I remember my first night in Pasadena like it was yesterday—though if I’m being honest, it feels like a lifetime ago. I sat on my dorm bed at 4 a.m., staring at my suitcase that I hadn’t even bothered to fully unpack, wondering what I’d just done. I’d left Verona—the city of Romeo and Juliet, of cobblestone streets and ancient Roman amphitheaters—for a place I visited for 24 hours few months before. That was crazy, and that night I was not able to sleep from the jet leg and the excitement…all of it together!

Caption: Caltech Y organized an intenrational students day and I really loved it!

Also, I was pretty sure I’d just heard a coyote. Or maybe it was a cat. Do they have coyotes in Pasadena? This is the kind of thing you don’t think to Google before moving 6,000 miles from home. Well, spoiler: THERE ARE SO MANY!

If you’re an incoming international student reading this, you might be feeling something similar right now. Maybe you’re excited and terrified in equal measure. Maybe you’re wondering if you made the right choice. Maybe you’re googling “what is Pasadena like” for the hundredth time, followed by “do Americans really eat that much cheese” and “is it weird to bring a photo of my dog to college?”

I get it. I was you. Except I brought three photos of my horse, a bottle of olive oil from my hometown (because American olive oil is a crime against humanity), and an entirely inappropriate amount of pasta.

So here’s what I wish someone had told me before I boarded that plane from Italy—preferably while also handing me a very large espresso and a survival guide to American small talk.

The Homesickness Will Hit You—And That’s Okay (But Also, Why Is American Bread So Sweet?)

Let me be blunt: the first few weeks were hard. Really hard.

I missed everything—the smell of my mom’s cooking, the sound of Italian conversations in the piazza, even the chaos of Roman traffic, because I kind of lived in Rome… I missed being able to order coffee without having to explain that no, I don’t want a grande vanilla latte with oat milk and three pumps of caramel syrup; I just want an espresso. A NORMAL espresso. In a tiny cup. That takes two seconds to drink. Why is this so complicated?

(By the way, American coffee culture remains one of life’s great mysteries to me. Why is everything so big? Why does coffee need to have seventeen ingredients? Why would anyone order something called a “Frappuccino” when espresso exists? But I digress.)

I missed understanding every cultural reference, every joke, every unspoken social cue. There was this moment during orientation when everyone was laughing hysterically about something involving dodgeball and gym class, and I just sat there smiling and nodding like I understood, while internally panicking because I had absolutely no idea what was happening.

In Italy, we don’t have dodgeball in gym class. We have actual gym. You know, exercise? Apparently, this is not the American way.

And don’t even get me started on the bread situation. I walked into a grocery store, innocently looking for bread to make a sandwich, and picked up a loaf. I took a bite later and nearly spit it out. It was SWEET. Bread! Sweet! Like, why? Who decided that bread—beautiful, sacred bread—should taste like cake? I stood in my dorm kitchen, staring at this offensive loaf, seriously considering whether I should file a formal complaint with someone. (I didn’t. But I wanted to.)

But here’s what I learned: homesickness doesn’t mean you made a mistake. It means you had something beautiful to leave behind. And gradually—so gradually you won’t even notice it happening—Caltech will start to feel like home too. You’ll find the one café that makes acceptable coffee (shoutout to the Coffee Lab in Pasadena). You’ll discover which grocery store sells actual bread. You’ll stop feeling like an alien observer and start feeling like you belong.

Caption: After I was finally able to accept the fact that sweet is fin, here I am celebrating my best friend’s birthday!

You Don’t Have to Choose Between Your Identity and Fitting In (But You Will Have to Explain Geography. A Lot.)

One of my biggest fears was that I’d have to become “less Italian” to fit in. I worried about my accent, about explaining my traditions, about being “the international student” instead of just being Camilla.

What I discovered was the opposite.

