When I was younger, I wanted to be many things – an elementary school teacher, the U.S. president, a constitutional lawyer. I don’t want any of those things anymore. Students are rowdy, bureaucracy is slow, and law is not my cup of tea. Instead, I am fascinated by the way businesses operate.

Sure, finance has a rather bad reputation after the mortgage crisis and near-collapse of the economy post-2008, and I’d rather not talk about all the sketchy things that banks have done since to recover lost profits. But the minute details of what makes a company run – how customers are targeted, pitched and sold, how employees are recruited and encouraged, how money is won from investors – that is incredibly interesting to me.

I recently graduated with an economics degree from UCLA, and let me tell you, the real learning happened far from Bunche or Public Affairs. No amount of taking first-order conditions would really tell me why customers wait in lines for days to buy the newest iThings or bolted from Netflix the moment Reed Hastings announced Flixster.

No, the learning occurred everywhere else, from the business fraternity that first taught me about investment banking and consulting to the private equity firm where I spent many late nights running intricate financial models. I learned how to value companies by making assumptions and building projections, why defense and consumer products companies are better investments than tech companies, and why one should never ever in their right mind invest in service providers. Finance (pronounced with an accent on the “nance”, nose up) was exciting and new.

By the time I headed to London during my third year, I thought that I was destined to become an investment banker working 100+ hours a week selling companies to private equity firms like mine. I didn’t know any better.

But London was a game-changer. Suddenly, there were no club meetings to attend, no internships to worry about, and no intensely competitive classes to stress over. Instead, after fun classes debating Shakespeare, I could nap in Regent’s Park, munch on lamb sandwiches at Bourough Market, or wander through the streets of London, gloriously lost. Whatever I wanted to do in the moment was a few Tube stations away. There was no way I could envision heading to investment banking after experiencing the joy of London freedom.

Instead, I returned home in time to recruit for consulting (naturally the better choice, with travel options and a problem-solving culture). Got an internship, and spent the summer solving a multi-billion dollar company’s analytical problems. It was what I expected – challenging, creative work within a supportive team environment – and more. Other consultants took the time to teach me about healthcare, green tech, mobile payments, and credit card authentication. I learned to run on three cups of coffee per day and to use my corporate credit card sparingly. I learned the way to talk professionally and to present myself, and each day, my team cheered me on. It was a fantastic experience, and one I encourage all business-minded people to try.

And yet here I am today. I’m two days away from my twenty-second birthday, writing this post at 3am in the morning knowing that my alarm clock will be ringing in just a few hours. Why am I writing? All I know is that I’ve been struck with this feeling of gratitude and reflection, and I wanted to capture it before sleep washes it all away.

For here I am, almost 22 years old, pursuing a dream with every ounce of passion I have in me. I haven’t slept much in months, I’ve turned my room into an office, and yet I feel so incredibly blessed to be where I am today. Starting a company is tough work, they tell me, and it certainly is. Skipping Saturday beach days to slog through emails and debate strategy is hard. Going weeks without seeing many of my friends is hard. But at the end of the day, nothing could be more worth it.

This company of ours has been built with so much love and passion and late-night ramen meals. My co-founders and I have studied computer science, business law, accounting, and marketing. We’ve attended at least 30 speeches, events and conferences that have taught us, in many ways, how others have succeeded as entrepreneurs.

Travelstrings is a product of many hands, mentors and shapers, and I have been lucky enough to see it grow. And grow it has! From an idea to a product, from a two-person team to a team that is big enough to field a side in Ultimate Frisbee (7 to be exact), we have moved quickly and slowly all at once. Some days I have no clue what I’m doing and some days, I can see clearly the strategy I’m building. It’s an incredible thing, building something from nothing, and I’ve been so lucky to watch and be a part of it all happening.

So I just want to say this one thing to remind myself a few weeks or months down the line: All of these sacrifices have been worth it. Having the opportunity to chase a dream, and to see it slowly becoming reality, is something to cherish and give thanks for. Melanie – no matter what happens in the future, this journey has been an amazing ride and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It’s lovely here at school today: the air is crisp and tingles with finals intensity, the sun is shining, and everywhere sings the promise of the holidays. Even the trees are getting into the spirit, dancing back and forth in a light breeze. I feel so incredibly inspired and gratified to be a student here, to have had the opportunities I have had to learn and to succeed. I would never do anything to jeopardize what I have found here.

