Guest Post: 'Surviving a Trip to San Bernardino'
In which L.A. native Hasmik Adetyan contemplates how med school may force her to go further afield than ever before
How many emails have I exchanged with Hasmik Adetyan? Enough over the years to feel like this former student is also a friend.
She’s also in that rare club of students who have taken two of my classes. Has someone yet taken three? I don’t think so. Maybe Aiden will be the first?
That first meeting, years ago, I remember Hasmik being, y’know, a total A Plus student. Attentive, thorough, ambitious, but… a bit safe? The weeks went by. Then months.
Hasmik joined me for a second upper-division writing course, and that’s when the magic really started happening. Honesty, risk-taking, wild opinions. It was awesome.
Hasmik is a real one, y’all.
On the cusp of the rest of a big, beautiful life, here’s a fresh essay:
Leaving L.A.
By Hasmik Adetyan
I’ve never in my life left L.A. I’ve lived, studied, and grown here. I did live in Vegas for a few years but I was too young to remember anything worthy of value. But for most of my life, I’ve never thought about or even experienced life outside L.A.
I got invited to present a research project the other week at the California State University in San Bernardino, which is about an hour and a half away from where I grew up. So on Saturday, I drove past the heart of Los Angeles and all its comforting places and took the highway to the city of San Bernardino.
I didn’t think anything of this trip. Rather to me, it was just another research conference to attend to enhance my medical school application. Another extracurricular activity to check off during my journey to becoming a doctor. But as I drove farther and farther from home, a feeling of impending doom began to consume me. I didn’t really know what it was. I still think it was just the gloomy weather.
When choosing a career in medicine, you have to be open to the idea of moving away from home. I always believed I was as open as possible to the idea of leaving. People ask me where I’m going to apply. Everywhere, I blurt out before they can even finish their sentence. Out of state? They ask—as if my definition of everywhere must be everywhere, within LA. When I say yes, they widen their eyes and raise their brows while maintaining eye contact.
Saying everywhere has been easy. But I realized that actually leaving to wherever “everywhere” becomes may not be so easy.
I took exit 48 labeled “University Parkway” and entered an entirely different world we call San Bernardino—as if the freeway was a portal between my old life and a potential new one. The first thing that caught my attention was the noticeably different street signs. You know you’re far away from home when the street signs are of a different font, I thought to myself. The streets were uncomfortably wider and cleaner than what I was used to. I felt my heart rate speed up. Maybe I was nervous about my presentation. I started to search for something to trick my mind into thinking I was at home, like a Ralphs or something, to calm the pre-presenting nerves. I wondered why this was my first instinct and why I couldn’t just enjoy this change in atmosphere.
But the real kicker was the mountains. No matter where I drove, or what direction I went, I was visibly surrounded by gigantic mountainous ranges. And the closer I drove to the university, the bigger the mountains were getting. I followed my navigation towards “Lot N”—the designated parking lot for presenters. I turned right on “Education Ln” and finally, the mountain that was at first getting closer, is now, quite literally, right next to me.
When choosing a career in medicine, you have to be open to the idea of moving away from home. I always believed I was as open as possible to the idea of leaving.
I reached a stop sign and paused for a moment. To my right was the entrance to Lot N sprinkled with students in heels, blazers, and slacks, walking with their rolled-up posters hugged underneath their armpits. Cars were roaming around the structure trying to find empty spaces. And to my left: a mountain. For miles ahead, nothing but hills, bushes, grass, and rocks. No sign of civilization in sight. A gray chain-linked fence was the only thing separating the mountain from the sidewalk. I guess it was the “Marshall Peak Mountain.”
I’m not sure why the mountains freaked me out but I do know that it was nothing like what I’ve been used to. It was a stark contrast to the tall towers my undergraduate university, UCLA, is planted in. I imagined coming to school here as a medical student, but cringed—I already missed the bustling intersections of Westwood, the sharp sound of sirens/helicopters, and the conglomeration of undergrads, nurses, doctors, office staff, and postmates workers roaming the streets in scrubs or sweats.
I entered the lot, parked, grabbed my poster, and walked towards the “North Student Union.” The mountains were still hovering over me like some ominous presence and a constant reminder of just how far away from home I was.
School and home have always been in the same place—maybe just a few miles apart. A bad day in the lab or a long day in lecture became more bearable knowing that a home-cooked meal and the obnoxious banter of my parents and siblings were waiting for me later that evening. But as med school application season gets closer, I realize that soon I will have to think about leaving this city, or even state. I wonder how I’ll react to living somewhere other than home for the first time in my 23 years of life.
And so the next few years of my life are hazy: as I look ahead, I don’t know where I will be, or how far I will be. Whether or not LA’s palm trees and mom’s home-cooked meals will be reduced to holiday visits.
What if I freak out and drop out of med school? I thought to myself as I stared at the mountain range thrown in front of me as I exited Lot N. The conference was over and all I wanted to do was get as far away from this mountain and go back to the safe confines of Los Angeles and enjoy calling it home until I can’t anymore.