My classmates were genuinely curious about my life in Verona. They wanted to know about Italian festivals, about my experience with the Maturità exam, about showjumping competitions in Europe. They asked about my hometown, about Italian politics, about whether I really ate pasta every day (no… obviously, is that even a question?).

But I also had to become a human geography lesson.

“So, you’re from Verona?”

“Yes!”

“Is that near Rome?”

“Um, sort of. About 500 kilometers north.”

“Oh, cool. Do you go to Rome a lot?”

“I mean… that’s like asking someone from Los Angeles if they go to San Francisco a lot.”

“Oh.”

This happened approximately forty-seven times in my first month.

Also, people assumed some very interesting things about Italy:

• That I personally know every Italian person they’ve ever met. “Do you know Marco? He’s from Italy!” Yes, of course, all 60 million of us know each other. We have a group chat.
• That I must be an amazing cook because I’m Italian. (I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT ABLE TO COOK ANYTHING!!!)
• That I speak “Italian” for everything. Someone once asked me how to say something in Italian, and when I told them, they said, “No, in ITALIAN Italian.” I still don’t know what that means.
• That Italy is the size of a small village. “Oh, you’re from Italy? My cousin went to Palermo! Did you see her there?”

But honestly? These moments were hilarious, not hurtful. And they led to amazing conversations. I got to teach my floormates how to make actual carbonara (NO, you don’t put cream in it, that’s a crime). I introduced people to the concept of proper espresso. I explained why Italians are so obsessive about food and fashion style (because it matters, okay?).

And yes, I still have to explain that Italy isn’t just pizza and pasta, though let’s be honest, those are pretty great. Yes, I sometimes have to repeat myself when my accent gets stronger when I’m tired or excited. Yes, I learned that when I talk with my hands (which is ALWAYS), Americans sometimes watch my hands instead of listening to my words, and I have to remind them, “My face is up here, the words are coming from my mouth, not my hands.”

But my international background isn’t a barrier—it’s part of what makes me, me. And Caltech celebrates that.

The Academic Transition Is Real—And the Language Barrier Makes It Extra Spicy

I thought I was prepared for Caltech’s rigor. I’d taken challenging courses in Italy. I’d worked hard. I’d gotten in, after all, which meant I must be smart enough for this, right?

And then I got my first physics problem set.

I sat there surrounded by equations that seemed to be written in a language I’d forgotten, and I genuinely wondered if admissions had made a mistake. Like, maybe they meant to accept a different Camilla from Italy, and I’d somehow ended up here by accident, and any minute now someone would knock on my door and say, “Sorry, wrong person, you need to go home now.” Imposter syndrome hit me like a freight train. And it was compounded by the fact that I was doing all of this in my second language, trying to decipher not just the physics concepts but the particular way American professors phrase questions.

There were some truly hilarious (in retrospect) language moments:

Week 1: A TA said something about “taking a rain check,” and I spent ten minutes genuinely confused about what weather had to do with chemistry homework.

Week 2: Someone invited me to a “potluck,” and I showed up with a pot. And also some luck? I wasn’t sure. (For the record, it means everyone brings food to share. Not pots. And not luck, whatever that would look like.)

Week 3: I confidently used the word “actually” in every sentence because I thought it made me sound more fluent. Narrator: It did not. I sounded like a pretentious robot. Someone finally told me, very gently, that I didn’t need to say “actually” before every single statement of fact. Actually. (Sorry, habit.)

Week 4: I called something “quite interesting” in class, and my professor looked at me strangely. Apparently, in American English, “quite” means “very,” but in British English (which is what I learned in school), “quite interesting” means “sort of boring.” I had accidentally told my professor his lecture was mediocre. Oops.

Week 5: I mixed up “embarrassed” and “pregnant” in a conversation. This is a classic Italian mistake because the Italian word “imbarazzata” means embarrassed, but it sounds like “embarazada,” which means pregnant in Spanish. Anyway, I told my study group I was “so pregnant” about forgetting my calculator. The silence that followed was… long.

