In Confusion, There Is Stillness How Princeton’s Ariel Chen discovered the grace of not knowing
On the day of her departure from Bolivia, Ariel Chen packed her belongings into a woven bag she bought from a market in Cochabamba, the country’s third-largest city. It may have looked ordinary, but the bag was sturdy and became Ariel’s companion as she journeyed to Lima in Peru, where she would fly back to Beijing.
“As always, mist embraced the horizon,” Ariel wrote of the takeoff, “the aircraft began its dance—first taxiing, then ascending—as the earth swiftly fell away beneath, until the entire city dissolved into the fog. South America once again became but a continent on the distant side of the map.”
It was the summer of 2024, and Ariel had just concluded a transformative gap year in Bolivia, often referred to as South America’s “poorest country”. She had yet to start her first year of studies at Princeton University.
In those nine months, Ariel shared life with a Bolivian family and learned to exist alongside strangers in an unfamiliar culture. Her physical features marked distinctly foreign to curious passersby. She dedicated her time to an NGO championing women’s rights and found herself dancing the Saya art form during carnival parades, her feet splashing through rain-soaked streets.
South America’s warmth and passion, coupled with its vibrant pulses, drew Ariel from her sheltered existence into the embrace of reality. The uncertainties that clouded her mind upon graduating from high school and her desire to escape the pressures of the rat race gradually dissolved in this land where survival intertwined with life’s passionate rhythms. Though uncertainty lingered when she left Bolivia, she had learned to embrace this young, questioning version of herself.
“Bolivia taught me about uncertainty, and the peace that dwells within it,” she wrote after her departure. “Never have I felt such uncertainty about my life’s direction. Years later, having diverged from what I once thought was a predetermined path—moving from ecology to anthropology, modern art, and political science—I may no longer possess a clearly defined professional goal. Yet I’ve released the need to be that ‘ahead-of-schedule’ child, finding harmony with this searching version of myself.”
Uncertain paths
Even at Keystone Academy, Ariel stood out as the quintessential “golden child”. At three, she learned the piano. She soon expanded into composition, poetry, and storytelling. By eleven, she discovered her passion for wildlife observation and conservation, establishing the Keystone Birdwatching Club and spearheading initiatives like the Beijing Swift Project and Wildlife Neighbors. Her dedication to ecology culminated in a first-author publication in the distinguished journal, Animals. Beyond these pursuits, she stood out as a dormitory leader, led the Keystone soccer and volleyball teams, and played horn in the school orchestra.
As high school graduation approached, her academic achievements sparkled and opened doors to prestigious institutions, including Princeton University, Johns Hopkins University, Rice University, the University of California, Berkeley, and the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). She ultimately chose to pursue ecology at Princeton.
Yet surprisingly, this seemingly perfect “golden child” confessed to feeling lost a year later. Many wondered: How could someone with such a clear trajectory experience confusion? Her path appeared perfectly aligned—a childhood passion for wildlife, extensive conservation work and research, naturally progressing to ecological studies at Princeton. Every step seemed to flow from genuine interest and personal initiative.
Still, uncertainty lingered.
“While I genuinely love ecological research,” she explained, “I began questioning my path toward the end of high school. I found myself immersed in the academic sphere, handling data, probabilities, and statistics, when my true interest lay in practical research—engaging directly with communities and society on conservation projects.”
Her deeper uncertainty centered on fundamental life questions—contemplating her desired identity and approach to the world. “Since beginning my conservation work at eleven, I realize I may have foregone opportunities for personal growth or exploration of other interests,” Ariel reflected.
“There might be paths I never discovered or pursuits I never gave myself a chance to explore.”
Within the internationalized school environment, students shared privileged family backgrounds that nurtured their personal and intellectual development. Yet this ivory tower of existence created an inevitable distance from society’s broader reality. They existed in a pristine bubble, protected from life’s complexities and disorder, growing in an untouched world of carefully curated experiences.
Questions lingered in her mind: Would the real world mirror this sheltered existence? Could she navigate its complexities when the time came? Would she evolve into the person she aspired to become?
As high school graduation approached, these lingering uncertainties added to her confusion, which influenced her decision to choose Princeton. The university offered the freedom to change majors during sophomore year, which, for her, was an opportunity for transformation and self-forgiveness.
She received her Princeton acceptance letter in May 2023. Alongside, there was another exciting prospect: the Novogratz Bridge Year program, available to incoming students. This tuition-free gap year initiative offered nine months at one of six international locations—Bolivia, Cambodia, Costa Rica, India, Indonesia, or Senegal. Participants would engage in public service, learn local languages, live with host families, and contribute to community work through local NGOs.
