In the middle of January, Mariah Carey blasting in the background, I found myself huddled around a small common room table, exchanging crudely wrapped Secret Santa gifts with eight people.
Smiling so hard my face hurt, I yelped as I opened my own -- a pair of white sweatpants with "YALE DS KID" printed on the back in black, glitter text -- and momentarily teared up as I opened its accompanying card, which was rife with some of the sweetest sentiments I had ever read.
As laughter echoed through the room and hugs were exchanged, I felt my heart swell and settle. I had done it. I had found a "home away from home:" a village to call my own.
Yet, though I adore these eight people now, I would have been awestruck in August if anyone were to have told me that they would end up some of my dearest friends. My first impressions of each of them -- which I remember as clearly as polished glass itself -- and the weeks we spent quarrelling before becoming wholly comfortable in our friendships, would have never lent to this conclusion.
After all, I had met Sophie and Max R the night of my first dorm party during Camp Yale, the both of them bright social butterflies I resolved to revere from afar; Maya on the Old Campus lawn, who, in her surety and stoic demeanor, I was certain I would never get along with; Vivian the very first night I moved in as I sat in her neighboring common room, discussing the lives we had left behind and those we expected to build; and Josh, Ameya, Max and Eston at a blurry buttery mixer after settling in to Yale that very morning.
I never expected they would become such an integral part of my life and community, and yet I am ever grateful that they are.
Nonetheless, they only comprise the central house of my village. In neighboring structures reside my cherished memories with some of the most brilliant and warm individuals I have had the pleasure of knowing at Yale -- a best friend whom I met during my FOOT trip, Sasha, who grins from ear to ear when he sees you and twice let me crash in his home when I had nowhere else to go; my neighbors and suitemates, who giggle as we deliver dramatic life updates to each other and offer a reassuring smile at any odd hour of the night or day; my kind friends in DS, who have humorously wept over impending essays and finals with me; and more. My interactions with them provide an indubitable color to my day and my broader Yale experience.
My village formed slowly but surely -- and never without fault or difficulty -- each edifice underpinned by a slow-growing trust, compassion and friendship.
Having moved across the world, this reality is rather miraculous to me. I do not know what fortune struck me to find such a beloved community, and yet I thank my lucky stars constantly that it did.