But here’s the thing no one tells you: everyone feels overwhelmed, even without the language barrier. Yes, even the students who seem to breeze through everything. Yes, even your brilliant roommate who finishes problem sets in half the time it takes you.

The difference isn’t intelligence—it’s familiarity. Many American students have seen this style of problem-solving before. They’ve had AP classes and SAT prep and summer programs. You might be starting from a different place, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get there.

I had to learn to be okay with asking “stupid” questions. Spoiler alert: there are no stupid questions, only questions that five other people were too afraid to ask. When I finally raised my hand in physics and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean by this term,” the professor explained it, and then three other students came up to me after class to thank me for asking.

So ask questions. Go to office hours (I’ll talk about this more later). Email professors—they actually want to help you. Join study groups. Find people who will explain things to you at 11 p.m. when you’re on your fifth energy drink and nothing makes sense anymore. And most importantly, give yourself grace. Learning takes time, especially when you’re doing it across cultures and languages and time zones.

Caption: I went to the Clubs soccer championship; for us Europeans, soccer is…faith.

American Food: A Tragicomic Journey

I need a whole section for this because THE FOOD SITUATION WAS NOT WHAT I EXPECTED.

Things that shocked me about American food:

1. Everything is huge. I ordered a “small” smoothie and received what appeared to be a bucket. I could have taken a bath in it. Why? Who needs that much smoothie? I couldn’t finish it and felt guilty throwing it away because that smoothie probably cost more than my monthly phone bill in Italy.
2. The cheese is not cheese. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, but that orange stuff in plastic wrappers? That’s not cheese. That’s… I don’t know what that is. Science experiment? Plastic? A cry for help?
3. Ranch dressing on everything. Americans put ranch dressing on EVERYTHING. Pizza? Ranch. Salad? Ranch. Vegetables? Ranch. I once saw someone dip their French fries in ranch, and I had to leave the room.
4. Iced coffee is not a crime here. In Italy, if you order an iced coffee, people look at you like you’ve personally insulted their grandmother. Here? It’s normal! Revolutionary! I converted to the iced coffee lifestyle within two weeks. (Hot take: it’s actually good. Don’t tell my Italian friends.)
5. Dinner is at, like, 5:30 p.m.? In Italy, we eat dinner at 8 or 9 p.m. Here, the dining hall serves dinner starting at 5 p.m., which is when I’m having my afternoon snack. I had to completely reprogram my internal clock.
6. Peanut butter is everywhere. Peanut butter in sandwiches. Peanut butter in cookies. Peanut butter in smoothies. Peanut butter as a snack. Just… so much peanut butter. We don’t really have this in Italy, and I was suspicious at first, but I’ll admit: peanut butter is kind of great. (I now eat it straight from the jar at midnight. Don’t judge me.)
7. “Italian” food here is… creative. Spaghetti with meatballs? Not Italian. Fettuccine Alfredo? Not really Italian. Garlic bread? Kind of Italian but not really. “Pepperoni” pizza? In Italy, pepperoni means bell peppers, so I was very confused the first time I ordered this and got spicy sausage instead.

I learned to adapt. I found an Italian deli 30 minutes away that sells real prosciutto and real Parmigiano-Reggiano (not the stuff in the green can—please, never eat the stuff in the green can).

Cultural Confusion: A Greatest Hits Collection

Beyond food, there were so many moments of cultural confusion that I started keeping a list. Here are some highlights:

The Tipping Situation: In Italy, you don’t really tip, or you just round up. Here? You have to calculate 15-20% every time, and if you forget, you’re apparently a terrible person? I once forgot to tip at a restaurant and the server chased me down the street. I was mortified. Now I over-tip everything out of anxiety. The pizza delivery guy probably thinks I’m a millionaire.

