A Letter to my First-Year Self

Hala Jaber

Staff Writer

Dear Hala-from-freshman-year,

First of all, hi. Take a breath. You made it. You’re probably reading this in the car, ten minutes before your first class of the day, phone in hand, while looking over the campus map for the sixth time. I know you’re nervous—understandably so.

It’s the first day of this new journey, the first chapter of this new story, the first dive into something completely new. I see you there with that semi-optimistic smile, a backpack full of notebooks, and the belief that you’ve got this whole thing figured out. Spoiler alert: You don’t. But that’s okay, and honestly, that’s kind of the point.

Right now, you’re hyper-focused on “the plan.” You’ve got your eyes on the prize, convinced that med school is the destination, and anything outside of that narrow tunnel is a distraction. You see yourself, sitting in Tsotsis, highlighters of every color scattered across the table, rewatching lectures and mapping out every step from here to an MD. You think that if you just work hard enough, everything will fall perfectly into place.

However, that’s just it: everything will fall perfectly into place, just not in the way that you think it will.

You’ll find yourself drawn to the things you never expected to fall into—to contemplation, to wonder, and to the questions that don’t have such clear answers. You’ll still love science, but your love for it will change.

It will no longer be just about memorizing pathways or acing exams; it will become about asking why and how, and marveling at the fact that anything works at all. You’ll begin to see science not just as a career path, but as the intricate spark that fuels life.

Further, you’ll be surprised by how much you crave the big questions. Remember how you thought all those core classes would suck? Well, those classes will slowly become some of your favorites.

You’ll sit in Theology class expecting to count the minutes, and instead, you’ll find yourself leaning in, scribbling notes not because you have to, but because something about those conversations just clicks.

You’ll think about purpose and vocation, about faith and mystery, and you’ll realize that the world is so much bigger, has so much more to offer than what you thought it did. In Creative Writing, you’ll be inspired. In Philosophy, you’ll learn to grow.

Little by little, your world will expand, and you’ll begin to uncover a version of yourself that feels more whole, more grounded, and more true.

And then, slowly, you’ll begin to see the beauty in it all—in the conversations after class, the late nights with friends who feel like family, the professors who see you not just as a student, but as a whole person with ideas worth hearing.

You’ll realize that you’re not alone. That this little campus you once looked at with hesitation becomes a place where you belong. That these are the people who will show up for you—who will celebrate your wins, sit with you through losses, and remind you of who you are when you start to forget.