From Yaad to Yard: in retrospect

From Yaad to the Yard is a biweekly column in which Brianna Burke, a Jamaican international student at Stanford, shares her unique experience of life on a farm. Through reflections on culture, identity, and academia, she offers a thoughtful look at bridging the distance between her Caribbean roots and her new life on a farm.

“John, we have an emergency back here.”

The screeching intercom echoed throughout the plane, bouncing off the sleeping heads stuck in the altar until it reached me. I sat on the slightly damp, cold floor in front of the bathroom with an oxygen mask wrapped around my face. It definitely wasn’t my cutest moment.

Although I had been flying since childhood and was accustomed to even the most obnoxious whine of an airplane engine, the six-hour flight from Jamaica to San Francisco felt like carrying a cybertruck head-first up 200 flights of stairs. . This time it somehow got worse. Motion sickness took over my entire being, and before I knew it, the very aerophobic man next to me nervously muttered that he was taking another Xanax at the sight of my yellowed face.

At that moment, I regretted my decision to go to Stanford. I would like to become a normal person and decided to go to college at home like everyone else. That way, I wouldn’t have to experience the turbulence of long flights, the dull taste of cafeteria food, and the constant feeling of loneliness, living away from everything I’ve ever known and loved. My regret was almost as strong as the bile rising in my stomach, and the guilt of feeling ungrateful only made my motion sickness worse. People would kill to have a life like mine. How dare I regret my greatest achievement?

Fortunately, despite the embarrassment I felt when the exhaustingly long flight came to an end and we landed in the cold night air, I recovered. Since then, I’ve settled back into my routine, guided by the enchanting rhythm of Stanford: late-night TAP dinners, Zipcar runs to Target, and laughter echoing through the dorm hallways. However, every now and then, when things go wrong or I get homesick, I can’t help but wonder if I made the right choice.

While having lunch with a friend this week, I realized that this is not just my experience. His life followed an unconventional trajectory that would have disappointed many, but he exuded peace. He was confident in himself and recognized that although he sometimes wished he had made different choices, he would not be the same person if he had done so. And he was grateful for that. I was amazed and, to be honest, a little jealous. Most of my life was spent searching for the next best step that would push me forward on this arbitrary map of progress and success that wasn’t even defined by what I wanted. But that’s all, right? Unlike him, I don’t think I ever truly appreciated the decisions I made that, although difficult, allowed me to live the life I wanted. Regrets weren’t just moments I had, they were difficult experiences of straining myself and the world and making decisions that were best for the future version of myself that I wanted to be. I never realized how much beauty there was in that, and I definitely never thought about giving myself a little grace for accepting my humanity enough to sometimes wish things had gone differently.

There are still many days when I feel regret. At the end of my freshman year, as I moved my belongings into storage alone, I wondered if I would have been happier at home, where I had more support. It didn’t help that I had an incredibly large amount of stuff (and a 50-pound electric bike that I had to fit into the tiny trunk of the Corolla). Sometimes, when Arrillaga does their version of jerk chicken, I admit to wondering how crazy I must be to turn down the most delicious food in the world. And every now and then I wonder if I should have stayed in a place where I would never be pushed out of my comfort zone—somewhere where I wouldn’t question whether I was smart enough to belong.

But I’m glad I have these regrets. And I’m even happier that I’m learning not to feel guilty about them. Every day I work to be confident in the decisions I make, even the ones I regret. You see, being alive means constantly looking back. There is no set of rules on how to be happy, no formula for achieving success. I’m still trying to figure out what “success” even means. But what we do have is the life we ​​live now: people who make our hearts flutter with joy and pride in being theirs, controversial cafeteria food that nourishes my body and always, ourselves – always .

And although I still don’t know the answers, I choose to find beauty and gratitude in the fact that I have a choice, even if I’m afraid I’ll make the wrong choice. I also prefer it to be enough for both the present and future versions of me.