Library in the morning hours
This morning I started work late because I had to run a couple of errands. First, I was supposed to pick up my dad and take him to the mechanic so he could get his car, but it turns out the place only opened later and I couldn’t wait for it. So it was on to the second task of the day: taking my 18-year-old daughter to her school for an in-person exam.
There was barely any traffic so we got there in no time. That also meant I had some time to kill, so I found a quiet spot in the library and started reminiscing about my own college years.
One of the first things my parents did after we moved to the U.S. was enroll me in English classes with an older Brazilian woman from Rio who had her own private school. I remember she always served cookies and pink lemonade in white styrofoam cups, which was a novelty for me.
I was almost 17, and for two months that summer I went to her class three times a week. I was the youngest in a class full of older Brazilians trying to learn English too. Even though I enjoyed the walk to class—passing stores and things I’d never seen back in our small town—it was still hard to stay motivated when everyone else, including my sisters, was home relaxing.
At one point, I told an older student I was thinking about quitting, mostly because I didn’t feel like waking up early in the morning and plodding all the 17 blocks to get to school. He was shocked and basically volunteered himself as my accountability partner—though those weren’t his exact words. He had kids, barely had time himself, yet still told me he would literally drive to my house to take me to class if he had to, just to make sure I didn’t give up. That felt awkward—this person needing motivation was motivating me instead—but I said yes. And I didn’t miss a single class again. Eventually, I was ready to start junior year of high school.
The next two years were sink-or-swim for me. I learned everything I could about the American education system and tried hard to adapt to a new culture we were all still getting used to at home. I realizes early that if I wanted to go to college—and that seemed like the only path forward—I needed to make myself interesting to universities, not only to get accepted but hopefully earn a scholarship because there was no way my parents could afford tuition.
By senior year, I was in the top 10% of my class, getting straight A’s, and got accepted everywhere I applied—even without taking honors classes. Because of my grades, I was exempt from finals and basically finished high school early. I felt like I was in control of my destiny. But looking back, I was not at all prepared for what came next.
I pushed so hard academically that I skipped most of the “typical” high school experience. While other kids went to games, parties, and hung out in groups, I mostly stayed close to the handful of friends who spoke Portuguese and helped me feel less alone. I still missed the friends I left behind and, even though I could communicate fine, I always felt like a foreigner and an outsider.
College wasn’t much different. I lived in a dorm but went home every weekend. I studied hard, dreamed huge dreams (curing genetic diseases, running a lab in Australia, changing the world), but I didn’t truly engage in college life. I treated school like a checklist: get the grades, do the work, graduate, succeed. I was homesick, shy, laser-focused, and—honestly—a little lost.
By the time I graduated, I thought jobs would just fall into my lap. I took a month off to “rest,” then reality hit when student loan bills arrived. I eventually found my path—but it wasn’t the one I imagined.
Fast forward about half a decade and I was in tech now, well into a very different career. It was 2003 and I decided to take a trip and visit my younger sister at UNC for her birthday. She gave me a tour of campus, and walking around there—seeing students buzzing around, professors chatting, the energy of learning everywhere—hit me hard. It made me realize how much I missed out on by rushing, by carrying the immigrant urgency of don’t mess this up, by treating learning as a race instead of an experience.
Now, every time I step onto a college campus, something wakes up in me. It’s energizing. Inspiring. It reminds me why continuous learning matters—and why the environment you’re in matters too. I believe if you surround yourself with curiosity and ambition, your mind will follow.
Would I choose the same path today? It is hard for me to say. Part of me would still choose to go to college—but I’d slow down, enjoy the experience, build relationships, and soak in the moments instead of sprinting through them. Another part of me sees how many options exist now and wonders if I’d take a different path entirely, maybe go to Community College instead and save money for the remaining two years. Maybe skip it altogether and sign up for a software engineering boot camp.
But that’s the beauty of hindsight—you finally understand the journey after you’ve walked it.
Being on campus again today reignited that spark. So here’s to carrying that student-mindset energy forward and seeing what exciting ideas come next—whether for work or life.