An ode to rainy days: How Community Action lifted my spirits

Growing up in Phoenix, I learned the importance of rain. Each year, summer is almost tainted by the radiating asphalt that scorches our feet red, and by the unforgiving heat that turns our cars into ovens. But the city still becomes alive with wonder the moment the monsoon clouds of late summer roll in. Adults and children alike, with eyes plastered to the sky, watch on as the monsoon rain dissipates the unwavering heat of the Arizona sun. All that remains is the usual rainbow and the familiar smell of petrichor, something that I have grown to greatly appreciate. When it rains in Arizona, when it rains anywhere, I am alive, carefree, and without want.

Five days after first arriving in Princeton, I found myself yearning for rain. Humid, sticky air clung to me like second skin, but the sky, after all those days, was still barren. I was with want. I longed not only for stormy skies, but also for the “rainbow connection” after the storm. Beyond the weather, that is, I wished to find my community at Princeton. Something I assumed, from the first few days of orientation, would not come so easily.

Dinners, socials, and Core Events drained me. I felt lost within the whirlpool of more than a thousand new students, and I couldn’t muster the energy to speak, spark a conversation, or introduce myself. So, I sank down to the depths of my dorm room, while the Great Class of 2030, eager as always, carried on without me. 

Still I held out hope for the coming phase of orientation: the “small group experience.” Consisting of Outdoor Action, Community Action, and Dialogue and Difference in Action, the Small Group Experience is designed to help first-years adjust to campus, meet new people, and step outside of our comfort zones. Knowing my extreme disdain for insects and fear of the outdoors, I directed myself towards Community Action. Over the course of four days, a group of 12 strangers and I would support organizations that address housing and food insecurity in Mercer County. Surely, in some way or another, we would get to know each other.

As I set out in the morning to meet my group at Blair Arch on the second day of Community Action, I recalled the queasiness from my first day, the fear that my hapless pursuit of friendship would extend as the days went on. But my stupor of doubt disappeared when I glanced at my phone and noticed the storm brewing on the weather forecast. My heart raced with excitement. Fear. Not only did I wish for a return to the rain, which kept me grounded, but I hoped that friendships would emerge after my experience, just like the rainbows that follow the storm.

So I pushed down all my doubt, which had festered during my first week at Princeton whenever I walked with any group of classmates. As they giggled on with each other, side-by-side on narrow sidewalks, I found myself left alone and trailing dejectedly behind. So I hoped that there’d be space for me on all the sidewalks my Community Action Group that I would walk on. I hoped that we’d also build upon our first day of Community Action, where we slowly got to know each other while helping set up the food pantry at Princeton Alliance Church. 

And it was that second day of service, where things started to click for all of us.

We completed our community service that day at the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA). As they explained their initiative, Share My Meals, I couldn’t help but realize how overtaken I was by the University’s “Orange Bubble” already. Underneath Princeton in all its glory lies food insecurity, food waste, and inaccessible housing, which not only impacts Princeton itself, but also Trenton, Hamilton, and Mercer County as a whole. Coming from a high school where the majority of my classmates and I qualified for free or reduced lunch, I was no stranger to the struggles and disadvantages our hosts described. With this in mind, I looked forward to having the chance to serve my community through crafting meals for families in need, and I took solace in knowing that I had a group of equally passionate students alongside me. 

Donning ourselves with aprons and hairnets, my Community Action groupmates and I set out on making hummus and tabbouleh, a Mediterranean salad composed of lemon juice, tomatoes, mint, parsley, cucumbers, and bulgar wheat. We ended up making over 50 trays filled with tabbouleh, hummus, and vegetables to give out to families — a process that concluded at the onset of the storm I had so highly anticipated. 

Together, we walked back to campus under a thick blanket of silver clouds, umbrellas in hand, dancing around puddles. Then and there, for the first time since move-in, I felt alive. It was not only the breathtaking sight of Princeton against the sky’s rainy, gloomy backdrop; it was also the warmth from realizing that I was not completely left behind by the Class of 2030. While we debated over the effectiveness of Ziploc bags as rain clogs, I realized there was space for me on the sidewalk after all. Where I once trailed behind had become the place I belonged. And it was more than I could’ve asked for.

Later that evening, our Community Action group found ourselves at the Center for Jewish Life to unwind after grabbing dinner, a night I won’t ever forget. The air was immediately filled with our voices and boisterous laughter as we played our upgraded, unhinged version of Mafia. Our groupmate, Sean, added so many new characters, from the “Apprentice” to the “Conspiracist,” that it was hard for us to keep count. But it was something that we made our own, something that no one else except us could understand. Even when we had nothing to hide, nothing could wipe the incriminating smiles off our faces. That is what made that night, and the rest of our time in Community Action, ineffable.

As I walked back to Whitman that night, I recalled what I had felt in the days prior. A desire for the rain. An unwavering longing for friendship. Emptiness. But the storm had come to wash it all away, and so I said, let it rain.

Indeed, all the rain had left me was petrichor and rainbows. The petrichor smelled just like home, like my family and the distant Arizona rain. 

And the rainbows?

None other than Community Action Group 37, of course. You made Princeton colorful for the first time. You opened the door to friendship. And above all, you’ve shaped the person I’ve started to become at Princeton. Among our nights of laughter and fun, I came to understand my purpose on campus. Knowing the value in having a group of people that truly acknowledged me, I now understand that I need to do the same for my classmates moving forward. So, I have become the person that listens intently when my peers speak of their feelings and worries. I became the person that uplifts and underscores others’ ideas in collaboration. I became the person that created space for others by demonstrating genuine interest, by being open. By leaving room on narrow sidewalks.

Kallysta Komlan is a contributing writer for The Prospect and a member of the Great Class of 2030.

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