The “How Are You?” Trap: In Italy, when someone asks how you are, you actually tell them how you are. In America, “How are you?” is just a greeting that means “hello,” and you’re supposed to say “Good, how are you?” even if you’re having the worst day of your life.

It took me weeks to figure this out.

I’d answer honestly: “Well, I’m a bit tired because I was up late studying, and I’m stressed about my chemistry exam, and I think I’m getting a cold, and—”

And people would just stare at me like I’d started speaking Martian.

Finally, my roommate pulled me aside and explained that “How are you?” doesn’t require an actual answer. It’s just… a noise people make? Now I just say “Good, you?” on autopilot, even if the building is on fire.

Small Talk About the Weather: Americans talk about the weather SO MUCH. Like, it’s a whole conversation topic.

“Nice weather today!”

“Yeah, really nice!”

“Think it’ll rain?”

“Maybe later!”

This conversation contains zero information but happens multiple times per day. In Italy, we skip the small talk and just start arguing about politics or food. Americans ease into conversations gently, like they’re approaching a scared deer. Italians just crash into conversations like we’re breaking down a door.

Shoes in the House: Some Americans wear shoes inside their houses. SHOES. INSIDE. This broke my brain for a solid month. In Italy, you take your shoes off at the door because you’re a civilized human being who doesn’t want to track dirt all over the house. Here, people sometimes keep their shoes on, and I still find this absolutely wild.

Personal Space Bubbles: Americans have much bigger personal space bubbles than Italians. In Italy, we stand close, we touch arms while talking, we kiss cheeks as greetings. Here, people need like three feet of space at all times.

I kept accidentally invading people’s personal space bubbles in my first weeks, and people would slowly back away from me like I was a particularly aggressive salesperson. Now I’ve recalibrated, but when I go home to Italy, my family thinks I’ve become cold and distant because I’m standing too far away.

The Whole Jaywalking Thing: In Italy, crosswalks are basically suggestions. You cross when there’s a gap in traffic, regardless of what color the light is. In Pasadena, I jaywalked exactly once, and someone stopped their car to yell at me about it. Now I wait for the little walking man like a good citizen, even if there are literally no cars coming. It’s painful.

Fahrenheit vs. Celsius: “It’s going to be 85 degrees today!”

Is that hot? Cold? Should I wear a jacket? Who knows! I had to download a converter app. For the record, Americans, Celsius makes way more sense. Zero is freezing, 100 is boiling. Easy. Your system is chaos.

The Date Format: In Italy, dates go day/month/year, like sensible people. Here it’s month/day/year. I missed a deadline in my first week because I thought 02/03 meant March 2nd, but it actually meant February 3rd. I showed up to a meeting a whole month late once because of this. Now I write out the month name to avoid confusion.

Building Your Support System (And Finding Your People, Even When You Smell Like Horse)

I cannot stress this enough: find your people.

For me, it was a chaotic mix of humans who somehow tolerated my Italian intensity, my horse obsession, and my tendency to complain at midnight while loudly discussing philosophy.

My roommates quickly learned that living with an Italian meant:

• I would talk with my hands, even in the dark, which led to several accidental slappings
• I would occasionally yell passionately in Italian when stressed, which sounds aggressive but is actually just how we express emotions
• I would judge their coffee choices (lovingly) and especially your order at the restaurant

They also learned that I’d come back from riding my horse, Deesse, at 7 a.m., smelling distinctly of barn, and immediately want to tell them everything about our training session. Bless them for pretending to understand what “oxer” and “flying lead change” mean.

I joined MEDLIFE, where I found people who care about global health. I joined the Christian Club, where I found community and spiritual grounding. And I founded the EquiScience Riding Club because I desperately needed that piece of home—that connection to horses that has always grounded me.

Starting a club as a first-year international student was absolutely insane, and I don’t recommend it unless you enjoy chaos and paperwork. But it was also one of the best decisions I made. If there’s something you love that you don’t see on campus, create it. Caltech gives you that freedom. Will it be stressful? Yes. Will you question your life choices? Absolutely. Will it be worth it? 100%.