The program resonated deeply with her inner qualms, inviting her to explore an unfamiliar world and discover new realities in a distant land. She viewed it as an “excellent opportunity”, providing the resources, courage, and time to experience the world authentically. It offered a chance to explore broader academic horizons and step beyond the confines of elite education, discovering different ways of life and alternative systems of knowledge.
In August 2023, she embraced this new chapter, joining five American classmates on their journey to Bolivia.
Rebirth in a new land
Her arrival in Bolivia was marked by an immediate sense of otherness. As an East Asian traveler in Cochabamba, a city rarely graced by tourists, Ariel became an object of unabashed curiosity. Strangers would call out “Cina” in Spanish, while others would squint to resemble the character Mulan—their simplified understanding of an East Asian girl.
Initially, this experience was deeply uncomfortable. It was Ariel’s first encounter with what felt like discrimination, a raw and unfamiliar sensation that made her acutely aware of her difference. Yet, as days passed, she began to understand the nuance behind these reactions. Most people were not malicious; they were simply intrigued, amused, or genuinely unaware of cultural subtleties.
Within the local family that became her home, she first existed without a personal identity. The grandmother, who ran a bustling restaurant, would speak about her merely as “the Chinese person.” Patrons would echo this impersonal designation, reducing her to a geographical marker. But something remarkable happened: the grandmother’s perspective shifted as familiarity grew. With a solemn declaration, she announced to everyone, “From now on, do not call her ‘the Chinese person’; she has her own name.”
This journey was riddled with unexpected challenges, far more complex than Ariel could have anticipated before leaving home.
Her greatest apprehension centered on living with a local family—a daunting prospect as an only child unaccustomed to shared living spaces. The family assigned to her was vibrant and full: three daughters, including a five-month-old girl, alongside their mother and grandmother.
A torrent of questions consumed her: “How would I navigate this intimate family dynamic?” “Could I adapt to their food and routines?” “Would potential conflicts arise?” And most critically, “Would they truly accept me?” When the local NGO first matched her with this family, her reluctance was palpable. She accompanied the host mother home with trepidation and quiet hope.
Upon arrival, an immediate challenge confronted them: the language barrier. Ariel arrived in Bolivia without a single Spanish word, while her host family spoke no English. Daily communication became an intricate mixture of gestures, facial expressions, and silent understanding. Simple tasks—eating, washing clothes, going outside—transformed into complex negotiations, with language as an impenetrable wall between connection and isolation.
Her experience of loneliness was profound and enduring. As an Asian in distant South America, she was an extreme minority, encountering no more than ten Asian faces during nine months. Surrounded by American classmates in one social circle and native Bolivians in another, she existed in a space of complete disconnection, belonging nowhere.
Her sensation of isolation reached its peak during traditional Chinese holidays, particularly the Spring Festival. At this time of reunions, Ariel found herself alone. The emptiness was overwhelming—her heart echoing with the silence of distance. Involuntary comparisons emerged: her classmates studying in the United States, though also abroad, could at least gather and celebrate. Meanwhile, she remained isolated and disconnected.
By February 2024, six months after her arrival, Ariel began transforming her experience. Despite initial challenges, she slowly integrated into Cochabamba’s fabric. Her Spanish improved, and her relationships with locals deepened. She developed survival strategies: she learned the city’s complex transportation networks, navigated the chaotic marketplace confidently, and developed the spirit to engage with every vendor.
Her coping mechanisms became clear: when loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, she would go shopping, engage in conversations, or reach out to distant family and friends. She understood a truth: one must always find a way to save oneself and bridge the gaps that separation creates.
An essential lesson emerged during Ariel’s Bolivian journey: “When you are in a local place, you must adapt to a new pace of life and culture, establish a connection with the ‘present’ and the ‘local’, and develop a sense of belonging.” She understood that refusing to learn and integrate would condemn her to perpetual strangeness—a suspended existence above the land, which represents the deepest form of loneliness.
Her gradual connection with the land and its people brought transformative shock, akin to a rebirth.
Integrating into communities
Spanish became her first crucial pathway to integration. Language differences obstructed communication and understanding. The sole solution was immersion. Ariel enrolled in Spanish classes at the NGO, simultaneously applying what she had learned in daily life and stuttering through conversations with her host family.
When her host household slept at night, Ariel expanded her vocabulary with her computer and mobile phone as teachers. In the daytime, she confronted psychological barriers and spoke boldly despite potential mistakes. Within six months, she could communicate daily in Spanish, go shopping, ask directions, and order food confidently. Her world became significantly more navigable.
Later, she developed a “Spanish-only” persona who boldly engaged with strangers on the streets and at festivals. She chatted with sidewalk store owners about products, current events, or her own journey. In one memorable encounter near Lake Titicaca, Ariel asked a shopkeeper about a local snack, resulting in an impromptu town tour. Though the specific snack remained undiscovered, an unexpected friendship blossomed.