Yesterday, I spent over five hours in various states of conversation with my roommates Akiko and Kathy. We started with queer literature, relationships, and interrupted our talk to plug our Playstation into our flat-screen TV (which was up until that point, unusable). We talked about family, school, organizations, and then dove into a rather hostile discussion on capitalism, the American dream, opportunities, and immigration. We all engaged in Midnight Yell, the great finals tradition, and then I finally fell into my bed exhausted, hoarse, and trying to fit Japanese into my head for my final at 9:00 am today.

As I am on the cusp of graduation, I have asked myself what I would have done differently if I were to enter school again as a freshman. What organizations would I have joined? What would I have majored in? Would I have rushed my business fraternity?

I look back at all the opportunities I’ve found in the past 3+ years and realize I would never go back to redo anything. It sounds cliche, but I see how every piece of my life has contributed to the happiness of my present. Cutting out sadness or fear or stress would not have allowed me to become the person I am now.

I am so grateful to have faith in my future and my ability to shape it. I am so grateful to be surrounded by my supportive parents and friends who don’t mind my rants on capitalism and life. I feel very lucky.

Last night, as she bled the paint off of her brushes and I brushed my teeth, my roommate Akiko told me I was strong. With evidence in fact pointing to the contrary – I cried for three minutes straight the night prior – I smiled at her, surprised. Thanks, Akiko, I said. What a great compliment. She looked back at me and said, You’ve never stopped saying you’ll be okay. In the future, you know you’ll be okay, and that makes you strong.

She’s right. While Adele’s “Someone Like You” still makes me burst into tears, the emptiness in my stomach has almost left and life is looking up. All heartbreaks should be this productive: I’ve deactivated my Facebook account, stopped checking my phone every minute, and started re-establishing the relationships in my Los Angeles life. It’s quite beautiful actually: my friends happen to be the most open, supportive, loving people in my life, and sometimes it takes a bit of sadness to realize it.

I called my friend Terry yesterday, and not wanting to scare him, said I was “kinda depressed”. He responded immediately, asking if I wanted to tag along to his shopping trip. I promptly agreed. Sae Hee too has offered so much support – I don’t know if he knows how far a little indignation on my behalf goes, but it goes so far! Kathy and Akiko have been incredible.

I know that it takes both parties involved in any sort of friendship or relationship to make it work. And despite our chance meetings in Atlanta and Orlando, and our planned adventures in Boston and Los Angeles, he and I could not envision a working long-distance relationship. Him because of his feelings for another girl, me because of my fear of becoming the control freak I often end up being. As such, things had to end the way they did: three-hour Skype sessions and hourly text messages were not sustainable and took us away from our real lives – the lives we still have to lead in California and in Maine.

I don’t blame him or feel any anger towards him; oddly enough, I want him to be happy with his ex-girlfriend and would like to rebuild a friendship sometime down the line. I am glad he could be honest with me.

With that said, I should not be sad; in fact, I grow less sad and more hopeful by the minute. I have this faith that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. And that’s the beautiful thing about life and chance and destiny; we don’t know what will come but must know in our hearts that life will burst on spontaneously and with the utmost surprises.

It wasn’t love, or even lust, just pure hope and trust and faith in the future of two people. And even with him moving on 3,000 miles away, that faith remains. Faith in the best future for both of us as individuals, faith that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. Faith that we will be okay. That everything will be okay.

I was climbing into bed, lights out, sweatpants on, when suddenly the thought popped into my head. I’m so excited for the future. Not wanting to ruin the moment, I jumped into my desk chair, opened my laptop, and began to type.

 

I’m so excited for the future. 

