A Stanford Story in Five Movements

The playlists tell the story better than I ever could. Not because the songs explain everything, but because they don’t. They just hold it all: the messes, the resets, the people I lost and the people I found. The songs remind me that I didn’t just survive Stanford — I scored it.

When I listen to them now — freshman year, sophomore year, year tree, 2ENIOR5 — I hear a version of myself in each one. It’s not always the loudest track or the most streamed that matters. Sometimes it’s a song I forgot I added until it showed up at just the right time. And that’s kind of how these years felt too.

Freshman Year – Sounds of My First Year at LSJU

I arrived on campus quietly. Not necessarily shy, but unsure. The kid from a small, academically intense private school who had always been “good enough” — but never the genius. Never the one you brag about.

So when I got into Stanford, I didn’t celebrate the way I thought I would. I spent my first week wondering whether it was a mistake.

And then life happened. There were wine nights and Spotify queues looping Kid Cudi, BROCKHAMPTON and “…And To Those I Love, Thanks for Sticking Around” by $uicideboy$ as we pretended to study in someone’s dorm or wanted to take a drive down Highway 280 in a Zipcar. There was Pepas — blasting out Bluetooth speakers as we got ready for the kind of parties we didn’t know how to navigate yet. And there was a quiet realization that I was always a little disappointed in the DJ. I didn’t know how to do it better yet — but the thought lingered.

I was chasing closeness and confidence. I didn’t find either all the time, but I started listening more closely. To others, to myself. That was something.

Sophomore Year – The Year Where We Live Together for da First Time

The playlist description is kind of ironic now. We did live together … Once. But never again. We weren’t just suitemates, we were close. But little did I know we’d go our separate ways by the end of the year.

Sophomore year started loud. I worked hospitality for Stanford Concert Network and met Armani White the night he performed. BILLIE EILISH was everywhere. I felt excited, I got my first Stanford Instagram feature and finally felt like someone who belonged to something.

Then things unraveled. A hard conversation with someone I liked turned into seven weeks of silence. Then came the fallout with the rest of that group. I played Die Hard and actually cried. I hadn’t cried to music like that in a while. There were midterms I barely made it through, but always with The Man by Aloe Blacc and The Champion by Carrie Underwood in my ears and my dad on the phone, praying with me. That ritual kept me grounded when everything else felt unsure.

There’s one moment from this year I’ll never forget. My dad came to visit, and when we showed up at my suite, one of my suitemates slammed the door in our faces. I hadn’t been fully honest with them about whether I was staying at Stanford. I didn’t realize how much that fractured the trust. That moment taught me something real and hard: honesty isn’t just about truth — it’s about care. I let people down. I’ve come to accept that some of those friendships were already cracking, but I still wish I’d been better at considering others’ feelings before everything collapsed.

I went to Coachella for the first time. I was a year late on Un Verano Sin Ti, but maybe that was perfect timing. Moscow Mule and Tarot carried me through what felt like emotional rubble.

I also survived classes I didn’t think I would. CS106A, CS106B and Math 51 almost broke me. But I made it through thanks to people like Sabino and Joey — people who stayed up all night with me, literally until the sun came up, helping me understand problem sets and reminding me I wasn’t alone. I’d never pulled an all-nighter before taking those classes and I haven’t since. But I learned that even when I felt like I couldn’t do something, the right people and some resilience could carry me further than I thought.

Sophomore year ended with less than I started with. But I still had my music. I still had me. I remembered something someone once told me during freshman year, a piece of advice I hadn’t fully believed back then: “Some friends are only in your life for a season. They may not be bad people, but they might only serve you for a time.” I didn’t understand it at first. But after everything, I finally saw what they meant. Not everyone is meant to stay forever — and that’s okay.

