Contributors: Keren Dror (UC Los Angeles), Annika Jorgensen (UC Berkeley), and Mercedes Lefiti (UC Santa Cruz)
We all pack certain things for study abroad: maybe a favorite snack, a photo, a childhood stuffie to remind us of home. Each of us also carries something less tangible—our sense of who we are. Whether shaped by family traditions, academic passions, or cultural heritage, this identity isn’t something we need to leave behind. Instead, study abroad creates space for both who we are and who we might become, allowing us to grow while staying true to ourselves.
Three UC students share how their time abroad transformed their sense of self, revealing that the greatest growth often comes not from changing who you are, but from discovering all the ways you can be more authentically yourself. When they left California, they had no idea their identity was about to be tested—and strengthened—in ways they never expected.
You Can Look Like Everyone Else and Still Feel Lost
Mercedes’ Story
“I reckon you’re not from around here?” The question followed me everywhere in New Zealand, catching me off guard each time. It wasn’t my appearance that gave me away, because I looked Polynesian—it was my accent, something I’d never even thought about until I arrived in Aotearoa.
Growing up in Oakland as a child of second-generation parents, I often felt disconnected from my cultural identity. While Samoan values shaped my life, I navigated a distinct Bay Area subculture. Adaptation was necessary, and I embraced the assimilated mindset that came with it. Everything changed when I landed in New Zealand.
Walking through the Auckland airport, I was struck by the sight of so many people who looked like me gathered in one place. The mix of nervousness, excitement, and weariness hit me all at once after that 13-hour flight. For the next six months, this would be my home—a unique opportunity that none of my Samoan family members had ever experienced.
The magnitude of their sacrifices weighed heavily on my shoulders.
Back in the States, my parents and grandparents often worked multiple jobs to ensure our family never went without. Now here I was, halfway across the world, about to discover parts of myself I never knew existed.
My first wake-up call came in class when I was asked to share my pepeha—a traditional Maori practice of locating oneself within family, community, and ancestral lands. “I’m sorry, Miss, I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in my cheeks. However, Professor Tuakoi’s gentle guidance through this unfamiliar tradition became my first step toward understanding my place in a larger cultural story.
The transformations continued. I felt overwhelmed with emotion, calling my mom one day after class. “My professor is Samoan!” I said. It was the first time I’d ever had an instructor who shared my cultural background. Back home, my professors are predominantly White, Black, or (occasionally) Asian. Professor Moeata Keil embodied everything I hadn’t known I was missing—she was elegant, fashion-forward, family-oriented, and proudly wore her malu, a traditional Samoan tattoo signifying a commitment to cultural life. Her presence in the classroom was transformative and I found myself drawn to her wisdom and guidance.
It took a flight halfway across the world for me to encounter my first Samoan professor, to see myself reflected in academia, and to understand that my journey wasn’t just about me. I was walking a path that my ancestors had dreamed of, turning their hopes into reality with every step.
During my time abroad, I came to a profound realization: I am the embodiment of my ancestors’ dreams. Their hopes and aspirations live on through me, driving me forward as I navigate my path in this world. This isn’t just my story anymore—it’s the continuation of a journey that began generations ago.
You Can Find Home in the Space Between Cultures
Annika’s Story
Growing up in California, Swedish culture wasn’t just part of our home—it was our home. Every birthday and holiday meant Swedish pancakes. Our house was filled with Scandinavian furniture and Dala horses. Even my parents’ design company, called Bevara, meaning preserve in Swedish, reflected their commitment to keeping our heritage alive.
“Half of the family stayed in Sweden, and the other half moved to the United States,” my mom told me when I was young, and I thought I would feel comforted arriving in Lund, Sweden. After all, I was relatively familiar with Swedish culture and ways of life. I quickly realized that my version of “Swedish” was far more Americanized than I thought. A sense of inferiority crept in as I watched people around me speak the language and understand traditions without an ounce of effort.
