Despite the advice and pressure from older friends, family members, college counselors to strangers behind a cash register; I knew my college decision was my own. My high school experience was individual, special, but also defined by a small community. I attended a local private school, which sat on a beautifully landscaped campus, filled with white architecture and a plethora of vibrant flowers come the spring. Oh, and do not forget about Ms. Margaret’s oatmeal raisin cookies. Sounds like a dream, right? It was dreamy, but after several years, it was time for a change.

After growing up in this “bubble” I knew I was ready to throw myself into an experience that would be uncomfortable, yet gratifying. The moment I stepped onto Boston University’s campus I felt like I was one piece of my life puzzle closer to figuring out who the hell I am; cliche, but true.

Yes, Commonwealth Avenue may have seemed 1,000 miles long my first walk down its side walks. Yes, the size of my high school’s campus was equivalent to the George Sherman Union (the center, but not nearly the entirety of BU’s campus), but none of this discouraged me; instead, it left me eager to call Boston my home.

There was no denying how much I loved it, but whether or not Boston University was the place I was supposed to spend my next four years still left me uneasy; the decision was no longer in my hands. Suddenly, what earlier seemed like my choice was left to someone other than me.

The waiting sucked, but I soon would learn how important it was to remain patient and calm. The day I received my acceptance letter is when it truly came together, this was where I was supposed to be. I have never cried happier tears.

Boston University has not only provided me with friendships, sorority sisters, mentors, and memories, but a new city I call home. I am excited for what lies ahead and will forever be changed by my experiences thus far. So, thank you Boston for helping me get one step closer to completing my puzzle.