Four years ago, on my brother’s graduation day, my family soaked up the sun on Memorial Glade while enjoying falafel wraps from Bongo Burger a beautiful Berkeley combination. My mom insisted that I take photos of my brother in his cap and gown, and as he grumbled, the two of us entered Doe Library.
We walked up the white marble steps next to the gold handrail, which beamed in the day’s exceptionalism. We turned into the reading room whose intricately engraved ceiling was far higher than I could have imagined and whose tall windows filled the room with sunlight, leaving it naturally lit. There, my brother turned to reluctantly pose and smile for a few clicks.
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The most joyous noise
I was lucky enough to attend in-person classes my first year at UC Berkeley, before the pandemic forced everyone to return home for the remainder of the school year. When news got around that COVID-19 would be sending us home indefinitely, I packed up my belongings in preparation for a two-week extended break, not knowing that that fateful March 13 would be the last real day of my freshman year.
My first year of college was a great one, to say the least. I was enthralled with all the experiences it brought, such as visiting the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time and going to Yogurt Park on late nights after spending the afternoon studying at Moffitt Library. During my freshman experience on campus, novel social gatherings were my main focus. Although it was fun to be surrounded by brand-new people and things, it distracted me from the real reason why I chose to attend UC Berkeley in the first place: the academics.