Back home, my friend group was beautifully diverse—a Nepali, a Persian, a Swede, and a Japanese—but we were all half-American. That was our common ground, so we identified each other by our distinct cultural backgrounds.
Moving to Sweden changed how I viewed my identity, bringing uncomfortable feelings I wasn’t used to.
This experience, combined with being in a new place, trying to improve my language skills, and attempting to adjust to social customs, was overwhelming. Sometimes the most meaningful connections came in unexpected ways. In February, my mom texted that she’d found a relative living in Malmö, just 10 minutes from Lund. The following week, I sat across from him in a cafe, trying to understand his thick skånska accent. Remarkably, he and his partner had just moved to my street in Lund a week earlier.
As I spoke and laughed with him over our strange connection, I felt comforted knowing I had family, though distant, nearby. And then I realized something—this sense of ease wasn’t any different from how I felt speaking to the friends I’d made over the past two semesters. The chance encounter helped me realize that I had already created my own family 5,300 miles away from my “real” one before I had even met an accidental relative.
Saying goodbye to my friends in December brought on a flood of emotions. While the goodbyes were teary, the intensity of my feelings only helped me realize how lucky I was to have met people I cherished so deeply. As Winnie the Pooh once said, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” Maybe he studied abroad, too.
You Can Stay Exactly Who You Are and Still Grow
Keren’s Story
I was not just a math major—I was (and still am!) an absolute “math girl.” That’s how I introduced myself to my study abroad group in Paris, where I quickly discovered I was the only STEM student among a sea of humanities majors. My math classes at UCLA had been the ultimate joy of my undergrad—I could work on proofs all weekend, completely content in my mathematical bubble.
When people would tell me, “I wish I was as strongly passionate about one subject as you are,” they didn’t understand how limiting it could be to have only one interest. I struggled to finish any non-math courses in high school and undergrad, barely maintaining engagement or motivation. The Global Cities academic program, with its focus on politics, history, art, and criminal justice, was quite a leap from my comfort zone.
But something unexpected happened in those Paris classrooms. The charm of being in a completely new city, surrounded by completely new people, shifted my perspective.
I realized that learning doesn’t have to be tied to career goals or established interests. Learning just for the sake of learning can be powerful within itself. Knowing that a lemon peel in a painting symbolizes time passing (learned in my Paris art history class) won’t help me with my math proofs, but it made me more introspective, more inclined to think deeper about hidden meanings and appreciate the talent of others.
Through this journey, I discovered something surprising: I am a very joyous, glass-half-full, bouncy, positive person. I learned that I love listening to my friends talk about anything, that I can sustain conversations unrelated to mathematics for hours! When I returned home, my family noticed my increased patience and sincerity. They continue to attribute these developed character traits to study abroad.
Towards the end of my stay in Paris, I got a small tattoo of the pi symbol. This wasn’t something I would have expected from myself before the program. But getting this tattoo physically marked that even though I am proudly this new, brave, excited person, I am still the math girl and am proud of it.
The “new me” has proven resilient. Since returning, I’ve moved across the country in Cambridge, survived my first year as an AP Statistics teacher while taking evening master’s classes, and learned to manage a newly developed medical condition.
Study abroad taught me that juggling multiple challenges is truly a mental game. There are enough hours in the day to do everything I want, take care of myself, socialize, and even relax. What I learned wasn’t about leaving my old self behind—it was about adding new dimensions to who I already was. The pi symbol on my skin reminds me daily that growth doesn’t mean replacement—it means expansion.
Students often say their study abroad experience was transformative—here are some more stories of personal growth on study abroad:
- Kaitlyn’s chronic illness made her hesitant to study abroad, and yet, she knew that this was something she sincerely wanted to experience.
- Before leaving for UK-Scotland, one student worried terribly about being homesick and unable to find a community. Irish quickly learned that study abroad transforms complete strangers into family.
- A self-proclaimed introvert, Jillian found the right balance to push outside their comfort zone while honoring their need for solitude.
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