About a five minute walk from my high school, right past the railroad tracks where slow-moving cargo trains occasionally hold up rush hour traffic, is a 7/11. For those students who didn’t have the luxury of a car to drive the five minutes to Panda Express, 7/11 was the haven that provided slurpees and snacks
Sitting in the San Luis Lounge, I read over my probability notes for the third time. I was preparing for my first statistics midterm during winter quarter. I was feeling confident at five p.m., six p.m., and even seven p.m., but I—like many students—told myself I still was not ready for test day. So I
As I stepped off the ship in Vietnam, one of the last stops on my Semester at Sea, I searched the crowd for one of my ma’s childhood friends. I spotted him as he stood sporting a San Francisco Giants hat, the same one my step-dad had given him a year ago. He promised to
“Is Argentina the right choice?” The summer before I left to study abroad, that was the one question that was always lingering at the back of my mind. All those that inquired about studying abroad usually offered up Italy or Spain as places their daughter, son or they themselves had been to and loved.
At the age of seventeen, with nothing but the clothes on her back and an ambitious desire to create a new life for herself, my Mother made the decision to sail alone from Vietnam to the United States. After the Vietnam War, my Mother’s homeland was left in ashes, so her decision to begin a