The Bionic Chips Diaries (Madison’s Version)

A Bionic Chips Collection

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  • New Year, Familiar Faces, and Unfinished Memories

    One of the unexpected gifts of living at New Melody was discovering how meaningful shared traditions could be.

    There was something special about celebrating the holidays while actually living at New Melody.

    Being a live-in resident meant I experienced everything.

    Since moving into the clubhouse, I had celebrated every major holiday there. Thanksgiving dinners, Halloween movie nights, Christmas decorating, birthdays, and finally New Year’s Eve. Every celebration was shaped by the people who were there. Someone always volunteered to cook, someone else decorated, someone picked the movies, and everyone found a way to contribute.

    Reading the Harry Potter books growing up, I always loved the chapters set during the holidays. Whether it was the Great Hall decorated for Halloween, Christmas at Hogwarts with enchanted trees and cozy common rooms, or students staying on campus over winter break, those moments made the school feel like a home.

    Maybe that was one of the reason those chapters always meant so much to me. I spent my early childhood at William Martin Academy’s Junior Academy before becoming a boarding student at the Senior Academy in seventh grade. School was where I spent most of my childhood.

    Looking back, I understand why the Hogwarts holiday chapters felt so familiar. They captured the feeling of a campus transforming into a home, where teachers, classmates, and friends became the people you celebrated with. Many of my first memories of carving pumpkins, decorating Christmas trees, exchanging small gifts, and watching holiday movies came from school. For many of us, campus was home for much of the year, and the holidays we celebrated there remain some of my most cherished childhood memories.

    Reading those chapters now, I realize they reminded me of my own childhood in ways I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

    Living at New Melody gave me a small taste of that feeling. The decorations weren’t magical, and there were no floating candles overhead, but there was the same sense of warmth, belonging, and comfort that made the holidays feel special.

    There were no extravagant parties or picture-perfect New Year’s celebrations. It was simply a house full of people who genuinely enjoyed spending time together. Some played board games, others talked for hours and music drifted through the clubhouse well into the evening.

    The food alone could have counted as its own celebration. Felicia Lemos, one of my fellow live-in residents, had apparently decided there was no such thing as baking too much. Plates of chocolate chip cookies, brownies, blueberry muffins, raspberry scones, and mini cinnamon rolls covered the kitchen counter, and she kept insisting everyone take more. Outside in the backyard, Nathan Hartwell, a Class of 2013 alumnus, had volunteered to work the outdoor grills, cooking pork and hot dogs while people wandered in and out to keep him company. By the time everything was ready, the air was filled with the scent of fresh-baked desserts, hot pizza, and smoky barbecue from the backyard grills.

    As evening settled in, the ground-floor multipurpose room gradually filled with people carrying snacks, blankets, and enough drinks to last until midnight. Someone jokingly suggested we spend the night binge-watching Law & Order. Apparently, they had read somewhere that familiar television shows could help stimulate memories after traumatic brain injuries or memory loss.

    I had a feeling someone had just finished an undergraduate kinesiology course and was eager to put a newly learned theory into practice.

    It sounded harmless enough.

    Callum stayed beside me for most of the night, as he usually did. We settled onto one of the couches while everyone debated which episode of Law & Order to start with. Before long, the room filled with the familiar opening narration and the unmistakable “dun-dun” that almost everyone seemed to recognize. Sometimes we talked between episodes. Sometimes we didn’t need to. There was something comforting about simply sharing the moment together.

    In that moment, it was exactly what we needed.

    People laughed at outdated technology, guessed who committed the crime before the detectives figured it out, and argued over which cast lineup was the best. It felt wonderfully ordinary.

    Then it wasn’t. One particular episode touched something deeper than anyone expected. Tyler quietly got up and left the room without a word. Julianne followed a few seconds later, and after a brief silence, the rest of us continued watching.

    The atmosphere had changed. What had seemed like a harmless experiment suddenly felt much heavier. We all knew there were parts of our childhood connected to police investigations, missing children, hospitals, and secrets that had taken years to uncover. Maybe Law & Order had come a little too close to reality for some people.

    As midnight approached, we gathered outside to count down together.

    Ten.

    Nine.

    Eight.

    Everyone shouted loud enough for the neighbors to probably hear us.

    When the clock struck midnight, there were hugs, laughter, and more than a few happy tears. It wasn’t celebrating the end of a year so much as celebrating that we had all made it through one together.

    Looking around, I realized how different this New Year’s Eve was from anything I could have imagined just a year earlier.

    This morning, after a few hours of sleep and far too much coffee, all of us live-in residents headed to The Grove for New Year’s Day shopping.

    There wasn’t any real agenda. Some people wanted new clothes. Others were replacing everyday essentials or spending their holiday gift cards. This year, Julianne Blair, on behalf of the Blair family, presented each live-in resident with a gift card package that included a $200 Mastercard gift card, a $100 Gap gift card, a $100 Barnes & Noble gift card, a $100 Amazon gift card, and a holiday card from Oscar Restrepo, the current president of the Blair Family Foundation. Hunter Corporation had also sent everyone a $100 Visa gift card before Christmas.

    A few of us wandered through bookstores longer than we probably should have, while others disappeared into tech stores or home décor shops.

    I mostly enjoyed walking with everyone, browsing without feeling rushed, and listening to conversations that drifted from college classes to movies, internships, and plans for the coming year.

    I picked up a few things for my room—small items that made it feel a little more like home—and a planner for the new year. I also couldn’t resist stopping by Barnes & Noble, where I picked up Audition by Katie Kitamura after seeing it on The New Yorker‘s list of notable books from 2025, along with Gone Before Goodbye by Reese Witherspoon and Harlan Coben. Between my classes at Santa Monica College, my work with the Campus Department at The Organization, and everything else I had committed to this year, I had a feeling every page of that planner would end up filled. Hopefully I’d still find time to work my way through the growing collection of books filling the shelves of my IKEA utility cart.

    After spending the morning exploring different stores, we all met back up for lunch at La Piazza. It was nice having everyone together again, sharing what we had found and comparing the things we had bought before deciding what to do for the rest of the afternoon. After lunch, we split into two groups. One group headed to the AMC theater to watch Avatar: Fire and Ash, while the other crossed the street to pick up groceries for dinner and the week ahead.

    Walking through The Grove with everyone felt surprisingly ordinary.

    That’s becoming one of my favorite parts of life now.

    Ordinary.

    A year ago, I was still living in Beijing, finishing my last month at a small interior design company.

