I sat in Beckman Auditorium last night, November 3rd, my iPad open, my pen ready. Around me, students whispered excitedly. Faculty members settled into their seats. The air felt heavy with anticipation—that particular Caltech energy when something important is about to happen.
The second floor of Kerckhoff had an unusual stillness that evening. People trickled into the small library room for the Science and Faith Examined (SAFE) talk, uncertain yet curious. I sat near the back, notebook open, listening to Tara—a physics PhD student and president of GCF—unfold her reflections on quantum field theory and the Bible.
One of the articles I have been featured in stated that the future Dulbecco is Camilla Fezzi, who is flying to Caltech, where he was. At that time, I did not know precisely who he was…I am honest, but today, after a year and numerous books, I really want to dedicate this article to one of my fonts of inspiration.
There is an inner crack that runs through women’s journeys in science—the hesitation, the feeling of being out of place. But as Leonard Cohen wrote, that’s how the light gets in.
The Houston heat wrapped around me like an invisible shield as I navigated the city with the strange feeling that I was not walking to a lab or a museum, but to something that provided silence. The Rothko Chapel is hostile to sound: black walls, enormous canvases, light that doesn’t so much illuminate them as permeate through like some ancient sigh.
I stayed awake at 2 a.m. during my first week at Caltech, sitting on my bed surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. On one side was a physics problem set that I didn’t understand, and on the other was this small book everyone whispered about—the little t. I initially thought it was some campus oddity, like an inside-jokes dictionary I hadn’t learned yet. But curiosity eventually got the better of me. I opened it.
When I first set foot in California, leaving behind the sun-kissed hills of Italy, my heart was heavy with anticipation and anxiety. As someone raised in a profoundly Catholic family, faith was not just a tradition—it was the very fabric of my upbringing. Church bells, Sunday Mass, and a close-knit parish community were constants in my life. The thought of crossing the Atlantic for my studies filled me with excitement and a silent worry: Would I find a place where my faith could thrive? Would I see a community that shared my values, or would I feel lost in the vastness of a new culture?
Amid deadlines, data, and delayed dreams, it’s easy to overlook the fact that life doesn’t wait for us to solve every problem. At Caltech, where ambition surrounds us and the future feels constant, the present can easily fade into the background. Yet beneath the weight of equations, lab reports, and sleepless nights lies a truth waiting to be unearthed: hic et nunc—“here and now.” This simple, ancient Latin phrase serves as a profound reminder that our only true existence is in the present.