The new language unveiled an entirely different world. Her curiosity about surrounding people intensified—observing, conversing, understanding. She now possessed the tools to genuinely enter this new environment.
Beyond language, she committed to adapting to her host family’s lifestyle. She embraced their rhythms and rituals, participating wholeheartedly in religious celebrations, ceremonies, and family gatherings.
On All Saints Day in November, Ariel and her relatives crafted bread dolls and adorned la mesa—a magnificent table laden with rice, flowers, desserts, and ribbons—while singing prayers throughout the night. Every weekend, her hosts’ relatives gathered for feasting, drinking, singing, and dancing. Within six months, Ariel had encountered over 80 of these relatives. The familial connections were less rigidly defined than in China, and when Ariel addressed them all as “uncles and aunts”, they embraced it warmly, setting aside traditional hierarchies of age or status, simply enjoying their time together.
This experience deeply affected Ariel. Growing up in Beijing in a nuclear family with her parents, she was accustomed to this family model, where interactions with relatives were less frequent and intimate than in South America. “People tend to stay within their immediate households, living in confined environments. They rarely dedicate time to socializing, conversing, or building connections with those around them,” she observed.
Bolivia presented a striking contrast. “People rarely isolate themselves in personal spaces. Life extends beyond individual pursuits and goals; it centers largely on family.” During extended family celebrations, each household contributes according to their means: those with financial resources offer money, while others contribute through effort or alternative means. This mutual support system ensures that when any family hosts an event, everyone participates with financial or physical assistance.
She discovered that in Bolivia, the relationship between individual and community appeared reversed. Rather than families and associations existing to further personal success, individuals channeled their achievements and wealth back into their families, communities, and cities to enhance collective well-being.
This revelation reminded her of her time running the Keystone Birdwatching Club, where she received abundant support from teachers and schoolmates. A science teacher assisted with funding applications for infrared cameras, while an Individuals and Societies teacher guided the club. Many teachers offered generous support, helping her understand that communities exist to empower and support their members in a cycle of mutual achievement.
Her Bolivian experience deepened her understanding of community, inspiring her to transcend individualistic tendencies and engage more deeply with those around her. She emerged from her “little bubble” to truly see people, appreciating their unique stories.
“I immersed myself in the lives of others through conversations, shared housework, dancing, and travels. These interactions brought vibrancy to daily life.”
When one realizes that the world extends far beyond oneself, that one is not the universe’s center but rather part of a vast number of beings, each with their own joys, sorrows, and struggles, and develops respect, empathy, understanding, and compassion, true personal transformation begins. This marks the shift from self-absorption to a broader awareness of the world and all its inhabitants.
A vibrant pulse
Witnessing the lives and destinies of others brought Ariel sadness and grief. In Bolivia, she encountered stark realities of poverty and racial discrimination, where people struggled to break free from hardship despite their earnest efforts.
Her host family exemplified these challenges: two generations of women raising three children on the city’s outskirts, sustaining themselves through a small restaurant and rental income, barely making ends meet. “They are overwhelmed by childcare, restaurant management, and countless daily tasks. Despite their relentless work, they seem unable to find a path forward,” she observed. Most people in her community earned modest, unstable incomes through small businesses or casual work - market vendors, restaurant staff, construction workers, and drivers. “Bolivia’s economic situation is particularly dire now. Without dollar savings, life may become even more challenging for them,” Ariel reflected.
The lingering post-colonial culture manifested in persistent “classification by skin color”, creating invisible barriers that confined people within predetermined social classes. The country’s economic struggles, political instability, and exploitation of resources by foreign powers further limited opportunities for advancement.
Ariel felt particularly disheartened seeing admirable individuals—her music teacher in Bolivia, NGO colleagues, and a charitable host parent—who, despite overcoming numerous obstacles, couldn’t secure their rightful place in society. “These thoughtful, capable people face seemingly insurmountable social barriers that prevent their advancement,” she noted.
The volatile environment was evident in the fragile governmental system and questionable institutional credibility. Protests frequently erupted, and Ariel would sometimes wake to find city streets paralyzed by protest blockades. Uncertainty permeated everyday life.
These experiences profoundly impacted her while in Bolivia.
Though her capacity to help was limited, she seized every opportunity to offer assistance. She dedicated herself to tutoring her 12-year-old host sister in English, who had recently transferred to a bilingual school and was just beginning to learn the language. Almost every night, she stayed up until midnight, supporting her sister through challenging homework assignments.
In her host sister, Ariel saw a reflection of her twelve-year-old self, who had also entered an internationalized school with virtually no English skills, preparing for studies abroad. However, amid severe economic crises and political instability in Bolivia, this pursuit felt more like a desperate escape.