I also found my study group—a collection of sleep-deprived students who became my academic family. We’d meet in the library at 9 p.m. to work on problem sets and somehow still be there at 3 a.m., delirious with exhaustion and surviving on a dangerous combination of coffee and determination.

These people taught me American slang (I can now use “lowkey” and “slay” in sentences, though I’m probably using them wrong). They learned Italian swear words (useful for when experiments go wrong). They explained cultural references I didn’t understand. They included me in their groups even when I was the awkward international student who didn’t get the joke.

Don’t try to do this alone. You don’t get extra points for struggling in silence. The strongest thing you can do is reach out and say, “I have no idea what’s happening, and I need help.”

Office Hours: The Cheat Code Nobody Told Me About

Okay, this is important, so please pay attention: OFFICE HOURS ARE MAGIC.

In Italy, professors are these distant, formal figures. You don’t just drop by to chat. You make an appointment weeks in advance, you dress nicely, you bring your questions written down formally, and you definitely don’t waste their time.

At Caltech? Professors literally sit in their offices waiting for students to come ask questions. And if you don’t come, they’re a little sad about it!

My mind was blown.

I was terrified to go to my first office hours. I prepared my question like I was preparing for a thesis defense. I rehearsed what I was going to say. I almost turned around three times on the walk there.

And then I arrived, and the professor was just… nice? He was happy to see me? He wanted to help?

He didn’t make me feel stupid for not understanding. He drew diagrams. He explained things three different ways until I got it. He told me about his research and asked about my background. He made a joke about how he also struggles with problem sets sometimes (lies, but appreciated lies).

I left feeling like I’d discovered a secret cheat code to surviving Caltech.

Now I go to office hours all the time. Sometimes even when I don’t have questions, just to listen to other people’s questions and learn from those discussions. Some of my best learning has happened in office hours, not in lectures.

So here’s my advice: Go to office hours. Yes, even if you feel stupid. Yes, even if your question seems too simple. Yes, even if you’re intimidated. Professors are humans (weird, I know) who genuinely want to help you succeed.

The Language Barrier: Funny Now, Not Funny Then

Let me share some more language disasters, because in retrospect, they’re hilarious:

The Time I Accidentally Volunteered to Organize an Entire Event: Someone asked if I could “help out” with an event, and I said yes, thinking I’d just show up and carry some chairs or something. Turns out “help out” meant “be in charge of the whole thing.” I organized an entire event without realizing it until two days before. It went fine, but I was very confused the whole time about why people kept asking me important questions.

The Time I Said Something Was “Quite Good” and Insulted Someone: As I mentioned earlier, I learned British English, where “quite good” means “pretty good.” In American English, it can sound sarcastic or dismissive. I told someone their presentation was “quite good” and they looked hurt. I was so confused. I thought I was being nice! Now I just say “really good” or “great” to avoid confusion.

A Southern student said “bless your heart” to me, and I thought she was being nice. She was not being nice. This phrase is apparently a polite Southern way of calling someone an idiot. I figured this out three weeks later and had to reassess every conversation I’d ever had with her.

Practical Things I Wish I’d Known (The Actual Useful Section)

Okay, let me get tactical for a moment, because sometimes it’s the small, practical things that trip you up:

Before you arrive:

Banking: Set up a U.S. bank account as soon as humanly possible. You’ll need it for literally everything. I recommend going with a bank that has a branch near campus. Also, American banking is WEIRD. In Italy, I could walk into my bank and talk to a human. Here, everything is apps and ATMs and you never see a real person. It took me weeks to figure out mobile check deposits. (You take a picture of the check with your phone? And then the money appears? Witchcraft.)

Phone plan: Get a U.S. phone number early. WhatsApp is great for staying in touch with home, but you’ll need a local number for everything else—doctors, restaurants, delivery, group projects, emergency alerts. Also, American phone plans are expensive and confusing. Brace yourself.