 

I woke up this morning thinking it would be like any other day. Got my coffee, milk and sugar at the Italian cafe near the business school, trudged to (and survived) accounting class, studied at the library until five o’clock. That’s when the magic started to happen. At five, I interviewed this third-year business economics major for Moneythink, a student group I’m involved with that teaches finance to high school students in Los Angeles. The guy was confident and poised, perfect for our finance committee. The next person was perfect for my committee, Operations. He worked at an investment management firm and knows how to explain DCF in simple terms (I know, right!? Guy of my dreams!) After hiring the two candidates, I bought a panini for dinner from the Italian place again and walked to AKPsi active meeting.

 

I was a few minutes late but meeting hadn’t quite started so I settled my sandwich on a desk and went around saying hello. Andrew Esqueda, I am going to call you out for adding awesome to my day even further. I am so glad to be one of your mentors, and am already impressed by your persistence in getting what you want.  

 

Other highlights of meeting? The entire Zeta Lambda class wearing their letters and clearly being stoked to be at meeting. Chatting with Trinh, who I’ve never really talked to until today. Getting an orange slice from Jessica and singing our anthem with the new kids for the second time. Feeling like I’m in the right place at the right time to make a difference.

 

It’s odd how the pieces in my life are starting to fall into place. I have finally found how my random loves of problem-solving, traveling, and event planning translate to a career (who knew?!) and joined a trifecta of organizations that I can’t imagine life without. I feel so blessed to be part of these groups and to be at place where I can share and give back.

 

Today, my schedule read “accounting homework” from 8:00 PM until midnight, but instead, I chose to stand on the chilly corner of Kelton and Midvale and ramble about AKPsi professionalism to Saehee, and to research adventure spots for the summer, and to write this little note (while the Moneythink boys attempt to outdo each other in Vegas outlandishness).

 

And you know what? I’m glad I did. Debits and credits can wait until later – for my heart finally feels full and that feeling shouldn’t ever be put aside for work.

 

Tomorrow will be another extraordinary day. Good luck on finals, everyone!

There is an order and rhythm to this world, this much I know, and it does little good fighting what is to be. If you know me, you’ll know that I am terrible at accepting this, this being my fate. I fight and worry, over-think and complicate things that are out of my control. When I work for something, I want some guarantee that my time and effort will result in tangible positive results, but this is not always bound to happen.

Sometimes, to guide you down the path you’re supposed to take, defeat happens. You strive for something and don’t get it. The interviewer calls and says no. You get that thin envelope from your top-choice college. Whatever it is, defeat hurts. I still haven’t quite accepted that defeat simply means that fate, or God, is only giving me a gentle push in the right direction.   

I am so lucky and blessed to find my path revealing itself to me. Finally in college I have found a career about which I am genuinely passionate, and after a tiring recruiting season, I have been lucky enough to sign an offer with an amazing consulting firm. Every rejection phone call or letter has led me to the happiness of this moment, and for once, I should be at peace. The tough decisions have, like receding tides, subsided for the moment, and I have the free time to enjoy my days.  

However, there is no real end to striving. Now that I have solidified my summer plans, I have set my sights on other goals and entered the same cycle of stress. Finally, after refreshing my phone to check for news about my latest goal for the third time today, I sat down in one of Anderson’s study rooms. I had no cases to run or homework to scribble down, but I couldn’t relax. I took a deep breath. Melanie, you’ve done all you can. Try not to worry about things that are out of your control. If it is meant to be, it will be.

If it is meant to be, it will be. 

Friends, I cannot tell you how much I struggle with accepting this simple law of the universe. As much as I strive to have patience and let my path unfold, I constantly question and fight with fate. But while it is not easy to stop worrying — for those of you still caught in the throes of recruiting or job-searching, I’m sure you know what I mean — it is worthwhile. 

Think of all the hours wasted worrying over the future, of the minutes spent wallowing in what could have been. Think of how much more productive we could be, of the studying that could get done and the joy that could be shared, if we stopped trying to control the future.  

I certainly am going to try to let the future be. 

Today looks to be the end of the longest travel nightmare. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I have bags under my eyes and haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a week. I am struggling to avoid depression. However, two remarkable things happened recently that help to reaffirm my faith in others. 