    Many of us who grew up in the Hunter Institute system probably didn’t think much about why the performing arts were such an important part of life at William Martin Academy. Returning to WMA last spring as a teaching assistant was when I truly began to appreciate what those classes had given us. They weren’t just about putting on performances. They taught us to pay attention to details, solve problems behind the scenes, and understand how every person’s contribution helped others succeed. Those skills stayed with us long after our time at WMA ended.

    In 2022, I lost my old college roommate, Jiang Shan Shan, to the pandemic. We had only lived together for two semesters during our freshman year, sharing a dorm room with two other students, but her death stayed with me. She had survived childhood asthma, graduated from college, and was just beginning the next chapter of her life. None of us imagined it would end so soon.

    Her passing reminded me that life doesn’t wait until we’re ready to ask the difficult questions.

    I had spent years following the path laid out before me without thinking too hard about where it was leading. My grandparents gave me a childhood filled with love, stability, and curiosity. They were both college educated and encouraged me to learn, ask questions, and explore the world around me. Even during my teenage years, when I lived with them, life felt steady. My grandfather continued working as a consultant after retirement, and my grandmother was a college professor who taught undergraduate biology.

    My parents always believed they were preparing me for the future they thought was best. They were hardworking people who built their lives around their careers, and many of their decisions came from wanting to give me opportunities they never had. Sending me to William Martin Academy’s Senior Academy as a boarding student in seventh grade was one of those decisions. They believed it would open doors for me, and for a long time, I accepted that path without question. Many of the friendships I made there became some of the most meaningful connections of my life.

    After Shan Shan died, I found myself wondering what I actually wanted from my own life. What kind of relationship did I want with my parents now that I was an adult? Which choices had truly been mine, and which had simply become so familiar that I stopped noticing them?

    I had always been curious. I asked questions, noticed details, and often wondered why things had happened the way they did. At the same time, I was self-aware enough to know that some questions were better left buried. There were subjects people avoided for a reason, and I convinced myself I could live without knowing every answer.

    When the White Papers were released on June 11, 2021, I found myself reconnecting with Luna Huang, Sophia Wang, and many of my classmates from William Martin Academy’s Class of 2016 through Facebook. Those conversations only made the questions I had been avoiding grow louder. The past was no longer something I could quietly leave behind. Some questions still had no answers, but I had finally reached a point where I wanted to ask them.

    Nearly a year has passed since I was brought back to The Organization. Somewhere, there are still people making moves I don’t yet understand, and none of us know how the story will end.

    But over the past ten months living at New Melody, I found something I never expected. I found a home with people who knew parts of my past that I once thought I would have to carry alone.

    What I didn’t expect was how ordinary acceptance could feel. The people around me already knew my story, and I no longer felt like I had to keep playing a part.

    There is something incredibly comforting about that.

    As we headed back to New Melody, shopping bags piled into the vehicles, I realized that I was thinking about what I was building.

    A home.

    A routine.

    Friendships that kept growing stronger.

    And a future that felt a little more like my own.

    That turned out to be the best way I could have started a new year.

  • Last-Minute Preparations

    Tomorrow marks the beginning of another chapter.

    Although I had already completed most of my enrollment requirements weeks ago, there were still a few small things left to do before classes officially began.

    Luna reminded me that I still needed a few school supplies before classes began, so we put together a last-minute Amazon order for same-day delivery to New Melody. The list wasn’t anything exciting—just notebooks, pens, highlighters, index cards, folders, and a planner—but somehow clicking the “Place Order” button made everything feel real. Those ordinary supplies weren’t just items on a shopping list anymore. They were the tools I would use to begin my first semester of college.

    Luna, naturally, had opinions about everything.

    She insisted that color-coding my folders would make my life easier halfway through the semester. She also convinced me to buy far more highlighters than I probably needed. According to her, “Organization is cheaper than panic.”

    I couldn’t argue with that logic.

    The rest of the afternoon was much quieter.

    Living at New Melody still felt a little surreal. Although I had only been there for a few months, it was beginning to feel like home. The plan was for me to remain at the clubhouse until I completed my Associate in Arts for Transfer (A.A.-T.) in Economics. Having a stable place to live meant I could focus on my education without worrying about where I would be from one semester to the next.

    The second floor of the clubhouse had been designed with students in mind. There were four dorm-style bedrooms, each with its own private en-suite bathroom. It offered enough privacy for everyone while still creating a shared community. We would often cross paths in the hallway or gather downstairs for meals and conversations, but at the end of the day everyone had a quiet space of their own to study and recharge.

    As I unpacked my newly delivered school supplies and organized my desk, I realized how much that room already reflected my new life. Instead of architectural project proposals, meeting agendas, and office paperwork, the shelves were gradually filling with textbooks, notebooks, and class materials. My laptop sat beside my planner, and tomorrow’s schedule was already synced across all of my devices. It was a simple setup, but it represented something I hadn’t experienced in a long time: the feeling of putting down roots.

    I organized my desk, labeled folders, synced my calendar across my phone, iPad, and laptop, downloaded my course materials, and reviewed each syllabus one last time. There was something reassuring about those small routines. After months of uncertainty, simply knowing I was ready for tomorrow made the future feel a little less overwhelming.

    This semester, my schedule is straightforward but important.

    I am taking four courses:

    • ECON C2001 – Principles of Microeconomics
    • MATH 2 – Precalculus
    • ENGL C1000 – Academic Reading and Writing
    • COUNS 20 – Student Success Seminar

    In addition to my college classes, I also enrolled in a Saturday course at Think Tank University: A Brief History of Hunter Institute. It serves as a follow-up to Introduction to Hunter Institute Engineering, which I completed during the summer in July.

    As evening approached, I made a few final preparations for tomorrow. Since all four of my Santa Monica College courses offered an online option this semester, I had chosen to attend them remotely from New Melody. I made sure my laptop was fully charged, tested my webcam and microphone, organized my notebooks beside my desk, and bookmarked each course in Canvas. My planner, class schedule, and a fresh cup of coffee would be waiting for me in the morning.

    Everything was ready.

  • When The Memory Took the Stage

    Today was one of those days at The Organization that reminded me why this place has always felt different.

    The Fourth of July celebration has always been a big event, but this year carried a little more meaning. Along with the usual activities, food, lawn games, live music, and sparklers, The Organization hosted a special celebration for the William Martin Academy Class of 2015—their ten-year anniversary of graduation.

    It was strange seeing them celebrate a milestone that once felt so far away.

