The Opinion section created the column “Argus Apps” to humanize the college process. Often, we forget that there are people behind Common App essays with real emotions and experiences. These essays are also always looked at within the framework of the college admissions process, so to publish these essays without pairing them with someone’s SAT score and a list of “Argus Apps,” we hear from News Editor Sulan Bailey ’25 about her college application essay.

For most of my life, I’ve felt a little bit like an alien. With six different childhood homes and three international moves under my belt before I turned 19, I’ve never quite been American in a traditional sense, but I’ve also never lived anywhere else long enough to claim those places as my true home. Sure, I’m Jamaican, which I tell almost everyone within seconds of meeting them, but even when I lived there from the ages of 11 to 17, Jamaica always felt like it defined my ethnicity more than my nationality. The conflict of my identities came to a head during my two years at a small international boarding school in a southern corner of the Netherlands. 

The very mission of my boarding school—one of 18 United World Colleges (UWCs) across the world—dragged my confused national identity to the center of every aspect of my life there. 

“UWC makes education a force to unite people, nations and cultures for peace and a sustainable future,” my school’s promotional material reads.

As such, my whole purpose at that school felt like it was to represent my country… but which one? 

The day after Thanksgiving during my senior year, all the Americans at school got together and made a Thanksgiving meal. The Americans in my cohort at boarding school had backgrounds as varied as anyone can imagine. We hailed from every corner of the country, from California to North Carolina, from Texas to New York. On top of that, many of us were first-or second-generation Americans, with heritage from the Dominican Republic to the Philippines, and everywhere in between. The only thing that any of us really had in common was that we had nothing in common. On that night, for the first time in two years—maybe for the first time ever—my anxieties about where I was from, and what that means about who I am, disappeared.

A couple of weeks later, at the very last minute, I wrote the personal essay that you’re about to read. I hoped then—as I do now—that rather than echoing the fear of not fitting in that’s always plagued me, it communicates the strength I’ve always found in community, regardless of where I live. 

A Meal to Remember

Amidst the chaos of the evening, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and I polished off a delicious meal that I made along with the other Americans living on campus at the boarding school I attended in the Netherlands. A wave of contentment washed over me as I savored the turkey that Kaden prepared, the mashed potatoes that Carenna whipped up, and my own baked mac-n-cheese, which were the talk of campus for several days. Aside from the amazing dishes we cooked, my heart glowed because, for the first time in almost two years, I felt at home.

Attending UWC Maastricht has been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life. Since coming here, I have grown daily, striving to achieve the school’s mission of “making education a force to unite cultures for peace.” Even so, I have felt uneasy living here. When I arrived on campus, discomfort riddled me as I struggled to answer the traditional questions “What’s your name?” and ”Where are you from?”

The first question had a simple response. The second, however, was more complicated because the place I’m from isn’t the place I call home. I wasn’t raised in a single location. I certainly didn’t know which I felt more connected to. I’m American, born in the Bronx; the epitome of the renowned New York melting pot. However, before my eleventh birthday, my family relocated to my parents’ native city of Kingston, Jamaica, where I lived until moving to the Netherlands for the final years of my secondary education.

There was my exact problem. Saying where I was from meant deciding which place I identified with the most. For years, I survived without having to confront it. To my friends in Jamaica, I was the American one with a different accent that needed the temperature translated into Fahrenheit. To my family in the United States, I was the Jamaican cousin whose skin darkened since she left. Essentially, I didn’t really know who I was in that aspect and struggled with it throughout my early teenage years. I felt I had no claim to being an American since I stopped living there, but I would never be fully Jamaican because I hadn’t grown up there. Eventually, I managed to bury those insecurities and focus on other aspects of my identity. Then, at UWCM, the spotlight was back on that part of me and my doubts about it. I couldn’t hide from it anymore.

Months passed, and each time I was questioned “Where are you from?”, my answer changed slightly. In time, however, I found myself surrounded by people who faced that exact challenge. For the first time, I didn’t feel alienated by this issue. I found comfort trying to answer this question among my new friends. I found hope in the fact that, regardless of our uncertainties, we all had something to share about our experiences and could learn from one another.

I found a significant solace this year in the American community. Though we share a country of origin, we are the most diverse community on campus. Our heritages include many different places, and our differences make our common experiences all the more valuable; hence, the time we spend together is all the more fulfilling. It was at Thanksgiving dinner that I became truly grateful for the community around me, and the ones I had the privilege of growing up in. I realized that the best thing about all the places I’ve lived is that they’re composed of a remarkable combination of races, ethnicities and backgrounds. I value, more than ever, the national motto that Jamaica shares with the US: “Out of many, one.” In places like the Bronx, Kingston and UWCM, your background is nowhere as important as what you can bring to the table and what, through our differences, we can build together. 

Sulan Bailey can be reached at sabailey@wesleyan.edu.