Yesterday, my friend Jen and I made the long and troublesome trip out to Heathrow Airport, also known in the papers as a “third-world refugee camp” (no joke). Stranded passengers inside the terminals are lying on plastic cots and wearing these reflective silver blankets that make them look like aliens. A Salvation Army truck is outside handing out hot beverages and food trays. Two large white tents house other travelers. The majority of people outside are queuing to get inside. It is chaos, and one needs a boarding pass simply to be allowed through the doors. 

At first, the security guard refused to let Jen and me pass inside because we had no boarding cards, even though we tried to explain that we came only to collect our luggage. Luckily, the second security guard we approached was more sympathetic and allowed us entry. Once there, we asked a Heathrow transportation official where we could retrieve our bags. She directed us to customer service at Virgin Atlantic, where a young man told us that not only were our bags not at the airport anymore, they were being stored at a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Unless we wanted to wait 45 days for the airline to ship them home, we would have to trek there ourselves. I was absolutely furious. Fucking Virgin Atlantic. Fucking Heathrow. I seriously wanted to punch the guy in the face. They stuck me in an airplane on a runway for seven hours, made me pay for extra baggage, and now were making me find my way to a warehouse to get the baggage they refused to give me on Saturday? Jen pulled me away before I could argue any longer. 

We made it to the Tube station with no idea of how to get to this warehouse, and asked two Underground workers if they knew where it was. They didn’t, but kindly directed us to a nice man who had a Blackberry and “google-mapped” it for us. Less angrily, we took the Tube to Hatton Cross. There, the Underground worker told us to take bus 243 to Green Lane. We walked outside, and bus 243 was approaching! Finally, something was going right.

Ten minutes later, we emerged from the bus into a street lined on the right by houses and the left by sketchy-looking warehouses. (Keep in mind that it’s dark and we are two girls walking alone.) I am scared. I clutch Jen’s arm in fear. The warehouse looks completely deserted. We soon find out that we are on the wrong side of the building. The other side is open and a few people are queuing at the door. It is good news though. We both find our luggage within 15 minutes, and are making our way out when a nice British man asks if we are going to Paddington, having overheard our conversation with the staff member on duty. We say yes, and he offers us, and all of our luggage, a ride there. I quickly survey him. He looks like a normal, kind gentleman. Okay, we say. Thank you so much.

His car is small, and he works hard to pack our luggage in. We barely fit. I have my camping backpack shoved on my lap and Jen is surrounded on four sides by baggage, but we are off. He is very interesting, and shares stories of traveling across the states by Amtrak when he was younger. He frankly explains that he feels caught in the rat race, somewhat trapped by his obligations now that he has a family. He loves bicycles, and keeps many in his painting studio, away from the eyes of his wife. He loves her too, of course. His stories are captivating and inspiring, and the hour-long drive passes quickly. Kindly, he lets us off right in front of our hotel and unloads our bags for us. Before he departs, I get his address to send a thank you card, which is done immediately. 

Thinking back, that man’s act of kindness to a total stranger helped me get through what had been an utterly horrid experience at the airport. 

  

Today, after a pleasant (but expensive) taxi ride, I pushed my luggage trolley up a steep ramp to Virgin Atlantic’s departure lounge. This was Gatwick Airport, which far more resembled an orderly airport than a chaotic camp for refugees, and everyone looked more relaxed. I made my way to the first open desk to drop my bags and get my boarding card. The friendly Virgin staff member smiled at me and asked what flight I was on. Las Vegas, I said. Can I see you passport? He said. Yes, I replied, pulling it out. Here. 

How many bags are you checking? He said. Three. Have you paid for any of them yet? No, I answered. Can I pay here? No, he said, pointing at a booth far away. You have to go to the ticket booth and pay there, and get a boarding card there. 

Okay, I agreed, heaving my overweight bags onto the scale. My flight looks good, yeah? Yes, he said. You’ll be getting home today. I smiled. When the last of my bags was weighed and on the moving platform, he looked at me. Did you book this flight first, or was it a second flight? I looked at him. I booked this one two days ago, I said. My flight on Saturday was canceled… I waited on the runway for 7 or 8 hours. Oh, he said. Let me just check your flight history. 