While everything about the situation stirred complex emotions in Ariel, helping her sister created unexpected connections, both with her young companion and with this multifaceted country. Indeed, nothing builds deeper bonds than actively helping others.
Beyond sadness and frustration, Ariel discovered the vibrant pulse and energy of life, particularly through her participation in Carnival, a nationwide non-secular and cultural festival every February. Seeking to immerse themselves in the culture, Ariel and her classmates learned Saya, a traditional Bolivian dance, to join the Carnival parade.
They devoted nearly a month to practicing Saya, eagerly anticipating the parade day. However, the actual event brought numerous challenges. Their 5 p.m. scheduled entrance was delayed until 11 p.m., and around 10 p.m., the weather turned treacherous with lightning and thunderstorms. The streets, with ankle-deep floods, became littered with garbage and vomitus. Their white dresses were soiled, and their rubber-tire sandals caused significant discomfort. The thunderous rain drowned out the drum accompaniment, often leaving them uncertain about which song they were dancing. After a month of preparation and high hopes for an impressive performance, the conditions were devastating. The cold and chaos took their toll on both body and spirit.
Yet, midway through the dance, she was completely absorbed in the moment. Despite the relentless rain, neither dancers nor spectators abandoned the celebration. They danced, sang, drummed, and cheered with passionate intensity. The songs narrated the Black community’s history of struggle and their quest for recognition, carrying such powerful conviction that it unconsciously spread through the crowd, deeply moving Ariel. During her NGO training, she recalled an intangible cultural heritage expert explaining how Saya dance united the Black community and society, sustaining their spirit. It represented “not merely a Carnival element, but a culture’s unique pride and heritage.” This, perhaps, embodied the true essence of dance.
Though her journey wasn’t over, Ariel already felt nostalgia creeping in, particularly remembering one February day when, watching the endless Carnival parade rehearsal from the square, she observed “the dance troupe’s synchronized arm movements creating white waves, as if the entire city were coming to a boil!” In that moment, she knew she would deeply miss this land in the years to come.
A shift in focus
Upon her departure, Ariel experienced a deep sense of loss, as though something essential vanished and another life and version of herself rapidly dissolved into memory.
The experiences in Bolivia remained vivid in her mind. How could she forget sharing corn wine with welcoming strangers in an unfamiliar town while dancing hand in hand? Swimming through Toro Toro’s narrow canyon before leaping from a cliff into a waterfall indeed was a moment to remember. The adrenaline rush of plunging briefly into an alpine lake at 5,100 meters, emerging seconds later amid shivers and screams? How could another adventure top her ascent to a nearly 5,000-meter peak to gaze upon her glittering city below? What about journeying two days downstream in the Amazon rainforest to reach a remote indigenous community, gathering in circles at night to hear elders recount their founding stories and the devastation of Amazon fires? Finally, climbing a small island in the mystical Lake Titicaca to witness sunrise breaking between snow-capped peaks was genuinely breathless. There were just so many countless moments that moved her to tears.
These experiences dismantled certain foundations built over her previous eighteen years: her task-oriented mindset, her near-obsessive pursuit of certainty, her aversion to contradiction and conflict, and most significantly, her once-unwavering conviction about her professional and life trajectory.
“Initially, I approached my gap year academically, focusing on concrete goals like mastering Spanish, studying local culture and cosmology, and understanding the relationship between organizational culture and Catholicism,” Ariel explained. “However, I discovered it was about being immersed in a country and reconstructing a way of life. It wasn’t about academic achievements but about experiencing life from a different perspective.”
The year yielded more questions than answers, deepening her uncertainties about the world, China, and herself. “After witnessing life in Bolivia and the challenges facing developing nations, returning to my previous worldview became impossible. My future seemed less certain - perhaps ecology and academia weren’t my paths anymore,” she reflected. “While my passion for animals endures, encountering so many human stories has shifted my focus toward helping people.”
Now, though more uncertain, she feels calmer and more receptive than ever. “This less utilitarian year revealed a different world. I’ve learned that urgent goals needn’t drive us, that uncertainty about the future is acceptable, and that specific age milestones shouldn’t pressure us. The absence of clarity about future studies isn’t catastrophic. Life now carries more faith, embracing uncertainty with greater serenity.”
Her privileged background—financial security, international education, and access to prestigious universities—once seemed straightforward blessings that could be used for global benefit. Now she recognizes the complexity of leveraging such advantages to genuinely support communities and environments.
In her parting reflections, she wrote: “Perhaps meaningful connections with communities require accepting missteps. Rather than confidently declaring how I’ll use my privileges to serve society, I must constantly question myself, weighing each action’s impact. Finding equilibrium between accepting reality and challenging systems, between decisive action and thoughtful consideration, becomes a lifelong journey.”
