I’m sitting in my fifth grade classroom, and a black cat towers over me. The cat, easily as big as my nine-year-old self, reigns over Ms. Garza’s class from a poster, stretching from floor to ceiling and calling my attention. The words “Tournee du Chat Noir de Rodolphe Salis” in swirling lettering confounds me. That is not English. My inability to comprehend the English letters in this new form bothers me. There is a problem here. Growing up...

I could go on about academics and inspiration, both of which are appealing to me. However, my draw to Yale takes me back to an event when I was three. My father needed surgery, and the only option was traveling from Colorado to Connecticut with my mother, pregnant with twins. When my mother was hospitalized with preterm labor, the community of New Haven came together to care for us until my parents were out of the hospital and safely home....