He examined it for a while, so long that I feared he was going to charge me for the overweight bags. Finally, he looked up. I’m going to do you a favor, he said. US Airways is going to charge you for your bags when you get to Las Vegas. I won’t charge you. He ripped up the charge forms vigorously and glanced at my booking again. I see you have a bad seat too, he said. You’re in seat E, which is a middle seat. Do you want to switch to an aisle or a window? He switched me. 

I was so overwhelmed by his kindness and thankful to be going home. Suddenly, I just started crying. He peered over, and with traditional British reserve, said, Are you okay? Yes, I sobbed. I’m just so glad to be going home. 

He smiled. Well, get yourself over to departures then. Let’s just get you to zip through. I nodded, and could do nothing more than walk away. 

Now I am through security and waiting for my gate to get posted to the departures board, which it won’t do for another hour and a half. Although I am extremely tired, I can’t stop thinking about the two men who went out of their way to brighten my day. I am but a stranger to them, but both thought nothing of helping me out. I wanted to document their kindness to me before I get catch up in the holiday festivities of sunny California, praying that today is the day I leave this land behind. It is not so much a nightmare anymore. 

The man carried a cardboard sign. While the words were in Portuguese and I technically couldn’t read them, the message was clear. I need help. I am hungry. I am standing outside in the rain without a coat or an umbrella. From behind a restaurant window, I watched him pace fervently. The rain picked up, and I watched as he crossed himself and looked towards the sky. Passerby walked past, and he approached them with bowed head and cupped hands, eyes lowered as if praying. Over and over, the men and women hurried past and averted their gaze, leaving him alone in the rain. 

At this point, I thought back to all the times I too had done this to those in need, and I was suddenly embarrassed. I left my table, tea growing cold, and made my way to the restaurant’s front door clutching a five Euro note. The head waiter looked at me inquisitively. You haven’t finished eating, and you haven’t paid your  bill, he seemed to say. Chastened by his simple gaze, I headed back to my table, shamed by the thoughts now running through my head. He doesn’t need my money. He’s going to buy drugs, alcohol, he’s going to visit a prostitute. Looking back, why was I questioning this poor drenched man? He just wanted a bite to eat or a bit of shelter. Hell, even if he wanted a glass of port to cure the cold, who was I to judge? 

Instead, I just sat at my circle table next to the glass window, shoveling beans and rice into my mouth with abandon. I was one of those passerby, but worse, I had watched him for over an hour, contemplated his situation and still not helped in any way. Two days later, his face still resonates in my mind, and I wish I had done something, anything, to ease his pain. 

I completely exploded on a friend a few days ago, and the ensuing argument prompted me to reevaluate the way I interact with friends and people around me. What I’ve written below may seem too revealing, but I’m tired of saying things I don’t mean. If anything, these words are honest.

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Forgive me, for I often judge too easily and categorize too harshly. I pick at faults and superficially at appearance, all while fearing that others are doing the same to me. Sometimes I have difficulty connecting with others, and instead of persevering, I run away, hiding in the safety net that is being alone. I convince myself that being alone is adventurous and mystical and so great, and sometimes it is. But often, being alone is lonely and frightening and sad. I’ll find myself marveling at blue-white Portuguese tiles or the redness of a hillside roof and wanting so desperately to share my joy, to communicate in my own language how extraordinary life is, but no one will be there because of choices I have made. 

And yet being among others can be so frustrating. I am not used to compromising what I want or negotiating the thoughts and desires of others, and I’m not very good at it. When traveling, I’m wildly impatient to start my days and yet like to see things very slowly, a combination which leaves me pacing back and forth at sunrise but lingering at historical sites while friends wait finished outside. It’s tough not to feel guilty and rushed at the same time, unable to truly explore but feeling like an imposition to the plans of others. 

I am not so good at making and keeping friends; eventually I grow critical and let others disappoint me. Often I find it easier to be alone, to form friends for a day or two while everyone is still on their best behavior. It’s a little easier to be outgoing or witty knowing that who I am now is the person that my acquaintances will remember tomorrow. They will not see me hungover, raving hungry, or exhausted; these flaws have not yet emerged and most certainly never will. Each person remains perfect in their solitary snapshot, and that’s comforting in its own way. But this fleeting way of interacting with others, while fun and invigorating, cannot stand alone. 