Junior Year – Year Tree (A Different Look)

I started the year in LA at a Chance the Rapper concert — Cocoa Butter Kisses, No Problem, a crowd that felt like summer never ended. That bounce stuck with me. It felt like the reset I didn’t know I needed. For the first time in a while, I danced without overthinking. I smiled without forcing it. That joy followed me back to campus — and it set the tone.

The playlist description was cautious: “Third go around, with a very different look, but encouraged about how the leaves will fall into place.”

Turns out, they did.

I started the Stanford Live fellowship on a whim. My sorority sister had sent me the application. And somehow, it turned into me reviewing concerts, writing about the music I loved. And slowly I realized, I have something to say, and I can write?

That writing led me to formally writing for The Stanford Daily — first through the fellowship, then in music reviews, sports stories and eventually, The Grind. Writing became something quiet and steady I could come back to, even when I wasn’t sure how to say things out loud.

This was also the year I met my third marriage pact Andrew. We became close friends.

I listened to La Belle Vie on solo walks. I reclaimed confidence through Feel No Ways. I played My Life when I needed to remind myself that I was building something — and that it didn’t have to be perfect to be mine.

Senior Year – 2ENIOR5

This playlist doesn’t have a description yet. Maybe that’s the point. I’ll write it after I cross the stage in June.

The year opened with Everything I Am and I Wonder from Graduation. I don’t currently support Kanye West’s behavior, but that album shaped something in me. The ambition, the doubt, the knowing you’re different even when no one says it.

Senior year felt full. DJ sets at Midnight Breakfast and Latiné Hour at EBF. Coachella again — this time with Charli XCX, Lady Gaga and Zedd in the rotation. I cried to Good Riddance during Green Day’s set. I finally started doing things just because they made me happy. I added a second major in Spanish on the first day of fall quarter. I swore I’d never stay on campus longer than I had to. But now, I’m hanging around the Farm for an additional year, and I’ll be leaving Stanford with two bachelor’s degrees and a master’s.

I was a hopeless romantic this year — and for once, not just in theory. That friendship I built junior year with my marriage pact? It became something more. Slowly, quietly, and then all at once.

I think I was finally content enough to let myself feel that way. I started taking care of myself — emotionally, physically — and that’s when things started falling into place. I overcame body dysmorphia. I stopped feeling ugly all the time. I got into running and finished Bay to Breakers. I traveled across the country and beyond it. I stopped asking if I was enough. I started trusting that I already was, and that there’s no harm in wanting to grow and better myself.

And I didn’t get through all of this alone. My Chi Omega sisters — Ellen, Maria, Isabelle and Lina (shoutout Sober Mojitos!) — loved me through every version of myself. Ashley, my freshman-year roommate and now best friend, has been a constant light. Joaquin from SPOT, Diamond and Crystal from GovCo, Eduardo, and so many others — thank you. Even the people who just stopped to say hi as I was walking to class, who asked how I was doing, who chose to keep me in their orbit — you mattered more than you know.

Voice Memo – To Myself

For a long time, I didn’t think I was the kind of student people wrote about. I wasn’t a genius or a builder of apps. But it turns out, Stanford never asked me to be the loudest. It just asked me to be honest. I was never average, I just hadn’t seen myself clearly yet.

I grew into someone who plans campus events, sings at the top of her lungs, DJs her own damn parties and writes columns like this one. Someone who stopped shrinking herself. Someone who found joy again.

Fade Out

Writing this for The Grind is full circle. The Daily became a home for my voice, first through fellowship reviews and later in little reflections like this. I was encouraged to apply. I’m so glad I did.

If freshman-year me walked into my room today, she wouldn’t believe half of what I’ve done. She’d be shocked at the degrees, the relationships, the confidence, the calm. And the writing for a school paper? No way. But I’d tell her: be yourself. Take care of you first. And the rest will come. Your people will find you. And even when the world feels uncertain, you’ve got what it takes. You always have.

This story isn’t linear. It loops, it echoes. But it’s mine.

And I’ll keep playing it.

Until the next intro.