    Yesterday, I started preparing for the event with my fellow New Melody residents. It felt like both a formal event we had to prepare for and a fun day we were spending with friends.

    Callum and I had dinner together at The Cheesecake Factory yesterday evening, catching up on everything that had happened. We started with Stuffed Mushrooms and Grilled Asparagus to share. I ordered the SkinnyLicious Branzino, while Callum went with the Grilled Rib-Eye Steak. We both had café lattes with dinner, and to finish the meal, we shared a slice of Oreo Dream Extreme Cheesecake. It was a simple dinner, but it gave us time to sit down and talk. I still had not asked him the harder questions I had been carrying around in my mind. But something told me he already knew what I wanted to ask. Before I could bring anything up, he just started explaining everything, almost like a Twitch livestream or a one-person podcast where he was both the host and the guest.

    After dinner, Callum suggested we take a walk along the beach before heading out to shop. We watched the sun slowly disappear below the horizon, letting the conversation drift from one topic to another as the evening grew quieter. Neither of us felt the need to rush anywhere.

    Eventually, Callum announced that it was time to go shopping. Apparently, he had a very specific idea in mind: matching outfits. He joked that we were finally getting the high school prom moment we never had. When I asked why we needed to do that, he just grinned and replied, “Where else is the fun in it?”

    After visiting several clothing stores, I finally picked out a blue dress from Zara—something I normally would not have chosen. As I stood in the fitting room looking at myself in the mirror, I think that I probably should have planned ahead and made my own dress instead. It would have taken more time, but at least it would have been something uniquely mine.

    I kept thinking about what my instructor had said during my first course at Think Tank University at The Organization. The building has a shared tailor workshop where students can design, create, and experiment with their own clothing. I couldn’t stop thinking about that idea. Maybe I should have taken advantage of the space and made something from scratch instead of searching through store after store for something that felt right. Or maybe I could have bought a simple H&M dress and used the workshop to make my own adjustments, turning something basic into something that felt more personal.

    Callum found a matching bow tie, insisting we had to coordinate. I had to admit, the whole idea was a little ridiculous.

    This morning, the preparation continued at the New Melody clubhouse.

    Everyone had their own style for the celebration.

    Luna and Sophia came over early to help with makeup before we headed to The Organization. Luna wore a bright orange dress that perfectly matched WMA’s school color, while Sophia picked a white dress she had originally bought for Coachella back in April. Daisy Ford chose a light blue and white suit that looked especially beautiful against her light skin. Phoebe Jones went with a creamy-colored suit that matched her elegant style perfectly. Luke Pigeon wore a suit he had used for a corporate summer retreat last year, proving that sometimes the best outfit is the one already hanging in your closet. Felicia Lemos looked absolutely gorgeous in her purple dress. Jorge Turcios showed up in a white suit paired with colorful glasses that somehow made the whole outfit feel completely like him. Gabriella Martinez decided to go green this year, and it was definitely a memorable choice.

    Of course, not everyone could join us for the celebration. Tanner Snipes and Blake Persinger would both be at the hospital, staying on call and taking care of patients while the rest of us celebrated.

    We drove over to The Organization together in the morning. I drove my car, with Daisy sitting in the passenger seat and Callum riding in the back with Jorge. Sophia left her car at New Melody and carpooled with Luna and Felicia instead. The rest of the group decided to order Lyfts.

    By the time we arrived, the parking lot was already partially full. It looked like everyone had the same idea of arriving early, and we quickly realized we would need to park farther away and take the electric golf carts to the main area. Seeing those carts immediately brought back memories for me. I remembered driving those same electric golf carts around The Organization when I was in seventh grade. It was such a fun experience, and I still remember how special that year felt.

    After we arrived at the stadium, we followed the signs to find our designated seating area. This year, the classes were separated by graduation year, which meant the that our WMA Class of 2016 had its own section away from the older and younger classes.

    The center stage belonged to the Class of 2015.

    It was their year to celebrate. Ten years after walking across the graduation stage, they were returning together as a class, and the entire event was built around their milestone. Felicia and her classmates had every reason to be proud. They had spent the year planning, organizing, and creating a celebration that brought everyone together.

    Our Class of 2016 section was seated between the Class of 2014 and the Class of 2017. Looking around, I recognized some familiar faces, including Olivia Yang. I also had the chance to reconnect with Stella Zhu and Ava Shi. Ava and I had been together in the Junior Academy, while Stella had transferred to WMA before seventh grade. I also met several former students from our class whom I had never known before because they transferred into WMA after seventh grade.

    I also saw many people whose names I did not remember, but somehow they seemed to know me well.

    That feeling was still strange.

    Sometimes I forget that there are people who remember parts of my life that I do not remember as clearly. They knew me from WMA, from The Organization, and from years before everything changed. They would come up, say my name, ask how I was doing, and talk like we had known each other for years.

    Maybe that was one of the things about being a chip holder. We were always connected to a larger story, even when we did not know every person who was part of it.

    And honestly, I think the chip holders would always appreciate this—the feeling of being surrounded by people who understand us, even when we were still trying to put the pieces together ourselves.

    One of the first groups to catch everyone’s attention was the WMA Class of 2020. They had all shown up dressed in matching dragon costumes, and they immediately became one of the day’s biggest attractions. Luna laughed when she saw my reaction and told me this had become something of a tradition for them. In 2022, they all dressed as characters from Avatar. In 2023, they came as Barbie characters, and last year they went all in on a Minions theme. Apparently, every Fourth of July celebration comes with one question: What is the Class of 2020 going to wear this year? I have to admit, they have fully committed to the tradition, and somehow they always manage to top themselves every year.

    The highlight of the evening was the performance by The Memory.

    I had heard about the band before, but seeing them perform live was something completely different. They were not just classmates playing music together. Each of them was already known across campus before The Memory became what it is today. The band itself started with the late Class of 2015 president, Chris McCarthy, along with Tyler Bell, Wyatt Stone, and Noah Sullivan. After Chris’s passing, Wyatt stepped away from the keyboard role and moved to bass to take over Chris’s position, while Julianne Blair joined the band as the new keyboard player.

    When Julianne left WMA in spring 2015, the band continued without a designated keyboard player, with Wyatt taking on the extra responsibility of covering both bass and keyboard parts when needed. After graduation, The Memory continued performing together. They organized small theater tours during the summer breaks of 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, and 2019, bringing their music beyond the WMA campus and giving their community another reason to come together.

