*From the cover of Benson Boone’s *Cry (2024).

When I first set foot on Caltech’s campus, I felt like a contestant on a reality show called Survivor: Genius Island. I was fresh off the plane from Milan, armed with a suitcase full of dreams, a double major in biology and chemistry (because why not suffer twice as much?), and a secret hope to someday heal cancer. I planned to take the world by storm—or, at the very least, survive my first quarter without accidentally setting something on fire in the lab.

It was the first week of winter term at Caltech, and Pasadena was pretending to be cold—60 degrees, which is apparently “freezing” in Southern California. I was wearing a scarf and probably looked like I was training for an expedition to Antarctica, because when they say “cold” in Italy, it is extremely cold, but when I went out, I was sweating! My American classmates, meanwhile, were in shorts. This was just one of the hundreds of things that bewildered me as a newly arrived Italian freshman, double-majoring and (if I’m honest) occasionally questioning my sanity.

The “honeymoon phase” of college had worn off. I missed Verona’s cobblestone streets, my mother’s risotto, and even my very long soccer talks with my older brother. Classes had intensified. I’d just gotten back my first chemistry problem set, which looked like it had been graded by someone wielding a red Sharpie as a weapon. My confidence was somewhere between “spilled espresso on my notes” and “accidentally called Professor X ‘Mom’ on Zoom.”

One night, after a fierce study session, I was scrolling through Amazon Prime’s “Chill Pop Hits” playlist, looking for anything to drown out the persistent hum of my dorm’s ancient heater. That’s when I heard it—the gentle piano, followed by Benson Boone’s unmistakable voice in “Ghost Town”:
“Maybe you’d be happier with someone else / Maybe loving me’s the reason you can’t love yourself…”

I stopped breathing, then played it again. And again. It wasn’t just the melody—it was the raw ache in his voice. He sounded exactly how I felt: uncertain, vulnerable, and just a little bit lost. I googled him immediately (didn’t even get distracted by Wikipedia this time), and that’s when my winter term took a wild, musical turn.

The Soundtrack of Survival

“Ghost Town” became my late-night anthem during those endless problem sets and existential crises about whether I’d ever understand physics or, you know, make any friends. The lyric “I’ve been holding on to hope that you’ll come back when you can find some peace” felt like a secret letter to my old life in Italy, and to the people I missed so much.

But Benson Boone didn’t just help me wallow—his music gave me hope. When I finally finished a draft of my biology paper (which took three all-nighters, three Red Bull (do not tell my mum), and one minor existential crisis), I rewarded myself with “Beautiful Things.” The chorus—“Don’t take all my beautiful things away”—reminded me that even in the challenging moments, there were glimmers of joy: a perfect sunset, a new friend in my chemistry lab, a text from home.

On days when I was feeling bold—or just needed to convince myself I was bold—I blasted “ROOM FOR 2.” I’d sing along (badly, sorry neighbors), especially when Boone croons, “If you’re broken, I’ll fix you / There’s room for two, if you let me in.” I secretly pretended he was talking to me and my stack of half-finished lab reports, offering a little space for hope and imperfection in my crowded mind.

Mystical Magical Mayhem

Then came “Mystical Magical.” I discovered it on a rainy Thursday when my umbrella had just turned inside out, my shoes were soaked, and I was pretty sure I’d failed my chemistry quiz. But as soon as I heard the bright, playful chorus—“I wanna give you the world / Not saying you gotta chase me, / But I wouldn’t mind it, / If you gave me just a little bit”—I laughed out loud. It was so over-the-top, so full of wild optimism and ideal love, that it made me feel better about the chaos of my own life.

I started joking with my roommate that Benson’s songs were my “study spells.” Before every big test, I’d play some of his songs on repeat, waving my highlighter like a magic wand, hoping it would turn multiple-choice guesses into actual knowledge. (Hasn’t worked yet, but hey, it’s only freshman year.)

Before You, Better Alone, and Newfound Courage

As winter term trudged on, I started to find my rhythm—and, slowly but surely, my people. “Before You” became the soundtrack for new friendships. It somehow captured the feeling of finally connecting with other students who, like me, pronounced “schedule” like “shed-yool” and shared my eternal confusion about why Americans are obsessed with putting ice in absolutely everything. We bonded over late-night study sessions, accidental language mix-ups, and the shared relief of finding someone who just “gets” you, even in a sea of strangers.

Then there were the evenings when I just needed to recharge by myself. That’s when “Better Alone” came to the rescue as my musical comfort food. It was as if Benson understood my social battery needed time to refill—and that it was perfectly okay to curl up, headphones on, and just breathe. His music made me realize I could take college at my own pace; I didn’t have to be everywhere, with everyone, all at once. Sometimes, a night alone with my thoughts and a calming playlist was exactly what I needed to face the whirlwind all over again the next day.

The Houston Adventure: My Benson Boone Pilgrimage

So, here’s where my Boone fandom reached legendary heights. I found out he was playing a concert in Houston this summer—the same city where I’ll be shadowing doctors (and hopefully not fainting in the OR). I bought tickets faster than you can say “mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” My friends asked if it was for “professional development.” I told them, “Absolutely, I’m studying the effects of live music on DNA replication.” (Science joke. No one laughed.)

I’m already planning my outfit: Caltech hoodie, Italian flag pin, and maybe even a sign that says, “Benson, your music got me through analytical physics and bio8 and homesickness. Grazie!” If you see a girl singing every word, possibly crying, and definitely dancing like she’s casting spells with a highlighter, that’s me.

A Year in Lyrics

Looking back, my first year at Caltech was a wild, beautiful mess—equal parts “Ghost Town” vulnerability, “Mystical Magical” optimism, and “Momma’s Song” homesickness. Benson Boone’s music became the thread connecting my hardest nights and my happiest victories.

So, thank you, Benson. Thank you for helping me find the magic in the madness, for giving me words when I couldn’t find my own, and for making my winter term—and my whole freshman year—a little less lonely, a little more mystical, and a lot more unforgettable.

And to all the other first-year students out there: find your soundtrack, wear your parka even when everyone else is in shorts, and remember—sometimes the best way to survive college is to dance in your dorm, sing at the top of your lungs, and let your favorite songs carry you home.