Shipping: Don’t bring everything from home. You can buy most things here, and international shipping is outrageously expensive. Bring the things that are irreplaceable—photos, a favorite book, something that smells like home. I brought way too much stuff and then had to buy storage bins to contain my Italian life in my tiny dorm room.

Adapters and converters: Obviously bring plug adapters, but also check if your electronics need voltage converters. I fried my favorite hair dryer in week one. RIP.

Medications: Bring any prescription medications you take, plus your prescriptions in English if possible. Also bring a small stash of over-the-counter stuff from home if there are specific brands you trust. American medicine brands are different, and figuring out which bottle of pills to buy when you’re sick and miserable is not fun.

Collaboration: Caltech is incredibly collaborative. Working together on problem sets isn’t cheating—it’s encouraged. Actually, it’s basically required if you want to survive. Learn to study in groups. Ask questions. Share insights. Help each other.

Office hours: I already covered this, but seriously: USE THEM. And don’t wait until you’re completely lost. Go early and often.

Extensions: It’s okay to ask for extensions when you need them. The Honor Code is built on trust, and professors understand that sometimes life happens. Don’t abuse it, but don’t suffer in silence either.

TAs are your friends: Teaching Assistants are usually graduate students who were recently in your shoes. They’re often more approachable than professors, and they can explain things in student-speak. Go to their office hours too.

Pass/Fail first term: If you’re a first-year, your first two terms are pass/fail. USE THIS GIFT. Experiment. Ask dumb questions. Fail at things. Figure out how you learn best without the pressure of grades. It’s a beautiful thing.

Staying Connected to Home (Without Living in Two Time Zones)

Call your family. FaceTime your friends. Keep up with what’s happening back home.

But also give yourself permission to be present here.

I learned this the hard way. At first, I was constantly on WhatsApp, refreshing Instagram to see what my friends back home were doing, staying up until 3 a.m. to call my parents during their morning. I was exhausted, and I wasn’t fully present in either place. I was living in two time zones mentally, and it was destroying me.

I had to find a balance—staying connected enough to maintain my relationships, but not so connected that I was living in Italy mentally while my body was in California.

Here’s what worked for me:

Set a schedule: I call my parents every Sunday evening (Monday morning in Italy). I have a WhatsApp group with my closest friends from home where we share updates. But during the week, I’m fully here, fully present at Caltech.

Don’t feel guilty: It’s okay to miss home. It’s also okay to love your new home. It’s okay to sometimes forget to text back. It’s okay to be excited about your new life. You’re not betraying your old life by building a new one.

Share the good and the bad: Don’t just call home when you’re sad and homesick. Call when good things happen too. Let your family be part of your new life, not just a refuge from it.

Accept that you’re changing: You’re going to change. You’re going to pick up new habits, new expressions, new perspectives. Your friends and family back home might not totally get it. That’s okay. Growth is allowed.

Don’t compare: Don’t spend all your time comparing your life here to your friends’ lives back home. They’re living different experiences. So are you. Both are valid.

It’s okay to miss home. It’s also okay to love your new home. You can hold both feelings at once. Turns out, the human heart is big enough for multiple homes.

The Wildfire That Changed Everything (Because Sometimes Life Gets Real)

I debated whether to include this, but it feels dishonest not to mention it: my first year was marked by the Eaton Canyon wildfire. When the sky turned orange and ash fell like snow, I felt more vulnerable than I ever had.

There’s something particularly terrifying about being in danger when you’re far from home. When you’re an international student, you can’t just drive to your parents’ house if things get scary. You can’t run home to safety. You’re just… here. Stuck. Dependent on people you’ve known for four months to keep you safe.

I called my mom, and I could hear the panic in her voice. She was an ocean away, helpless to protect me. My dad kept sending me Italian news articles about the fire, which somehow made it feel even more surreal—my two worlds colliding in the worst possible way.