    The Memory took the stage, and everyone immediately recognized how much history was behind the performance.

    This was Julianne Blair’s first appearance with The Memory after the band was no longer just a school group. Seeing her step onto the stage with them felt surprisingly special. It reminded me of the way I used to fangirl over Hollywood Records’ Disney pop band R5 when I was in high school. There was something exciting about watching people you admired come together and perform—not just because of the music, but because of the connection you felt with their journey.

    Julianne played keyboard and sang with the band, bringing her calm confidence and musical talent to the stage. Dylan Weaver stayed behind the scenes, managing the technical side of the performance and making sure everything ran smoothly. Tyler Bell stood at the front as the lead singer and guitarist, carrying the energy of the entire performance. Wyatt Stone played bass while adding background vocals, and Noah Sullivan kept everything together behind the drums.

    Watching them perform, I noticed something that went beyond the music.

    They had all the support they needed.

    The Blairs, the Weavers, and the Baileys were all in the crowd, cheering them on. Their families were there celebrating not only the performance, but also the journey, friendships, and everything they had built together over the years. Their friends were there sharing the moment with them. The Organization was there, not just as a place they once belonged to, but as a community that continued to support them years later.

    There was something incredibly special about seeing people return to a place that helped shape them and being able to say, “We made it.”

    That was something I kept thinking about today. Everyone’s lives had gone in different directions. Some people were performing on stage, some were helping behind the scenes, some were celebrating with friends, and some were working through the holiday because others needed them.

    But in their own ways, everyone was still part of the community.

    As I watched The Memory perform, I found myself thinking about my own class.

    The WMA Class of 2016.

    Next year, it will be our turn.

    What kind of celebration will we plan? What stories will we tell? How will we bring everyone back together after ten years?

    The Class of 2015 definitely set the bar high. They not only organize a reunion, but also created an experience that brought everyone together. They reminded everyone that graduation is not the end of a story. It is just one small step toward entering a much bigger community at The Organization.

    Watching today’s celebration made me realize that our own tenth anniversary is closer than I had been thinking. We only have one year to figure out how we’re going to top this.s

    I honestly can’t wait to find out what the Class of 2016 comes up with.

    For now, I’m just grateful I had the chance to witness this celebration and take a few notes for next year.

    Happy Fourth of July.

  • Finding a Story Inside the White Papers

    One thing I have learned during this summer course is that not every assignment is about finding the right answer. Sometimes the real challenge is learning how to ask the right questions.

    Today, our instructor handed each of us our next major writing assignment.

    We were asked to select one of The Organization’s archived White Papers and write a full analytical essay about it. Not a summary, not a book report, but a thoughtful essay examining its ideas, historical context, research methods, and lasting significance.

    The White Papers cover an incredible range of subjects. Some focus on engineering innovations, others document educational research, campus development, psychology, ethics, and organizational history. Together they represent decades of work by researchers, educators, engineers, and administrators who believed that knowledge should be carefully preserved—even when the conclusions were still evolving.

    Walking through the archive felt almost like wandering through a library where every shelf held a piece of someone’s life’s work.

    Before heading back to the classroom, I stopped by the Record Department, where Luna Huang works part-time. Located in the basement of the campus library building, the department is tucked away behind the public reading rooms. Upstairs, the library buzzed with students studying for SATs and AP exams, but downstairs the atmosphere changed completely. The air was cool and quiet, and rows of carefully preserved records stretched through the archive. Walking through its aisles felt like discovering a part of the library most visitors never see—as if I had stepped into the institution’s collective memory, where decades of research, correspondence, and history had been carefully preserved.

    Since the assignment encouraged us to go beyond simply reading a White Paper, I wanted to explore the archival collections that supported them. I quickly realized that before I could write a meaningful essay, I first needed to find a story worth telling. Luna introduced me to Alicia Correa, a William Martin Academy Class of 2018 alumna and one of the Record Department supervisors. After listening to what I hoped to write about, Alicia patiently guided me through the archive and helped locate several boxes of documents related to my chosen White Paper. Looking through handwritten notes, meeting minutes, and project files reminded me that every published paper is only the final chapter of a much longer story. The real work—the discussions, revisions, setbacks, and breakthroughs—often lives quietly in the archives, waiting for someone curious enough to read it.

    After spending several hours reading White Paper abstracts, introductions, and the supporting records Alicia had helped me locate, I finally narrowed my choices down to five papers. Choosing just one would prove to be the hardest part. Rather than choosing the most technical or complicated research, I picked one that explored how careful documentation can shape future decisions.

    The paper that ultimately caught my attention examined a difficult question: whether Hunter Institute should continue Highland Associates’s research involving children. If the research continued, how could it be documented in a way that respected the participants and preserved their experiences? If it ended, would the knowledge collected over years simply disappear into the archives, leaving an important part of history unfinished?

    As I started outlining my essay, I realized this assignment was different from most papers I’ve written. It wasn’t enough to explain what the authors had written. I needed to evaluate their reasoning, connect it with broader themes, and reflect on what could still be learned from their work years later.

    It reminded me that research is really an ongoing conversation. Every paper builds upon another. Every question answered creates several new ones waiting to be explored.

    I spent the rest of the afternoon shaping my outline, moving ideas around, and trying to connect the research into a coherent story, surrounded by notebooks, highlighted articles, and far too many sticky notes. My outline changed several times before I was finally happy with it. The first draft is never perfect, but that’s part of writing. Revision isn’t fixing failure—it’s how ideas become clearer.

    This essay will probably become one of the projects I’m proudest of from this summer course.

    I’ve already decided that once I finish the course later this month, I’ll revisit the paper with fresh eyes, expand a few sections, tighten the analysis, and publish a revised edition on the New Melody blog sometime next month. The classroom version is written to satisfy an assignment. The blog version can become something a wider audience might actually enjoy reading.

    It’s funny how a simple homework assignment can turn into something much bigger.

    Sometimes schoolwork ends when you submit it.

    Sometimes it’s only the beginning.

  • First Steps into the Blair Engineering Complex

    Today our summer course took us to The Organization’s Engineering Department for a field trip. It was my first time visiting the Blair Engineering Complex, a place I had heard about ever since returning to Los Angeles but had never actually seen for myself.

    Although it was just another day in the program, stepping inside the building made the experience feel different. Instead of learning from a classroom, we had the opportunity to see where engineers, researchers, and students work together every day.

