September 2024 in Hong Kong was 31 degrees Celsius. On my flight to New York, I created Pinterest boards with Brandy Melville tops and low-rise jeans and imagined how they’d look with Hotchkiss as the backdrop. I dreamt of High School Musical hallways, bleachers packed with students cheering on athletes in bright blue jerseys, and autumn air tasting like pumpkin spice lattes.
My mom and I arrived in Connecticut two hours before the international student dinner. On the drive to school, I kept braiding and unbraiding my hair, which still smelled like the airplane. I was too afraid to ask, Ma, do you think I look nice? Do you think they’ll like me?
During the dinner, I hugged people whose names I recognized from Snapchat contacts. I asked everyone the same question— “What language are you taking?”— and spent the next few minutes nodding in agreement before moving on to the next person. By the end of the night, I was shivering and pulling my cardigan over my pretty outfit. My cheeks were bruised from smiling.
On the first day of orientation, my group played Telephone Charades in the FFC. I watched my classmates smile, laugh, and share looks like they’d known each other their whole lives, and my heart dropped. How did other people find friends so quickly? Why couldn’t I find Charades fun? But I laughed and clapped along, ignoring the empty feeling in my chest.
What I really didn’t like about orientation was how much free time we had. When I tell my friends this now, they show me their assignment-filled Canvas pages and say, “You’re crazy, I would kill for free time.” But back then, after our scheduled activities were over, I felt completely lost. Once, I went outside to play volleyball even though I didn’t know how. I booed when other people missed the ball while trying to avoid touching it at the same time.
On the third day of orientation, I broke. I gave up feigning excitement and stayed in my dorm, stewing self-loathing. I felt like my only job during orientation had been to socialize and make friends, and I had completely failed. Sitting in my dorm in an oversized hoodie,
I let my proctor hug me. She told me she felt the same when she first arrived at Hotchkiss and that time fixes everything. I nodded and smiled, but I didn’t believe her. I was terrified that that I had left the comfort of my hometown and the familiarity of my friends there for a cold and lonely place.
As I’m about to start my second year at Hotchkiss, I wish I could tell my Prep self that American autumns don’t taste like Starbucks; that I’m still not someone who watches sports; that even though I don’t play volleyball, I have the best cross-country teammates ever; and that I have tons of amazing friends who I laugh with during meals and gossip with at night. And that even now, I don’t like orientation week.
Orientation leaders put a lot of effort into making everyone feel welcomed, and I know many people have a good time. But if you didn’t enjoy orientation, that’s okay. Attend events, but don’t feel guilty for not having the energy to socialize all the time. Try new things, but don’t feel pressured to do things that you genuinely don’t care for. Don’t stress over friendships; many people, myself included, have made their closest friends weeks, months, even years into their Hotchkiss career. I’m not expecting my advice to erase your fears, but I hope they can ease them. Take it all in slowly: Hotchkiss is a beautiful school filled with beautiful people who you will soon grow to love.
