Bennie Chang (SFS’26) is a Georgetown Storyteller from San Jose, California, and studies regional & comparative studies, art and international business diplomacy.
For me, friendship is the knock of a door, the smell of a butter pancake skillet. It is a long evening conversation, spinning exhaustion into curiosity. It is a brunch gathering, stuffed with food and care.
Reflecting on my college friendships these days is a bittersweet experience. While I am not one to miss teardrops, the thought of graduating this May and saying ciao to friends makes me hesitate. During these moments, my heart feels calm and grateful, yet heavy and somber. My mind wanders through memories and paints out how our friendship will play out. My favorite, though, is observing how these bonds have strengthened and molded me.
No matter how these thoughts spark, they always circle back to two: my friends Jack and Emily. I have known both since freshman year, and continuously, Jack’s curiosity and Emily’s care know no depth. Perhaps that is one reason I befriended these creatures—because I felt so perplexed.
How does one develop an insatiable curiosity? How can one wholeheartedly care for someone they don’t even know? And how can I be more of both?
Jack & Curiosity
When I come home, I often see Jack’s chocolate leather messenger bag on the couch. It is always stuffed, bursting with papers and books.
Upstairs, the light seeps out of Jack’s room. I peek in, catching him devouring a paperback on the Peloponnesian War. I know little about ancient Greek history (other than the little I remember from Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series, of course). However, that is what makes listening to Jack so interesting.
Jack can explain complicated subjects simply, hooking you on a topic you have never heard about. I first learn how the ancient Greeks discussed states in a surprisingly modern way. The chat ends on the German influence on Sicilian art.
As I close the door to Jack’s room, I always feel more curious. My brain is dashing between the Greek political philosophers and Sicilian artists, but it is also wondering what else is out there. I look through my list of books to read, and a title catches my eye: Destiny of the Republic, a book about the life of President James Garfield. My favorite fact about him is that as a congressman, he wrote a proof of the Pythagorean theorem. Not to spoil the story, but an assassination cut his life short, so we will never know what he would have accomplished as president. While often overlooked because of his short presidency, Garfield fascinates me, so I decided to dive into the book. Switching on my reading lights, I began.
As I close the book for the night, my mind brims with energy and hunger for more. A few core topics have always intrigued me, but this was new. As I reflect on that demand for more, I notice Jack’s pointed curiosity in me. Excitement for learning about forgotten U.S. presidents expanded to asking entrepreneurs about risk tolerance and backpackers about packing recommendations. Perhaps next time I knock on Jack’s door, I will have my own ancient Greece and Sicilian art facts to share.
Emily & Care
Brunch at Emily’s is incomplete without her famous mini pancakes. Grilled on a buttered skillet, they smell of a good time coming.
Today, we have brunch at her Columbia Heights apartment. Walking from Dupont, Jack and I arrive drenched in perspiration. The breeze of the AC and the buttery aroma call us into the charming summer rental. In the kitchen, a cozy brunch is in the making.
Scoop a spoonful of pancake batter, Emily guides me. The trick, she says, is to cook on low heat. As the cream colored batter bubbles, Emily gently flips the discs. Before she could plate them, though, I grab one — to taste test, of course! Then, I taste test another. Then, another.
As the brunch party commences with more than a few absentee pancakes, I recall all the other food-centered events Emily has organized: Bay Area lunches, Chef Geoff’s happy hours and backyard dinners. Her love for dining transcends her immediate circle. For her 20th birthday, she had fundraised for World Central Kitchen, José Andrés’ non-profit that provides meals in response to disasters. I suspect that food is her way to bring people together, a way to show that she cares.
After brunch, I begin to notice how caring for others is inseparable from Emily’s actions. Her concern about food insecurity, work on criminal justice reform and advocacy for higher education independence remind me that life can be about more than oneself.
Oftentimes, I find it difficult to emulate Emily’s selflessness. A chaser of hyper efficiency, I am learning to slow down and care more about what I am doing, not just how I am doing it. For example, I am dedicating more of my energy to others, starting with the little things: unloading the dishwasher each morning, organizing group ice skating and preparing meals for friends each week. While the results and impact are not easily quantifiable, I somehow feel more connected and grounded. Perhaps that is how Emily feels about food.
These days, as I attempt to make mini pancakes at brunches with Emily, mine still aren’t quite as fluffy as her’s. However, I am starting to see the bubbles form. How I cannot wait for a taste test!
For me, friendship is Sicillian art and missing pancakes. It is staying up to finish Destiny of the Republic past my bedtime. It is scrubbing the brunch plates and loading them into the dishwasher.
Reflecting on my college friendships these days is more sweet than bitter. While the thought of saying ciao to friends daunts me, our imminent graduation makes me smile. I am curious about the next chapter of our friendship. I know that I will continue to care wholeheartedly for them, even if we are not a door-knock or brunch away.
Perhaps I befriended these creatures for more than perplexity. Maybe I was meant to build my curiosity. Maybe I had to grow my care. For both, I am grateful.