The university sent constant updates. Residential advisors delivered masks and water and air filters. They told us to stay inside, to seal our doors and windows. I sat in my dorm room, watching the sky turn from gray to orange to a sickly yellow, and I thought, This wasn’t in the brochure.

But here’s what I learned: Caltech takes care of its own.

The residential advisors checked on us constantly. They set up air-filtered common spaces so we wouldn’t be isolated. They delivered supplies. They provided counseling services. They sent emails reminding us that mental health matters as much as physical safety.

My friends brought me food when I was too anxious to go to the dining hall. My professors extended deadlines without me even asking. My study group moved our sessions online and took turns making sure everyone was okay.

And in the aftermath, when we learned that more than 250 families connected to Caltech had lost their homes, the community rallied. Fundraisers. Supply drives. Housing assistance. The Caltech family showed up for each other in profound ways.

I realized that being far from home didn’t mean being alone. I had built a new support system—one that held me securely even when things got scary.

As an international student, you learn that you’re stronger than you thought. You learn that you can handle things you never imagined. And you learn that community isn’t just about geography—it’s about the people who show up for you when things get hard.

Let’s Talk About the Weird Caltech Traditions (Because This Place Is Wonderfully Strange)

One of my favorite things about Caltech is how genuinely weird it is. In the best way possible.

Rotation: For two weeks at the beginning of first year, you “rotate” through all the different houses (dorms), attending dinners and events at each one. It’s like speed-dating for housing. Each house has its own culture, traditions, and vibe.

I went to Ricketts Open Mic Night and watched people perform with absolutely zero fear of embarrassment. I went to a Fleming dinner where people were just… incredibly kind and welcoming. I participated in a Blacker activity that I still don’t fully understand but involved a lot of yelling and some questionable physics.

It was chaotic and overwhelming and wonderful. And at the end, you rank your preferences, and the houses rank you, and then you find out where you’ll live. It’s nerve-wracking but also exciting. You find your people.

Ditch Day: This is a tradition where seniors plan elaborate pranks and “stacks” (challenges) for underclassmen, and then they “ditch” class for the day. The underclassmen have to solve the stacks to get into the seniors’ rooms. It involves puzzles, physical challenges, and a lot of creativity. As a first-year, I watched in awe and confusion. This place is wild.

Interhouse Sports: The houses compete against each other in various sports. The competitive energy is INTENSE. I’ve seen people who’ve never played basketball in their lives suddenly become the most invested fans you’ve ever met. House pride is real.

Honor Code: Caltech runs on an Honor Code, which means take-home exams, untimed tests, collaboration policies based on trust. Professors trust you not to cheat. It’s refreshing and also a lot of responsibility.

The Little T: I wrote a whole article about this, but the little t (a glossary of Caltech slang) is a beautiful, chaotic document that every first-year receives. It explains terms like “flicking” (procrastinating productively), “flame” (flaming out/giving up), and “frosh” (first-year student). Read it. Embrace it. Become fluent in Caltech-speak.

You Will Grow In Ways You Can’t Imagine (Seriously, Future You Is Awesome)

I came to Caltech as a girl from Verona who loved horses and dreamed of curing cancer. I’m still that person. But I’m also so much more now.

I’m someone who can navigate a new culture. Someone who can thrive in academic challenges that once seemed impossible. Someone who can build community from scratch. Someone who has learned to accept help, to be vulnerable, to trust others with my struggles.

I’m more resilient. More confident. More capable. More me.

I can now:

• Order coffee without having a panic attack
• Understand American jokes (most of the time)
• Solve physics problems that would have made first-week me cry
• Explain what Caltech is to confused relatives in Italy
• Navigate Pasadena without Google Maps
• Make American friends laugh with my Italian exasperation about bread
• Ask for help without feeling like a failure
• Live through wildfires and come out stronger
• Found a club and watch it grow
• Balance being a pre-med/pre-PhD student with having an actual life
• Wake up at 6 a.m. to train with my horse and still function as a human
• Cook carbonara for twelve people in a dorm kitchen with two burners
• Say “quite” correctly (mostly)

And you will be able to do all of this too. Plus your own list of accomplishments that I can’t even imagine yet.

