Yale Graduate Finds Themselves in a New Old World: Returning to Brooklyn and Questioning Belonging

Several years back, when asked about what aspect of college life thrilled me the most, my answer was simple: having my own personal space.

The dormitories at Yale were a stark contrast to the environment I grew up in within Brooklyn. Our rented home appeared like just any other modest building in the neighborhood; however, each floor was shared among multiple households.

Growing up, my world was a tapestry woven with love and diverse voices, from a veteran of the Vietnam War to numerous children and even someone skilled in crocheting. Many of them, living on limited means, were more than neighbors; they were family. Nightly, communal meals were the norm, full of stories and joy, though the idea of privacy was elusive.

Transitioning from that vibrant community to the elite seclusion of an Ivy League institution, surrounded by privileges, was a significant shift for me.

Before I knew it, May arrived, and with it came graduation. After years steeped in the wealth of opportunity Yale provided, I found myself stepping back into the familiar embrace of my family's Brooklyn residence.

A Reality Check: Coming Back to Brooklyn After College

Upon my return after graduation, I was greeted by one of the younger tenants—a girl of ten who is like a sister to me—bearing flowers, a symbolic late graduation gift. That evening, we boarded the N train to her beloved Coney Island Beach and Boardwalk with permission from her mom.

We couldn't resist a stop at Coney's Cones. She balanced on her toes to see the gelato and sorbet choices. 'New glasses,' I noted down for her, telling her not to worry about costs and to choose freely.

As we sat, I inquired about her life. She shared that not much had changed: school was still a mix of enjoying math, disliking writing, and enduring smoky stairwells, but at least the neighbor's cat occasionally stopped by to play.

Suddenly she confessed her loneliness since I'd left. I attempted to explain my departure for college wasn't personal. Yet, words failed me as I tried to erase her feelings of abandonment, and we headed towards the Ferris wheel ticket line.

It hit me hard, the sobering truth of friendships built in the projects: we hope for each other's escape from the confines of our circumstances. The eventual goal is often to leave, saying goodbye and moving onward.

Reflecting on the Yale Experience

Despite the prestige of Yale, it provides no assurances of security or feeling at home, particularly for first-generation graduates entering the workforce. Many of us have no safety net and carry our families' obligations. What the Ivy League did grant was an opportunity—a stepping stone to forge a future for my family and myself.

Yet, numerous friends and neighbors remain where they started, trapped in the repetitive cycles of low income, domestic strife, and enduring systemic inequalities, a condition only worsened by the pandemic.

Higher education wasn't the endpoint; it was a starting point for a more intricate journey, one interweaving personal ambition with community, privilege with meaningful intentions, and furthering my goals while uplifting my neighbors grappling with challenges, particularly those deprived of new opportunities.

Crucially, getting to Yale was a collective achievement, the fruits of a community's support, including many who aren't kin.

Balancing Aspirations with Community Ties

High up in the Ferris wheel, my young friend showed me a cherished purse, filled with coins, a birthday present from when she turned eight. Her new ventures included earning 50 cents for chores like dish-washing or taking out the trash, and occasionally tending to a neighbor's plants.

'Look who's rolling in wealth now,' I teased, nudging her gently.

Together, our laughter mingled with the descending sun. Gazing at the endless waves, I pondered how often we could share such instances before life inevitably intervened to separate us. I resolved not to let that happen.