Who Are You?

This particular Christmas holiday has me doing some soul searching. My mother underwent major surgery and for the first time in almost two years, I'm staying in my hometown the entire break with no fancy vacation planned.


And that really got me thinking about all the opportunities I have when I'm at Tulane. I can definitely say that I'm not the same person I was when I left Friendswood for Tulane exactly two Christmases ago-- I think I've grown up.


At Tulane I've gotten to find out who I am without any pressure to be a certain way. When I was in high school, being a liberal arts major for example was highly frowned upon for the "bright" students. Yet now I find English as my passion and certainly my favorite major. When I was in high school, there were only a certain number of organizations I could join. Even at the University of Texas in the Indian Association I was one of a thousand students and had no significant role. But at Tulane I got to dance on stage, help plan functions, and be as involved as I wanted. Finally, in high school I made friends with people with very different personalities and backgrounds but none similar to my own. At Tulane I've found friends with whom I have cultural, religious, personality, ideals, and value similarities. I've even found a guy who meets both mine and the people close to me's criteria of a good match--he's Indian and Hindu and laid back in contrast to my go-getter attitude.

So now that I'm back here I'm thinking . . . . I've really found out who I am at Tulane because of all the people I've met, clubs I've joined, and classes I've taken. Tulane offers such a diversity of options that every single person can find his or her niche here.


So for those of you still applying over Winter Break please think about it . . . . who are you? And if you don't yet know, which is totally normal, then come to Tulane and find out!


This is me and one of my best friends representin'- I so would have never pulled this off in high school!

Hornets Game

So last weekend I was fortunate enough to attend a New Orleans Hornets game. A friend of mine won tickets when we were out to eat at a famous restaurant where the Honeybees, the Hornets dance team, was signing autographs. The seats weren't great but the experience certainly made up for it.















There is so much tradition associated with every event here in New Orleans-- Mardi Gras, jazz, the streetcar, and even sporting events. At the Hornets game, the tradition was to stand until our team made its first basket. Even if this meant standing for five or six minutes all of the fans all the way up into the third tier of stands were on their feet. Additionally, the Star Spangled Banner wasn't sung like everywhere else- it was played on a saxophone, truly representing the city. I didn't realize a basketball game could instill such New Orleans pride in me but by the end of the game I found myself screaming and cheering like everyone else.

The game was a close one as the Hornets were against the Dallas Mavericks, a team with a very strong season so far. The odds were against the Hornets but a few moments of truly impressive playing and the rallying of the fans pulled New Orleans through. At the very end of the fourth quarter with 5 seconds left, New Orleans tied the score when one of the players sank a 3 pointer from nearly the sidelines. The game went into an exciting overtime in which the Hornets really scored, making them the ultimately winning team. When the colorful confetti and balloons poured from the ceiling of the New Orleans Arena the cheers were deafening and it seemed like the entire city was celebrating the incredible win.

The last time I'd been to a basketball game before that was a Comets WNBA game with my father. We had gotten box seats and I was about 12 years old. I was excited about the food and paid no attention to the game whatsoever. Eight years later, I can honestly profess that I enjoyed watching basketball and the Hornets game was an experience that I would certainly repeat!





Only in New Orleans . . . .