    The building immediately stood out from the rest of the campus. Redeveloped from the former Hunter Institute engineering facilities, the Blair Engineering Complex blends the original reinforced concrete structure with modern architectural design. Much of the raw concrete remains exposed, giving the building an industrial character while large windows and open interior spaces bring in natural light. The result is a space that feels contemporary without hiding its history. It felt like a place where ideas were constantly being built, tested, and refined. Open collaboration spaces overlooked engineering labs, and every hallway seemed to lead to another workshop, design studio, or research area.

    Walking through the entrance, I couldn’t help but slow down and take everything in. Even though I had spent the past few weeks getting familiar with The Organization, there were still corners of the campus that felt entirely new. Today reminded me just how large this community really is.

    Our summer course instructor, Kayla Messenger, a member of WMA’s Class of 2011, accompanied us throughout the field trip and occasionally shared stories about how the engineering programs had evolved over the years. Once we arrived at the Blair Engineering Complex, the guided tour was led by Tiffany Brooke, a WMA Class of 2021 graduate who now works with the Engineering Department.

    Our instructors introduced us to the different engineering divisions and explained how the department supports both educational programs and real-world projects. The Organization operates like an ecosystem where education, research, technology, and community service all intersect. Seeing that firsthand made everything we had been learning over the past two days feel much more tangible.

    Tiffany walked us through the engineering labs, collaborative workspaces, and student project areas, explaining not only what each space was used for but also how students, researchers, and staff worked together to solve real engineering challenges. One of the highlights of the tour was seeing those collaborative spaces in action. Whiteboards were filled with sketches, equations, and project timelines, while prototype parts sat neatly organized on workbenches. Small groups of students and engineers gathered around their projects, discussing ideas and testing solutions to problems I couldn’t even begin to understand yet. There was an energy throughout the building that was hard to describe—quiet, focused, and incredibly creative.

    Listening to two alumni from different generations talk about their experiences made me realize how strong the WMA community remains long after graduation. They weren’t simply giving us information about a building—they were showing us how many different paths exist at The Organization and the opportunities waiting for the next generation of students.

    The visit also reminded me how many different career paths exist within engineering. Not everyone in the building was designing the same thing. Some specialized in software systems, others worked on structural projects, electronics, manufacturing, or research. It was encouraging to see so many disciplines sharing the same space while approaching problems from different perspectives.

    As I listened to the presentations and watched everyone at work, I found myself thinking about my own future. Moments like this are what made me start considering engineering as a field of study. I still don’t know exactly where my path will lead, but today’s visit made me realize that engineering is broad enough for people with many different interests and backgrounds to find a place where they can contribute.

    I’m still finding my place here, but every day reveals another small piece of The Organization that I never knew existed. The Blair Engineering Complex was one more reminder that learning doesn’t stop when class ends. Sometimes it begins the moment you step inside a building you’ve never seen before.

    When I got back to New Melody today, the house felt noticeably busier than usual. Callum Skiles, Jorge Turcios, and Tanner Snipes had officially started moving into the clubhouse after learning they would have to leave the rental house they had shared in Thousand Oaks. The three of them had signed a five-year lease back in July 2020, but when it expired, their landlord chose not to renew it because the landlord’s child will be attending California State University Channel Islands this August and plans to move into the house. They still have the rest of July to finish moving their belongings, clean the property, and complete the final repairs before turning over the keys.

    Seeing everyone carrying boxes through the front door made the clubhouse feel even more like a community. Each of them is at a different stage in life. Tanner graduated from medical school last year and, after completing his intern year, officially began his second year of residency yesterday. He’s working toward a career in psychiatry, although judging from the number of moving boxes he hauled today, I joked that he was getting a workout before another long stretch of hospital shifts. Jorge already holds a master’s degree in biochemistry and works as a contract product inspector for a pharmaceutical manufacturing company. Outside of work, he volunteers as a paramedic in Ventura County, and despite an already packed schedule, he’s taking classes at Moorpark College with the goal of applying to pharmacy school in the future. Callum, my chip partner, continues to work for The Organization, and it somehow seemed fitting that all three of them would end up under the same roof here at New Melody.

    The three of them were assigned to Room 207, on the other side of the hallway from Room 202. It was almost a mirror image of my room, with the same layout and furnishings. Both rooms had been renovated between December 2023 and January 2024, when New Melody members spent several weekends assembling matching IKEA furniture and reorganizing the living spaces. They quickly worked out their sleeping arrangements. Callum claimed the loft bed, Jorge took the lower bunk, and Tanner, knowing he would spend most nights either on call or at the medical center during his residency, chose the top bunk.

    Watching them unpack and settle into Room 207 reminded me that life keeps changing, even when those changes aren’t planned. Sometimes a move isn’t about wanting something different—it happens because one chapter naturally comes to an end and another begins. The clubhouse has always been a place where people find themselves in the middle of a transition, and today it welcomed three more familiar faces.

  • The Course I Never Took at Think Tank University

    Today officially marked my first day of summer classes.

    It felt strange saying that again after all these years.

    Yesterday, I returned to The Organization after spending the past month away and attended the first day of my month-long summer course. This morning, I settled back into campus life, walking across to the Think Tank University Building, just next door to William Martin Academy’s Upper School, for my second day of class.

    The Think Tank University complex has always been one of the most recognizable landmarks on campus. Its exposed steel structure and soaring glass walls give it a distinctly contemporary appearance, especially when the morning sunlight reflects across the expansive façade. Unlike many of the older campus buildings nearby, the complex was designed to encourage collaboration, with spacious atriums—large, multi-story gathering spaces filled with natural light—along with study lounges, classrooms, and meeting spaces spread throughout the complex.

    The complex is divided into two towers, each with its own purpose. Tower A houses The Organization’s Department of Schools, where many of the educational programs for William Martin Academy and its partner schools are coordinated. It is also a familiar place for students from both William Martin Academy and Hunter Preparatory School, who often use its open study areas for independent work between classes. William Martin Academy’s Independent Study Program is based in Tower A, although students enrolled in the program can still take elective courses on the Upper School campus.

    Tower B is home to Hunter Institute, including its classrooms, research facilities, and distance learning center. It also carries a great deal of history. Before Hunter Preparatory Academy became Hunter Preparatory School in the 1980–1981 academic year, the academy’s 13th and 14th grade programs were held here, with the final class completing the program during the 1979–1980 school year. Those two grades later evolved into Hunter Institute University, a professional education program modeled more after corporate training institutions such as McDonald’s Hamburger University than a traditional university. In 2005, the program was renamed Think Tank University, although it continued to occupy the same tower.