My Final Thoughts (AKA The Part Where I Get Emotional)

If you’re reading this from your home country right now, maybe sitting in your childhood bedroom surrounded by acceptance letters and plane ticket confirmations and half-packed suitcases, here’s what I want you to know:

Coming to Caltech as an international student will be one of the hardest things you’ve ever done.

You will feel lost. You will feel homesick. You will question whether you made the right choice. You will have moments when you want to pack your bags and go home. You will stand in grocery stores feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of cereal options. You will misunderstand idioms and feel embarrassed. You will miss your mom’s cooking so badly it physically hurts. You will have days when you’re so exhausted from operating in a second language that you can’t even think straight.

You will struggle. You will cry. You will call home at 3 a.m. just to hear familiar voices. You will feel like an outsider at least a dozen times in your first month.

But it will also be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

You will discover strengths you didn’t know you had. You will make friends who become family—the kind of people who will bring you soup when you’re sick, who will explain American cultural references at 2 a.m., who will celebrate your victories and hold you through your defeats.

You will learn not just physics and chemistry and biology, but also resilience and adaptability and courage. You will develop skills you never knew you needed: how to advocate for yourself, how to navigate ambiguity, how to build community in unfamiliar places, how to be comfortable being uncomfortable.

You will find that home isn’t just one place—it’s anywhere you’re surrounded by people who see you, support you, and believe in you.

You will become fluent in a new culture while keeping your own identity intact. You will be a bridge between worlds. You will have perspectives that monocultural people don’t have. You will be special precisely because you’ve had to navigate multiple contexts.

Caltech will challenge you. But it will also change you in the most beautiful ways.

So here’s my advice:

Pack your bags. Bring a little piece of home with you—maybe a photo, maybe a favorite snack, maybe a book in your language. Say your goodbyes (but not goodbye forever—just “ci vediamo dopo,” see you later).

Get on that plane. Yes, even though you’re terrified. Yes, even though you don’t know exactly what you’re getting into. Yes, even though leaving feels impossible.

And know that when you arrive, you’ll be joining a community that’s been waiting for you. A community that values your unique perspective, your international background, your story. A community that will challenge you and support you and help you become the person you’re meant to be.

We’re all in this together—flying higher than we ever thought possible, because Caltech gives us the wings to soar.

I’ll see you on campus. Look for the Italian girl who talks with her hands, gets overly emotional about bread, and probably smells vaguely of horses.

Welcome home.

Con tanto affetto (with so much affection),

Camilla

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P.S. If you’re arriving in Pasadena and need recommendations for where to find decent coffee (not as good as Italian espresso, but we survive), which grocery stores sell actual bread, or where to go when you need to cry in peace, find me. I promise I’ll make you feel a little less alone in this wild, wonderful, overwhelming adventure.

Also, if you want to talk about horses, philosophy, the existential dread of organic chemistry, or why American bread is a crime against humanity, my door is always open. We international students have to stick together.

P.P.S. Learn the phrase “I’m not sure what you mean, can you explain?” It will save your life at least forty-seven times in your first semester.

P.P.P.S. Bring photos of your pets/family/favorite places. On hard days, you’ll want to look at them and remember why you’re here and what you’re working toward.

P.P.P.P.S. American coffee is weird, the bread is sweet, the portions are enormous, and none of it will make sense for a while. But you’ll survive. And eventually, you’ll even develop weird hybrid preferences, like wanting espresso but also kind of craving iced coffee? It’s fine. You’re allowed to evolve.

Now go be amazing. The world is waiting for you.