I never imagined a single summer program would completely rewrite my lifelong morning habits. Back home, I was definitively not an a.m. person, routinely skipping breakfast.
So when my friends Arden Li of Highland Park, New Jersey, and Emmeline Chan of Los Angeles dragged me out of bed at 7 a.m. on the first day to go for coffee and pastries, I was groggy, skeptical and confused. Food before noon? Me?
We walked to Colectivo Coffee, a cozy cafe tucked into Evanston’s sleepy streets. I stared at my cold brew and Emmeline’s matcha croissant like they held the answers to life. But as we sat there, sipping and chewing, we started trading book recommendations.
Arden pitched a novel I’d never heard of — “Something to Do with Paying Attention” by David Foster Wallace. “You have to read it,” they said. “It’s completely underrated.”
Emmeline raised an eyebrow. “Never heard of it.” She pulled out her phone and shoved the cover of “Me Before You” by Jojo Moyes into our faces. “This is the best book I’ve read all year.”
Arden leaned in, squinted at the cover, then leaned back so fast they nearly spilled their latte. “You must be kidding. That book? Really?” We all burst out laughing. And somehow we ended up talking about Supreme Court cases covered by The New York Times. Growing up in Beijing, I rarely followed U.S. current events, but listening to my friends’ conversations made them feel accessible. Interesting, even. And it later became a habit of my own.
Every day became a different breakfast adventure. Newport Coffee House for pastries. Einstein Bros. for bagels, crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside — Emmeline and I even interviewed customers there for an assignment on whether to lower the voting age, between bites.
Some mornings, we even went to Allison Dining Commons, where I discovered American breakfast: scrambled eggs, chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry Greek yogurt. Back in Beijing, people eat fried buns and soy milk. This fluffy, sweet and tangy meal felt like dessert disguised as breakfast. I didn’t expect to love it. But I did. That sweetness was rich, indulgent, yet strangely refreshing.
No lie: I’ll also miss Allison’s chaotic breakfast “lines.”
By the end of the second week, I found myself telling friends back home: ”I’m actually excited for breakfast tomorrow.” I’d text my friends at night, already planning where we’d go next.
My friends in Beijing were shocked. They sent back screenshots of old conversations with me saying, “breakfast is overrated,” swearing I’d never be a morning person. They didn’t believe it. Honestly, neither did I.
Walking to new spots, talking about books and politics, laughing over spilled coffee. I got to know my friends in ways texts never could capture. And somehow between that first reluctant sip and my last bagel bite, I stopped skipping breakfast. I started waking up at 6:30 a.m. on purpose.
I haven’t missed a single morning meal since I got here. Evanston feels like home now, not because of the town itself, but because I explored it with my fellow cherubs, one sunrise at a time. My body still doesn’t love it. But honestly? I’m starting to.