    Before today, Tower B was familiar to me only through stories. I knew it as the place where Hunter Preparatory School’s online study center was located, where Callum Skiles completed many of his courses remotely while attending HPS. But during our first class, I learned that the tower’s history stretched back much further than I had realized. Long before I ever walked through its doors, it had already been part of the stories surrounding so many people I knew.

    The course is called Introduction to Hunter Institute Engineering. Despite its name, it isn’t an engineering class in the traditional sense. Instead, it introduces students to the history, research culture, ethics, and interdisciplinary work of Hunter Institute, along with the scientific and technological foundations behind many of its programs.

    The class itself has an interesting history.

    Although the course is offered through the college extension program rather than William Martin Academy itself, generations of WMA students have taken it after graduation.

    Walking into the classroom, I realized I was finally taking the course that so many of my classmates had completed years ago.

    Back when my classmates and I graduated in 2016, nearly everyone from both William Martin Academy and Hunter Preparatory School eventually completed this course. Most of them did it as a college extension while attending universities, taking the online version on weekends during the school year. Others returned during the summer to complete the intensive on-campus session.

    For one reason or another, I never did.

    By the time my classmates began taking this course, I had already moved on to a different chapter of my life. Somewhere along the way, Introduction to Hunter Institute Engineering became one of those things I always thought I would get around to someday—but never did.

    Life simply kept moving forward, and before I realized it, nearly a decade had passed.

    Returning to complete it nine years later wasn’t something I had expected, but I was grateful the opportunity still existed.

    The course has changed considerably since then.

    Today, every bionic chip holder entering William Martin Academy beginning with the Class of 2029 is required to take it as part of the Upper School curriculum. Because all chip holders since the Class of 2026 have come through Highland Associates before enrolling at WMA, the school now counts the course as a STEM elective instead of offering it only through the college extension program.

    Students who are not chip holders still complete it the old way as a college extension after graduation.

    This summer’s class was a mix of recent graduates, primarily members of the Classes of 2024 and 2025. The Class of 2024 proudly referred to themselves as the Badgers, while the newly graduated Class of 2025 had chosen the name Cardinals during their sophomore year. Seeing them together reminded me how quickly one graduating class gives way to the next. Only a few weeks earlier, I had stood on the other side of that journey, helping the WMA Class of 2029—the Ghosts—celebrate the end of middle school before they moved on to Upper School.

    Walking into the classroom, I realized how much time had passed. At twenty-seven, I was easily the oldest student in the room.

    Surprisingly, it didn’t bother me.

    The year-long online version has always included graduates well beyond their college years, with some returning in their thirties to complete the course. I just happened to be taking the accelerated summer session instead.

    A few names stood out on the roster.

    Among the Class of 2024 graduates were Addison Watson Daugherty and Caden Blair-Palmer, along with several members of the WMA Class of 2025, many of whom belonged to the last class of chip holders before Highland Associates became the sole feeder program.

    Watching them reminded me that they were beginning a chapter my own class had experienced nearly a decade earlier, but not everyone followed the same path. I wasn’t the only person who had taken this course later than expected.

    Julianne Blair and Dylan Weaver both took it during the 2020–2021 school year while they were trying to figure out what direction they wanted their lives to take. Their path wasn’t traditional either, and somehow that made mine feel a little less unusual.

    Not everyone has crossed it off the list yet, though.

    As far as I know, Patrick Boyle and Bailey Holm still haven’t completed the course. By reputation, neither of them seems like the type to come back just to check another item off the list, so I wouldn’t expect either of them to enroll anytime soon.

    Life rarely follows the schedule we imagine when we’re young.

    Today was simply about taking the next step that had been waiting for me.

    And after everything that has happened so far this year, that felt like exactly where I needed to be.

  • Returning to the Place That Changed Everything

    Yesterday, our William Martin Academy middle school delegation departed Los Angeles for Atlanta to begin the annual two-week summer camp and student conference hosted by Hunter Institute. After months of planning, schedules, transportation spreadsheets, housing assignments, and countless revisions, it was satisfying to finally see everything move from paper into reality.

    This year I was responsible for event planning and scheduling for our middle school delegation, specifically the sixth and seventh grade students. The sixth graders, the WMA Class of 2031—the Illusionists—and the seventh graders, the WMA Class of 2030—the Hurricanes—would spend the next two weeks attending workshops, academic activities, and collaborative programs at Hunter Institute’s headquarters and Clayton County campus.

    Our flight from Los Angeles International Airport to Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport was thankfully uneventful. Once everyone had collected their luggage, our buses transported us directly to Hunter Institute’s Clayton County campus, where the visiting delegations would be staying.

    One of my first responsibilities after arriving was supervising residence hall check-in. Every student had already been assigned a roommate before departure.

    The visiting dormitories were designed with three beds in each room, but our middle school students were assigned only two students per room. The top bunk was configured for college-aged visitors who stayed at Hunter Institute during various short-term programs throughout the year, including winter and summer sessions. Staff members had their own rooms nearby, allowing them to prepare for the next day’s activities while remaining available when needed.

    Watching the students settle into their rooms reminded me how much work happens long before an event officially begins. My tourism management courses taught me that conferences and large events depend on careful planning long before opening day. Behind every smooth arrival are countless details that most people never see, from room assignments and scheduling to accessibility, logistics, and guest services. Working as an administrative assistant showed me how those plans come together through countless small details, and my recent experience as a teacher assistant has given me a new appreciation for creating an environment where students feel safe, comfortable, and supported from the moment they arrive.

    Most people never notice that work—and that’s usually a good sign. When everything runs smoothly, the planning becomes almost invisible. Watching everyone unpack, meet their roommates, and settle into their new surroundings, I couldn’t help but smile. Months of preparation had quietly become the beginning of another memorable summer.

    I’m especially grateful to our Middle School Principal, Ms. Kathleen Banner, for trusting me with so much responsibility throughout the planning process. Her guidance and confidence allowed me to grow in ways I hadn’t expected. I also want to thank Ms. Deborah Oaks, Superintendent of the Department of Schools, for her continued support of our staff and students. Organizing an event like this is never the work of one person. It takes a dedicated team working together behind the scenes, and I’m thankful to be part of one that cares so deeply about creating meaningful experiences for our students.

