I Graduated From Yale and Then Moved Back to My Low-Income Home

Four years ago, when people asked me which part of college I was most excited for, I always said having my own room.

Yale’s dorms were a welcome change from the living conditions in my Brooklyn neighborhood. On the outside, the place my parents rented looked like any other two or three-family house, but inside, every floor was leased out to multiple families.

My upbringing was many things: love and a chorus of voices that included a Vietnam War veteran, four children, and an expert crocheter. They were all my neighbors — many of them low-income. Every evening, we gathered for communal dinners, sharing stories and laughs. But privacy was never part of the equation.

I left that environment for the private world of the Ivy League, living in dorms that radiated privilege.

And then I blinked, and last May, I graduated. After four years, I stepped out of the privilege, access, and relentless ambition that Yale had afforded me and returned to my family’s Brooklyn home.

Moving home after college was a jump back to reality

When I arrived at my apartment after graduation, the first thing I did was hug one of the younger tenants, a 10-year-old girl I consider my sister. She waited for me at the door with flowers — a belated graduation present, she said. Later that evening, with her mother’s permission, we took the N train to her favorite spot: Coney Island Beach and Boardwalk.

We had to make a pit stop at Coney’s Cones, of course. Inside, she stood on her tiptoes, squinting at the selection of gelato and sorbet. “Eyeglasses,” I wrote in my notepad of things to buy for her. I leaned down and whispered, “Don’t look at the prices. Get anything.”

Once we were seated, I asked how things had been. She told me that they were the same. At school, she enjoys math but dislikes writing, and the staircases in the projects still reek of cigarettes, but at least the neighbor’s cat comes by once in a while to play with her.

“It’s kind of lonely without you here,” she suddenly blurted.

I tried to explain that I had to leave for college, that it wasn’t about her. I wanted to say something — to fix her loneliness, her abandonment — but my mouth was just a home for my teeth. I reached for her hand, and we exited the café, heading toward the line to purchase Ferris wheel tickets.

I couldn’t help grow solemn. The sad reality of building relationships with other tenants is that there is nothing more we wish than to see each other leave the situation we find ourselves in. No one wishes to live in the projects forever. This means saying goodbye at some point — and leaving loved ones behind.

I’m now thinking more about what it meant to be at Yale

An elite education doesn’t guarantee stability or a sense of belonging, especially not for first-generation graduates navigating the job market. We often lack a safety net and carry the weight of family responsibilities. What my Ivy League education does offer is a chance: the foundation to build a future for myself and my family.

Still, many of my neighbors and friends remain where they’ve always been, caught in cycles of poverty, domestic trauma, and systemic injustice. The pandemic only further crippled those living at or under the poverty line.

College was never the finish line. It was the beginning of a more complicated story — one in which I must navigate ambition with memory, privilege with purpose, and personal advancement with a renewed commitment to support others in my community through their struggles, especially those without access to open doors.

But the truth is, it took a village for me to get to Yale, and many of my greatest supporters were not related to me by blood.

I’m trying to reconcile my future with my family’s and neighbors’

Inside the Ferris wheel gondola, just as we were about to reach the top, my apartment-mate proudly took out a fluffy purse that I had bought for her 8th birthday. It was heavy, full of coins. She told me that her mother began paying her 50 cents for taking out the trash or washing the dishes, and one of our neighbors occasionally hires her to water his plants.

“Wow, you’re rich,” I said, nudging her playfully.

We laughed, and the setting sun caught our faces. In the distance, the waves rolled back and forth, and I wondered how many more times I’d get to share these moments with her before the world pulled us apart again. I won’t let it.