Last week, amid the chaotic pre-Valentine’s Day mood and the increasing intensity of my workload, I was looking to blow off some steam. So I resorted to my ultimate stress-releasing activity: going to Trader Joe’s.

I lined up to buy snacks and, in an attempt of self-appreciation, some flowers. As the cashier was checking out my items, he gave me the most radiant smile.

“Hydrangeas and baby’s-breath? This is such a beautiful flower combination!”

Some time ago, a friend told me that Trader Joe’s cashiers are basically trained to compliment your groceries. Still, I left the store feeling pretty good about myself.

As I began my trek back to campus, I found myself thinking: Why, despite knowing what my friend said, did I feel so happy when the Trader Joe’s cashier complimented my flowers?

I broke down my question: What was he doing by complimenting my flowers (besides doing marketing for Trader Joe’s)? He was praising my choices. And what was this happiness that I felt? It was a validating feeling of reassurance.

Walking through the streets of Claremont, outlined with ornate houses and desert plants, I wondered: Why have I been seeking reassurance about my choices?

In those gap months between committing to Pomona and studying here, I was full of doubts.

My mom passed away at the beginning of my senior year, so the process of applying to college had been kind of a blur. Though I’d always been a committed student who genuinely loved learning and dreamt of a future at a prestigious college, I suddenly saw myself drifting into a monothematic and monochromatic existence.

So when I got into Pomona, it almost felt like a miracle. Everyone back home kept gushing with congratulations and comments about how my mom was most definitely proud of me.

My family and my teachers, though happy, had some doubts: Shouldn’t I take a gap semester to rest? Would I survive Pomona, as grief-stricken as I was?

My mom passed away in August 2023. In August 2024, I was coming to Claremont.

At first, I felt fine. The excitement of International Student Orientation paired with the day-long Orientation Adventure (OA) trips kept my mind off things.

However, as classes started, I saw my questions turn in a dangerous direction: Had I chosen the right college? Had they chosen the right student?

During International Student Orientation, an international upperclassman gave my doubts a name: impostor syndrome.

“In your freshman year, some days you’ll wake up and think that you should be back home,” she told us during a panel. “When these days come, I want you to know that you’re wrong. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

During my first months here, her words echoed in my mind like a mantra. But after a while, her reassuring speech seemed to weaken. My freshman year imposter syndrome became denser and my burden felt bigger.

My questions went from “Did I choose the right place?” and “Did they choose the right person?” to “Am I coming to Pomona to escape my pain?” and “Am I qualified to be here or did Pomona only admit me because of my ‘sob-story’?”

As the semester went on, my doubts subsided. I was doing well in my classes, receiving positive feedback from my professors, being involved in a few clubs that I enjoyed and I was making lovely friends.

My problem was solved: I had proven to myself and everyone around me that I was, indeed, not a fraud.

But … not really. When I came back for the spring semester, even though I had continued to succeed academically and socially, those old doubts gradually resurfaced.

Something that’s unresolved will always find a way back into your life.

Over the past few months, I’ve been told I’m strong and vocal. But suddenly, I was like a little kid. I wouldn’t dare talk to my friends about it, feeling that I’d only bother them. And I didn’t want to worry my dad and my sisters back at home. So I sucked it up.

That was until I went to my professor’s office hours. After she asked me how I was doing outside of my academic life, I simply cracked. I told her about feeling like I was running away from home.

“You’re certainly not running away from it,” she told me, nonchalantly. “Here you are, telling me about it. And even if you were running away … I don’t see a problem.”

I had the strange feeling that I was failing at convincing her that I was a failure. So I told her about my most terrifying thought: that I had been accepted to Pomona on the basis of pity.

She looked at me kind of weirdly.

“Do you really think that?”

I nodded, shy and embarrassed.

“That might be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard,” she said, laughing.

Upon seeing my shocked expression, she continued.

“Let me tell you something: They admit students here for a bunch of weird factors. But I can assure you that pity is not one of them.”

I left her office with the same feeling that I had when I was leaving Trader Joe’s: the sheer joy and relief of reassurance. In recent years, there’s been an emphasis on the self-love movement. While it’s a beautiful thing to be able to love and take care of oneself, there’s a limit to how much we can reassure ourselves internally.

Every once in a while, we need someone — be it a Trader Joe’s cashier or a dear professor — to provide us with some reassurance.

So next time I go to Trader Joe’s, even though I know it’s coming, I’ll continue to feel happy because of the cashier’s compliments. I did buy beautiful flowers after all. I’ll thank them, wish them a good day and walk back home, giddy and reassured.

Anna Ripper Naigeborin PO ’28 is from São Paulo, Brazil. Her favorite Trader Joe’s snacks are chocolate-covered raisins and dried chile-spiced mango.

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