    By the afternoon, the residence hall had come to life. Built in the 1980s, the building reflected the practical campus architecture of its era, with long corridors, light-colored cinderblock walls, sturdy wooden room doors, and polished tile floors that echoed with rolling suitcases, excited conversations, and footsteps. It was clean, well maintained, and comfortable—a place clearly designed to welcome generations of students attending Hunter Institute programs. As everyone settled in, students compared room decorations while counselors answered the same handful of questions over and over again.

    “Where’s dinner?”

    “When do activities start?”

    “Can we explore the campus?”

    The answer to the last question, of course, was not yet.

    After everyone had settled in, we gathered for a brief orientation covering residence hall expectations, daily schedules, campus safety, and the week’s itinerary. Although I had reviewed these materials countless times while building the schedule, presenting them to students made everything feel much more real. The conference had officially begun.

  • Before Everything Changed

    Life in Los Angeles has slowly settled into a routine of its own.

    Last week at William Martin Academy, Emily McCauley and I started talking about books during a break. When I mentioned that I hadn’t had much time to read since moving to Los Angeles, she recommended three novels she thought I might enjoy: Parachutes by Kelly Yang, Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley, and I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez.

    I bought the Kindle editions of all three and downloaded them to my iPad. They’ve become my evening reading whenever I have a little quiet time at the clubhouse.

    It still surprises me how quickly unfamiliar things can become familiar. A few weeks ago, everything in Los Angeles felt temporary. Now I have favorite places to eat, people who know my name, and coworkers who casually recommend books they think I might enjoy.

    Then again, when I think back to the beginning of this year, my life looked completely different.

    Before everything changed, my life in Beijing felt settled. Like reaching the final pages of a novel series, I didn’t realize I was closing one volume until I had already begun the next.

    I worked as an administrative assistant at a small architectural interior design firm in Beijing. It was not the career I had imagined while studying, but it paid the bills and introduced me to talented designers who transformed empty rooms into welcoming spaces. I enjoyed organizing project schedules, preparing documents, and helping keep the office running smoothly behind the scenes.

    January 24, 2025, was my last day at the firm.

    Back in December, we had already learned that our Beijing office would be closing after the Spring Festival. One of the firm’s co-founders had decided to leave the parent company, and the decision was made to shut down the office entirely.

    Everyone—from the designers to the administrative staff—would be leaving. The only exceptions were two designers who were originally from Shanghai. They accepted transfers to the parent company’s Shanghai office, making the move without the need for relocation support.

    On my last day, we took time to celebrate the years we had spent working together. We also held an early retirement party for one of our senior designers, Shen Ming, who would officially retire in February. It gave everyone a chance to share stories, express their appreciation, and wish him well in the next chapter of his life.

    We shared plenty of smiles, stories, and well wishes for whatever came next. Afterward, we thanked one another for the time we had shared, packed our desks, and went out for one final lunch as colleagues. I carried home a small box filled with notebooks, pens, and a few keepsakes from my desk.

    With the office closing, there was no reason to renew the lease on my apartment. After my last day of work, I packed my belongings and moved back into my parents’ condo, where I had lived after my freshman year of college.

    I had originally moved into an apartment closer to the office during my internship in 2020. At the time, commuting across Beijing during the pandemic had become unpredictable, so living nearby made everyday life much easier. What I thought would be a temporary arrangement eventually lasted several years as I continued working for the firm after graduation.

    Moving back to my parents’ condo felt like a practical decision while I figured out what came next. I expected to spend the Spring Festival with my family, update my résumé, and begin searching for another administrative position after the holiday.

    Instead, life had plans I never could have imagined.

    Three days after my last day at the office, the Spring Festival began.

    Chinese New Year has always been my favorite holiday. It was the one time each year when everyone slowed down enough to spend time together. My uncle, Zhang Jian, and my aunt, Fan Na, prepared a table full of traditional dishes, while my grandparents reminded us to eat more dumplings for good fortune. My cousin Zhang Hao stopped by to celebrate with us, and every television seemed to be tuned to the annual Spring Festival Gala. Outside, the city was quieter than many people imagine. Beijing’s citywide fireworks restrictions meant the holiday was marked more by festive decorations, family gatherings, and the glow of red lanterns than by fireworks filling the night sky.

    One of the highlights of the holiday was visiting Universal Beijing Resort with my second cousins. They were the children of my mom’s cousins, and our families had planned the outing well before the holiday. We had talked about the trip for months, carefully choosing a day when the crowds might be slightly smaller. Of course, “smaller” during Spring Festival still meant thousands of visitors.

    We spent the entire day exploring the park, taking far too many photos, and arguing about which attraction deserved another ride. We dressed in Hogwarts house robes, scarves, and sweatshirts before wandering through The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. We watched spectacular performances, sampled far too many snacks, and laughed whenever one of us screamed louder than expected on a roller coaster.

    My cousins still tease me about how nervous I looked before some of the rides.

    That day has become one of my favorite memories.

    Sometimes the happiest memories are the ones that seem completely unremarkable while they are happening.

    Yesterday evening, I finally found the time to send emails to a few of my high school friends. It had been a while since we had all caught up, so I shared a little about my new life in Los Angeles, my work, and how I was slowly settling into a new routine. I mentioned my parents and grandparents as well, letting them know they were doing well, even though we hadn’t spoken recently. I didn’t go into every detail. Some things are simply part of the world I live in now.

  • Starting Over, One Account at a Time

    After everything that had happened, I had to start over with many of the little things most people take for granted.

    On the morning of February 25, Luna arrived with a stack of familiar white Apple boxes. She had picked up everything I would need to start over. The only device I had with me was my broken iPhone 11, so these new devices became the foundation for rebuilding my digital life.

    My digital life looked very different from the one I had left behind in the summer of 2011. Back then, Facebook was where everyone stayed connected, and platforms like TikTok didn’t exist. My chip partner, Callum Skiles, had helped maintain my existing accounts and assisted with the practical details of getting me reconnected.

    My parents still had my old phone number, which made account recovery more complicated. Luna helped me get a new phone number and worked with me to update my contact information across different platforms. Through the New Melody alumni network, my new number was shared with friends and former classmates so that people who needed to reach me could reconnect.

    I spent much of the day recovering access to my online accounts. Gmail came first, followed by Facebook and other services that had once been part of my everyday routine. It was surprisingly exhausting. I was a huge Tumblr user, spending hours following blogs, reposting content, and discovering new ideas through a platform that felt like a creative community.

