I'm a student at Yale University. Here's what a weekend is like on campus.

I live at the top of a slope students call "Science Hill," where most of my biology and chemistry classes are. On the way down to the heart of the Yale campus, I passed Hillhouse Avenue, which is famous for its friendly chipmunks and that time Charles Dickens called it the "prettiest street in America."

After hearing from a friend that the seasonal drinks were back at our favorite café, I put on my favorite SZA hits and ordered a mint mocha, hoping to also get ahead on some of my class-council work.

In a deadline-driven environment, group meals are my time-outs. They're rare chances to put aside the academics, the class presidency, and the internship rejections and catch up with peers instead.

Over soft blueberry pancakes and scrambled tofu, my friends and I debated alternate endings to a movie we'd recently watched.

There were three photoshoots outside the library: One for a quinceañera, one for the showcase, and one for a wedding. We might've accidentally photobombed all three.

At that moment, I realized the most wickedly charming part about Yale isn't the education or the pretty Gothic architecture. It's an abundance of hidden talent — the shared passion that makes me both motivated to keep trying and genuinely happy for those who are doing well. If I could go back in time to comfort my freshman self, someone whom all seven a capella and dance groups had rejected, I would say: "It's going to be more than OK."

First, we tried to get a quote for a 360-cupcake order from a local bakery for an event we were planning. We then drove to Walmart to buy posters and decorations, blasting Taylor Swift in the car.

When I returned to my apartment, the sky was pitch black.

The first was an award ceremony for my college newspaper, and the second was an annual formal at Barcelona, a local wine bar.

As someone who has never been that great at networking, I found solace in the corner of the large room, nibbling on candied-bacon cupcakes during the ceremony.

The Yale Daily News holds the awards annually in honor of Scot Haller, an arts editor who died at 35 after a lifetime of concealing his sexual orientation and AIDS diagnosis. As a young gay man who holds the same position Haller did decades ago, I found his story more than piercing.

Later at the ceremony, my friend and I learned we had won second place for a story we wrote in 2022, which came with a $500 prize.

Wholesome, tired, skincare Saturdays are objectively better Saturdays, so I decided to stay in.

Plus, I was hungry. We ordered food on UberEats and the night lulled into a gathering of sleep-deprived individuals bonding over french fries and a type of Chinese rice cake. The conversation somehow included the incompetence of King Henry III of England, which someone's boyfriend is writing about for their senior thesis.

I tried to wake up early, but it didn't happen.

After eating with friends at the Asian American Cultural Center, I spent my afternoon designing thank-you posters for the class council's dining hall and the custodial-staff-celebration project at a local coffee shop.

The project made me think back to my immigrant parents, who have worked tirelessly in the hospitality industry their whole lives. A deeply unsettling, but overwhelming, gratitude remains knowing that as I get to climb the rungs of elite America, my parents keep watching from below.

I took care of some editorial responsibilities I have as a board member of the Yale Daily News and trudged to physics office hours on the other end of campus. I ended up making little progress and headed back to my apartment — where my roommates were waiting with a plate of hot dumplings.

As I looked over lecture notes to prepare for a quiz the next day, I couldn't help wondering how difficult Yale might be without my friends.

"Hello?" she randomly asked in Mandarin about half an hour into our call. "Who is this?"

"It's Hang Hang," I replied — Hang Hang is my Chinese name. "You took care of me when I was 3, remember?"

"Where are you right now?"

"In college! I'm at Yale, Grandma."

Grandma took a minute to remember, then asked me how Yale was going. For just a moment, my mind jumped to the overwhelming parts of being a student here — my busy weekends, all the rejections, and all the events I had to plan.

I realized then my weekends at Yale don't have to include the glam, partying, and heavy socialization I once demanded of myself as a first-year student — if they're filled with important events and people who keep me inspired.

I reminded myself that one night in the future, I will long for my Yale days: the cold New England fall, the friends, and even the busy weekends.