Drip. Drip. Drip.
After a downpour, remnants of the rain dribble from the trees to the ground, and the earthy smell of petrichor fills the humid air. At last, the rain has paused for a brief moment. The dark skies slowly lighten, rays of sunshine seeping through the breaks in the clouds as glimmers of hope. However, we still sit at the cusp of spring; it is only a matter of time before rainfall begins once more.
Walking through campus, it sometimes seems every path I could potentially take, every turn I attempt to make, is full of puddles and debris and obstacles. I envy those who always have their umbrellas at hand and their rain boots on, ready for whatever may be in the forecast.
Often, I wonder if I am ill-prepared for Cambridge weather, for my clothes are too frequently soaked, and my shoes are drenched in mud. Just when the storms seem to be winding down, lightning strikes, and the intensity doubles. Even so, there is no weather that I’d rather live in.
I speak not of physical rain—though, that, too, will be of high frequency for the next few weeks—but rather the rain of life.
My first year at Harvard has been highly fulfilling thus far, more so than I could have possibly fathomed. But it has also been demanding. There are so many opportunities and experiences that I desire to pursue, but finding a balance between which to focus on and when to do so is not easy. They are raindrops, pelting me without pause, and before I decide whether to wipe or absorb one, twenty more have already struck me. Alongside the constant trickle of recurring obligations—flashcard after flashcard in preparation for exams, projects, problem sets, club comps, organization work, community service, and even socializing and rest—I frequently feel as if I am drowning in the downpour, desperate for just one gasp of air.
I have many, many more good memories than bad of my time here thus far. I feel at home. Everything I am doing, coursework and extracurriculars alike, is by my own will, to appease my own interests. I am thriving more than ever, and I wouldn’t change any of my circumstances given the chance. But I would be lying if I said that I am already completely comfortable in such an environment.
This is the reality of many first years at Harvard. Everything is so new, so different. Sacrifices of time and energy must be repeatedly made. “Figuring things out” is simpler than it sounds because, ahead, visibility is low, and what is coming next is unpredictable. I feel as if I am running a marathon through this monsoon at full speed, on my chosen trajectory and alongside my peers. Yes, I worry about my clothing, but if an unforeseen flood lies ahead, preservation will be the least of my worries, and I will be swept away before I know it.
However, we often fail to appreciate how lucky we are to be wearing these clothes in the first place. Soiled garments can be washed and dried, muddied shoes scrubbed back to perfection. The rainy season is naught but a period of nourishment, for May is approaching; soon, flowers will be in full bloom. Soon, the sun will shine brightly and boldly and endlessly. And even now, though not visible to the blind eye, those flowers are seeds awaiting to sprout from the soil, fertilized by the efforts of those who planted them, and the sun shines just as brightly behind those clouds.
I, for one, cannot wait to pick a bouquet of self-planted flowers, tended to for seasons on end. I cannot wait to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, engulfing me in bliss, in the feeling of success. But for the time being, I must make efforts to appreciate feeling the rain on my skin as well. And it all can be a bit invigorating. Finishing the last sentence in an essay. Making new friends, and meeting unique people left and right. Discovering newfound passions. Going to sleep after a long, long day.
Incessant rain can be tiring, but we should immerse ourselves in the showers and dance through the drops, taking in every single second. We cannot let the clouds of stress and the mud of internal turmoil diminish our positive encounters. For every decision we make, a new seed is planted, and these seeds will only flourish with the passage of time. Before we know it, they will be flowers, priceless demonstrations of our perseverance.
Britney Ampadu ’28 (britneyampadu@college.harvard.edu) needs a much better pair of rain boots.