    I also received plenty of help from the “Tech Trolls,” as everyone affectionately called the members who worked out of the basement level of the New Melody clubhouse. Because the lower floor had its own entrance facing the back street, separate from the clubhouse’s main entrance, it had gradually become the unofficial technology hub for alumni. Between their expertise, Luna’s patience, and Callum’s knowledge of my old accounts, I was able to have everything recovered and set up before dinner time.

    Later that day, Luna also helped me set up my Metro TAP card in Apple Wallet. It was another simple task that carried far more meaning than it should have. Having my TAP card on my phone meant I could begin navigating Los Angeles on my own instead of relying entirely on someone else for transportation.

    As I came to learn, the lower floor wasn’t just another level of the clubhouse—it was one of its busiest and most unique spaces.

    The lower floor of the New Melody clubhouse had a personality all its own. Accessible through the staircase inside the house or its separate entrance from the back street, it felt more like a small startup office than a traditional basement. There were three bedrooms along the hallway. The room closest to the stairs had been converted into a server room, where racks of networking equipment, storage systems, and workstations quietly hummed around the clock. The other two rooms had been fully renovated into comfortable bedrooms for members. One of them, Room B01, was furnished with IKEA’s black-toned furniture and featured a single bunk bed. Smaller than my Room 202 upstairs, it was designed for two residents. The darker furnishings gave the room a sleek, modern feel that fit perfectly with the lower floor’s tech-focused atmosphere, almost like a gaming setup rather than a traditional bedroom. Beyond them was a compact kitchenette and a large open area that served as an informal technology workspace, complete with desks, monitors, whiteboards, and enough cables to make any visitor think twice before stepping over them. It was exactly the kind of collaborative space where problems were solved, ideas were shared, and alumni were always welcome to stop by for technical help.

    Three days later, on February 28, I experienced another first.

    New Melody hosted its very first Friday Night Karaoke event at the clubhouse’s lower-floor open space, and Luna convinced me to come along. Luna worked as a freelance editor for online magazines, and she usually worked from the lower floor of the clubhouse. The area that usually served as the Tech Trolls’ workspace was transformed for the evening, with tables moved aside, microphones set up, and everyone gathering together for a night of music and laughter. I was nervous before we even walked downstairs. I had never been much of a singer, and the idea of performing in front of other people sounded terrifying.

    Fortunately, no one expected perfection.

    The evening wasn’t about talent. It was about laughter, cheering for one another, and creating a place where everyone felt welcome. Some performances were genuinely impressive, while others were memorable for completely different reasons. Nobody cared. Every song was met with applause, encouragement, and plenty of laughter.

    I even found myself smiling more than I expected.

    As I think about those first few days, I realize they taught me something important. Starting over isn’t measured only by life-changing moments. Sometimes it begins with recovering a password, learning how to ride public transit again, or singing badly with friends who don’t mind.

  • Looking Back at February 24: A Day That Changed My Routine

    On the afternoon of February 24, 2025, I woke up to one of the strangest experiences of my life.

    I woke up inside a Waymo traveling through downtown Los Angeles with no memory of how I had arrived there. My last clear recollection was being in Beijing. The realization was deeply unsettling. Within seconds, my thoughts turned to Hunter Institute. Given my past experiences, it was the only explanation that immediately came to mind.

    As I looked out the window, I saw traffic at a complete standstill. Several Waymo vehicles were trapped in the intersection, repeatedly sounding their horns at one another. There were no human drivers arguing, no one stepping out to direct traffic—only the continuous chorus of autonomous vehicles unable to resolve the situation on their own. It was a surreal scene, made even more disorienting by the fact that I was still trying to understand how I had awakened in Los Angeles in the first place.

    Technology that had been designed to reduce human error had somehow created an entirely different kind of traffic incident.

    The event quickly attracted emergency responders.

    Later, I learned that Detective Chase Blair-Palmer, Julianne Blair’s cousin, had taken charge of the LAPD investigation. Although I knew Chase through The Organization’s extended network, I never expected our paths to cross through a police investigation.

    Unfortunately, I was among those transported to Good Samaritan Hospital for medical evaluation. It was my first ambulance ride.

    After I was discharged, Luna Huang came to pick me up. She offered to take me to the New Melody clubhouse for the night.

    It was my first visit to the clubhouse.

    After we arrived, Daisy Ford welcomed me and led me upstairs to the room where I would be staying. She mentioned that it had not been used for several months because its previous resident had recently relocated to New York City. The room was simple but well maintained. Its walls were painted a warm shade of Antler Velvet, a soft, earthy brown with gentle yellow undertones that gave the space a calm, welcoming atmosphere.

    The furnishings were modest, consisting of IKEA furniture that balanced simplicity with practicality. The room was arranged with one bunk bed and one loft bed, making efficient use of the available space while still leaving enough room to move around comfortably. Three MICKE desks provided dedicated workspaces—two positioned beside the windows to take advantage of natural light, and one placed underneath the loft bed to make efficient use of the room’s layout. Along the walls, three SMASTAD wardrobes offered organized storage for clothing and personal belongings. A half-height EKENABBEN shelf with its light wood frame and white metal shelves served as as both a bookshelf and additional storage space. Everything was clean, well cared for, and thoughtfully organized. After everything that happened that day, the room’s quiet comfort gave me a sense of stability and made it feel more like a peaceful retreat than a temporary place to stay.

    The clubhouse was much more active than I expected. People were reading, chatting, and preparing for upcoming events. The space was filled with conversations, music, and familiar interactions between people who clearly felt at home there. After my routine changed so suddenly, being surrounded by such a welcoming and lively environment was surprisingly comforting.

    During my first evening at the clubhouse, Luna introduced me to Luke Pigeon, who had transferred from Castro Academy before graduating with William Martin Academy’s Class of 2013. Like Daisy Ford, Luke had been part of New Melody since its founding. She also told me about Blake Persinger, one of Luke’s classmates, who had moved into the clubhouse after the January Palisades Fire. Because Blake worked night shifts, Luna said I would probably only see him at odd hours.

    Luna also showed me one of the clubhouse’s regular traditions: Book Club Monday Nights, held every Monday from 7:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. For members who preferred weekend gatherings, the same book club also meets on Saturday mornings from 10:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m.

    Reading has always been more meaningful when people are willing to discuss ideas rather than simply finish a book. The clubhouse reflected that philosophy.

    Looking back now, February 24 was memorable not because of the Waymo rampage itself, but because it unexpectedly introduced me to a community I otherwise might never have discovered.

    Sometimes the most ordinary plans are interrupted by events completely beyond our control. Occasionally, those interruptions lead us somewhere worthwhile.

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