little bit about work?’” she admits. “And everyone there just preaches work–life balance.” I nod along. People clock out. They go home. They hike. They exist. It’s simple, but her words hang in the air between us.

Eugenia doesn’t have a five–year plan, and she’s not pretending to. But she’s carved out something better: an ethos, some way of moving through the world that feels honest. Whether that leads her to Europe or a half–frozen mountain pass, there’s no rush to get there. What comes after the trail is anyone’s guess. But for now, north is good enough. k

BY KATE CHO

Democracy, detours, and the disruption of a postgraduate plan

Matteo Busterna (C ’25), a former Daily Pennsylvanian staffer, was supposed to be back in Washington by now: White House badge clipped to a sensible blazer, Capitol Hill access pass in hand, and perhaps googling which coffee shops nearby serve cold brew strong enough to outpace existential dread. Instead, he’s here. Waiting.

“I thought it’d be a straight shot,” he says, “from Penn to policy to maybe burning out by 27.” But then Donald Trump surged in the polls, federal hiring stalled, and suddenly, Matteo’s entire plan detoured into Penn–tentative limbo.

Matteo’s introduction to politics wasn’t in a college classroom or a Capitol Hill internship. It was across a school district line. Growing up in Downingtown, Pa., Matteo attended a public magnet school that was well funded and reliable. Just next door, however, was the Coatesville Area School District—under–resourced and heavily affected by charter school expansion and school vouchers. “That contrast was striking. Seeing the difference in resources, in tech, in investment—it really opened my eyes,” he says.

Early in high school, he started getting involved in politics, founding a local chapter of the High School Democrats of America and working on community engagement efforts. By the time Matteo got to Penn, he had already found a rhythm—and a sense of urgency.

When he got to Penn, he continued surging onwards. “I joined Penn [Democrats] my freshman fall, and I was immediately surrounded by people who just cared so much,” he says. “That connection—that shared sense of wanting to help others—it really grounded me.”

There’s something almost old–fashioned about Matteo’s politics. Not in ideology, but in belief. He still thinks the system can work, even if it's broken. He still believes in compromise, in dialogue, in the power of doing your research before you open your mouth. He still wants a job in the institutions that have let him down—not because he’s naive, but because he’s invested.

When Matteo talks about his time in D.C., it’s with equal parts reverence and realism. He describes the Capitol as “the belly of the beast,” a place that surprised him by how much he loved it. “You have so much access to politicians. You see it up close—it’s surreal. Like something out of Veep or House of Cards . But it’s real.”

His most surreal moment? Giving a Capitol tour and seeing the awe in other people’s eyes. “That feeling I had when I first visited the Capitol—seeing that reflected in someone else, even after everything that’s happened … it reminded me why I care.”

Matteo has done all the Washington things: he interned at the House of Representatives, worked with the LGBTQ+ Victory Institute, delivered hearing summaries on AI legislation for Invariant, which is a bipartisan lobbying firm where he forged unlikely friendships across the aisle. “We all did the grunt work together,” he says. “It’s hard not to bond when you’re all overheating in suits and getting publicly flamed on Twitter for someone else’s press release.”

Over the election, he was not only caught off guard by the outcome, but also what ensued. “I was surprised by the first 100 days. How quickly things were dismantled, how deep the politicization went,” he says.

So, Matteo is adjusting. Slowly.

“ THAT FEELING I HAD WHEN I FIRST VISITED THE CAPITOL— SEEING THAT REFLECTED IN SOMEONE ELSE, EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING THAT’S HAPPENED … IT REMINDED ME why I care.

Now that the federal path is uncertain, Matteo’s looking at other ways to make an impact. “There’s a lot of work to be done, especially legally evaluating what this administration is doing. And there’s a lot of value in fighting disinformation, in defending truth. So that’s where I’m focusing now,” he says. Maybe it will be legal work. Maybe journalism. Maybe individual congressional offices. But Matteo’s learned to consider all the options, for now.

“The biggest thing is being flexible. Taking opportunities I didn’t expect. Adjusting.” That flexibility isn’t about giving up—it’s about finding new routes to the same goals. “Even if I can’t work in the federal agencies I wanted to, maybe I can still push for the issues I care about from the outside. Education policy, environmental protection, global stability—that work doesn’t stop just because the door’s closed.”

But, he admits, it’s not exactly easy, though it is necessary. “Truth, facts, entire narratives— there’s so much misinformation. But that just

makes it more important to stay grounded, to keep showing up.”

Even his time at a bipartisan firm, where Democrats and Republicans shared desk space, didn’t shake his convictions. “Honestly, it was more cordial than I expected,” he says. “We didn’t always agree, but we could still connect on a human level. We were all doing grunt work together, and that created solidarity.”

At Penn, Matteo’s experience in student politics mirrored his national experience—equal parts empowering and unpredictable. His time in Penn Dems, especially as president, felt like a home base. “It was like a family,” he says. “Especially that year, when I had a seat at the table—I still hang out with people from that exec board. We’re all figuring it out together.”

But like national politics, campus organizing also comes in waves. “With each new president, the [organization] shifts,” he says. “One year it’s about Republicans and bipartisanship, another year it’s internal school issues or community outreach. It’s always evolving.”

But despite finding community, Matteo never felt entirely at home in the Penn career pipeline. “It’s hard,” he says. “Everyone around you is going into finance or consulting. You do start to feel like the last man standing.” He’s considered consulting—“in the policy space, not finance”—but he doesn’t pretend it’s his first love. “I don’t think Penn has the same connections for people who want to do this kind of work,” he adds. “Especially when everyone’s in New York, and you’re looking at D.C.”

When asked if it’s ever felt lonely, he pauses. “Not lonely exactly. Just … different. But I’ve found my people.”

However, when asked what kind of role he sees himself in one day, Matteo doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve always preferred the behind–the–scenes work,” he says. “Maybe legislative director for a member of Congress. I’d love to work in the Justice Department or on education policy—just not in the hot seat.” He names Barack Obama and Maxwell Frost as inspirations. “Obama for his civility and humility. And Maxwell Frost—he’s young, he’s doing the work, and he hasn’t lost his optimism. I see myself in that.”

In a year where so much has slashed through the pillars of job stability, leaving many careers unstable, Matteo is still standing—maybe not where he expected, but still here. “I’ve learned so much,” he says. “Not just academically, but how to be a person. And I feel ready.” k