Time in college flows differently — faster, sharper, as if each semester compresses itself into a single blink. Halfway through already, I sometimes wonder how I got here. At the start of the year, I had scribbled down a list of goals: transfer into the College of Engineering, chase a double degree in CS, land a SWE internship, pick up teaching, get my driver's license, see more of California, and — somewhere between all that — remember to have fun.

What surprises me now is not just how much of that list I checked off, but how the year itself unraveled into something bigger than I imagined.

In the fall, I pushed my way into the College of Engineering. The process was methodical: paperwork, requirements, waiting. Two months later, the acceptance landed, and I thought that was the hard part done. I had a pretty good progress towards completing a Mechanical Engineering degree, so I wasn't too worried about it. But spring had its own challenge. I took a leap at the double degree in CS from CDSS — a brutally selective program with fewer than a hundred spots across the campus student population. I told myself not to expect too much. And then one evening in late April, walking back from a musical performance, I opened my inbox and froze. I was in.

If you had told freshman-year me — the one who thought will be stuck with physics — that I'd be holding offers from both programs, I would have laughed. But here it was, proof that the long nights and endless exams were paying off.

The truth is, I tested my limits more than once. Over the year I took 12 classes, 44 units in total. In Fall 2024, with 6 finals, each 3-hour-long, crammed into a single week, I nearly broke down. At one point I even tried seven classes in the fall — 26 units — before realizing I couldn't do it. Dropping one was humbling, but necessary. Six, I learned, is my limit.

It was stressful, but clarifying too. I discovered that moving fast has its price, and learning to balance isn't cowardice. Still, it means I'm on track to graduate a semester early — a reward carved from the chaos.

Over winter break, I finally returned to Shanghai, my home, to spend time with my grandparents. But I also gave myself the trip I had been dreaming about for years: a trip by myself to southwest China.

I flew into LiJiang, a city in the province of Yunnan, and wandered through mountain villages and the shadow of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. From there I took a train to Dali and began a fifteen-hour climb up Cangshan. The mountain had been hit by a blizzard the day before, icing over the descent trail. Coming down was harrowing—slips, near falls, and moments that felt closer to life and death than I wanted. But it taught me something important: respect for nature, for weather, for preparation. Next time, I would carry better gear, and a deeper humility.

From Dali I flew north to Chongli, trading cliffs for slopes, and spent three days snowboarding with a stranger who soon felt like a companion. Finally, I returned to Shanghai — tired, fulfilled, and holding onto the memories of a journey I had waited far too long to take. It was the most relaxing and freeing break I've had in years.

Amid all the coursework, I also stepped onto the other side of the classroom. As an academic intern for CS 61A — the class that first introduced me to programming — I found myself revisiting concepts I had forgotten, like Scheme, while guiding others through the same stumbling blocks I once had.

Working with Professor John DeNero and Justin Yokota in CS 365 reshaped how I see teaching: not just delivering content, but building confidence. And outside the classroom, bonding with the staff through dragon boating on late spring afternoons before finals became one of the quiet joys of the semester.

Spring brought freedom. With fewer courses weighing me down, I finally had time to explore. A retreat to Santa Rosa with Engineering Solutions at Berkeley was super fun, and a quick two-day snowboarding trip to Tahoe as my first road trip as a licensed driver was exciting too. These little escapes reminded me that life at Berkeley isn't only about grades, but also the people and experiences I've had.

Snowboarding, especially, has started to tug at me. Though I only managed five days on the slopes this year, next season I'm determined to land a tamedog, maybe even a wildcat.

Closer to campus, I found another kind of sanctuary: The Backroom. Tucked away in Berkeley, it's literally a living room turned performance space, welcoming traveling musicians from across the world. Many are guitar fingerstylists — the very style I love most.

I started going often, slipping into a couch seat, letting the lights dim, and surrendering ninety minutes to the warmth of sound. There's something intimate about it: the closeness of the room, the way music fills the air unfiltered. For me, it was a different kind of classroom — one where I learned not through books or problem sets, but through strings and silence.

Then came Rivian. In late fall, their offer arrived — my first big leap into the world of automotive tech. And right before, I got my very first car: a used 2021 Tesla Model 3. At first, I was a bit nervous about driving a Tesla to work at Rivian, but it turned out that I wasn't the only one doing it. Everyone at Rivian recognize Tesla as a great car, yet we all work to make Rivian even better. This work culture is what I love the most about Rivian.

Before the internship started, I grabbed my high school friend Mike and drove Highway 1 down to Irvine. Three days, three hundred memories: Point Reyes, Santa Cruz, Monterey, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles. Sunshine and salt air stitched together by asphalt. It was my California dream.

Summer became a rhythm of work and wandering. At Rivian and VW Tech, I spent weekdays buried in code and calibration. On weekends, I escaped: short hikes at Portola Springs, long treks through Sequoia, lazy afternoons at Laguna and Santa Monica, city nights in Hollywood. Sometimes it was a one-hour stroll, sometimes a seven-hour grind, but each trail added a new story, a new friend.

Every Sunday I played ultimate frisbee with Irvine Flow, a club that kept me sharp for Berkeley's intramural season. It wasn't just about the sport — it was about belonging, about holding onto a community even when miles away from campus.

Now, as sophomore year closes, I see it less as a checklist of goals achieved and more as a season of motion. From classrooms to coastlines, from exams to road trips, from snowboards to fingerstyle concerts to mountains in China — it all feels like one continuous surge forward.

Time is rushing by, yes. But in that rush, I'm learning to savor the seconds, to stretch them wide, and to carry each one with me into what comes next.