Friendships develop through sharing joy and adversity, through fighting and ignoring and reconciling, through a series of compromises and talks through which one learns a little more of what it means to be someone else. And while I know this, and have been lucky enough to have found a few true friends, I find it so difficult to let my guard down or not judge at the first sign of conflict. I am scared of being anything less than a smart, confident individual and have instead wound up seeming stoic at times, my fear of external judgment being seen as a lack of wanting to be friends. 

The more I travel and people I meet, the more I try to convince myself that transient friendships are okay, that I do not need to make lifelong connections, but that’s just the easy way out. I do seek true friends, individuals who know and accept me for my flaws and for my strengths, friends who have shared with me pain and loss and also joy. I want to be a better friend, and that means not being so insecure or quick to assume. I need to listen more, to ask more questions, to start wondering why a friend is acting a certain way, rather than letting their actions dictate who they are. I need to stop being so self-conscious and start being more concerned with what is going on around me, with what people mean rather than solely what they say. I cannot go any longer isolating myself.

For people are far too important! I’ve come to realize that life is about loving and accepting people, and having others love and accept you. It’s about making an effort to understand who your friends are, rather than judging what they do. It’s about watching the sky shift from blue to the most beautiful orange-red and turning to the person beside you and seeing your wonder reflected in their eyes. 

Mostly, life is about sharing, and in that sharing, finding acceptance. Thank goodness I’ve realized it now.

1. Paris has a huge African-French population. Most were concentrated in the Montmatre-Pigalle neighborhood near the Sacre Coeur, while the “white” French lived and congregated elsewhere. The races did not mix much, and a class hierarchy was definitely at work: the street vendors hawking cheap Eiffel Tower souvenirs (5 tiny towers/1 Euro) were of African or Middle Eastern descent, while the white French mostly manned the ticket counters or the cafes. 
2. Parisian Metro stations are the dirtier, more rundown equivalent to the London Tube. The trains were often delayed or lost electricity while running, and the stations were marred by graffiti, bums, and a constant pee smell.
3. Walking to the tops of monuments and religious institutions is worth it. I saved energy on the subway by occasionally taking the elevator, and trekked the 300 steps to the dome of Sacre Coeur and the 400 to see the panorama at Notre Dame.  The views are spectacular and provide a vivid reminder of the city’s grandeur and scale.
4. Monet is a damn good artist. His “Water Lilies” are the first paintings I’ve ever gotten lost in — and he showed me that a tree trunk could contain blues and maroons and whites and blacks. Stunning.
5. Cutting in line or not paying the Metro fare is commonplace. On multiple occasions, I saw French people remove line barriers to go up with “friends”, and I saw at least five men jumping over the barriers at the Metro entrance without inserting tickets. This is in direct contrast with London, where Tube workers are stricter about buying tickets and the people are generally more polite and less accepting of line-cutting.
6. Bring a reusable plastic water bottle to avoid the ridiculous prices. While food is relatively inexpensive, beverage prices are sky-high. I bought an amazing sandwich (chicken, tomato, and mozzarella on toasted oatmeal rye bread) and a water bottle for 7.20 total. The water itself was 3.40! 
7. Be wary of strangers. Most people who approach you are up to no good – either they want to pickpocket you or do something worse – and no free demo or gift is worth that risk. 
8. If you do get pickpocketed, try not to let it ruin your travels. If all you’ve lost is some cash, be thankful that it wasn’t your passport or credit cards. And you shouldn’t be walking around with your passport in your pocket anyways… lock it up in your backpack or keep it someplace secure. I lost about 10 Euro to a pickpocketer, and I quickly realized that I could always replace money but never the experience of being twenty years old in Paris.
9. It’s not a great idea to handle money in a crowd. If you want to buy something, go to a less busy location where you can take out exact cash, and then go pay the vendor. 
10. If you find yourself in a dangerous area, stay where there are a lot of people. If you are lost or want to leave, find the nearest subway station/bus and know where you are going as you walk.
11. It’s lovely to have a traveling companion. I traveled to Paris by myself for the weekend, and as much as I enjoy thinking and doing exactly what I want, it’s so nice to share moments with friends.