Beyond the CRC: Sydney Chon’s Quilt Project

Emerging Markets, Emerging Perspectives

Andrea Fuentes and Lara Gamaledin

Final Commencement Speech Submitted to Brown:

Rishika Kartik

Julia Krausz’s Experience Creating a Group Independent Study Project (GISP)

Reflections on being a mentor, compiled by Neva Mathew ’26, MAPS co-coordinator

Beyond the CRC: Sydney Chon’s Quilt Project

Independent Concentrations Coordinator Sydney Chon ’26 launched the Quilt Project, which is now displayed at Hasbro Children’s Hospital. Sydney’s own Independent Concentration is Medical Humanities and Representation. Read her artist statement below:

Art is my favorite form of storytelling. Creating art offers an intimate window into our own experiences and the lives of others, often sparking meaningful conversations without the need for words. I have practiced art since elementary school and continue to do so now as a college senior and Healing Arts volunteer at Hasbro Children’s Hospital.

In the fall of 2023, I began volunteering at Hasbro. During my first year, I supported
children through bedside arts-and-crafts activities. Each child’s creativity and talent continually inspired me, yet I realized their artwork was often seen only by a few people. I wanted to find a way to share their creativity with the entire hospital community.

This September, I launched the Quilt Project with the vision of creating a large-scale
community art initiative that would showcase the many talented patients and artists at Hasbro Children’s Hospital. Each week from September through December, I visited the 4th and 6th floors to invite patients and their loved ones to participate. Those who were interested received a fabric square, with complete creative freedom to design anything they wished. While some patients chose to keep their work, many others generously shared their pieces to be included in the collective art piece.

The Quilt Project is, at its core, a community effort. Every square was created by Hasbro
patients, family members, friends, and staff. Even the construction of the quilt itself is collaborative. This was my first time making a quilt, and it would not have been possible without the generosity, knowledge, and guidance of my neighbors in Houston, Texas, Mr. and Mrs. Hornbeak. As master quilters, they taught me how to use a sewing machine, piece the fabric squares together, layer the quilt with backing, and hand-stitch its border.

Through this process, the importance of community—of working together to create something beautiful, celebrating creativity and artistic expression—has been deeply reinforced. I am truly grateful to everyone who contributed to this quilt, and I hope that all who pass it are reminded of their vital role and value within this community.

Emerging Markets, Emerging Perspectives

Andrea Fuentes and Lara Gamaledin

Some of the most creative solutions to poverty we have ever seen came from people trying to make money. It is not the version of development that fills most syllabi, and it was not the version we were finding in our courses at Brown.

Coming from Cairo and Mexico City we were skeptical of top-down approaches to development, shaped by environments where solutions usually came from adapting to local constraints. Growing up surrounded by informal markets and businesses that out-competed multinationals simply by understanding their context better, we had both developed a skepticism toward the idea that the public sector held all the answers. The course took that intuition and tried to work through it more systematically, focusing on when and why market-driven solutions succeed in emerging markets, and where their limits become clear.

Our approach to building the syllabus started with the firm, and studying how businesses enter emerging markets, navigate institutional voids, create demand. We then zoomed out to the forces shaping the markets including trade wars, Belt and Road, BRICS, de-dollarization, impact investing, and the conditions under which public and private interests actually align. Inspired by the Harvard Business teaching model, we relied on case studies to  structure discussions around real decisions and tradeoffs. With a 20 person class representing 14 countries, many of which were emerging markets themselves, the discussion rarely stayed theoretical for long. Students brought in their own experiences, adding context, and complicating assumptions we hadn’t thought to question. 

Our guest speakers were drawn from across the industries we had spent the first half of the semester examining. A managing director at Blackstone, the CEO of Latin America’s largest cinema chain, a managing director at Endeavor, a partner at McKinsey, a fund investor in one of Africa’s fastest fintech’s, a hedge fund CIO, and an academic studying how economic ideas spread across borders each had navigated these markets differently. What stood out was how much their perspectives were shaped by those roles. An investor’s instinct to weigh risk and scalability came through differently than an operator’s focus on execution, just as an academic’s search for patterns that generalize diverged from a fund manager’s sensitivity to what makes each market structurally distinct. Each conversation opened up conversations the readings alone never would have. 

That two undergraduates could identify a gap, build a course around it, and spend a semester working through it with twenty students from fourteen countries is, in the end, an argument for the open curriculum as much as anything else.

Final Commencement Speech Submitted to Brown:

Rishika Kartik

I wrote a commencement speech about how Brown is about having the courage to embrace contradictions, including my favorite contradiction: think for yourself, but never walk alone. I was a finalist for the speech, but not selected, and Dean Shiner encouraged me to share my reflections in other avenues. I would love to share what I wrote with the community :).

Brown is a constellation of contradictions. Talk to any Brown student and you’ll find a Mary Poppins bag. A bottomless pit of interests and accomplishments that make less sense the longer you listen. The biology whiz kid is also an aerial acrobat. The ROTC triathlete is also a nonfiction author. The International Math Olympiad medalist has also interviewed the former President of Nigeria. (All true stories by the way). I came to Brown as a person full of contradictions. An artistic scientist, metalhead cellist, and a highly impulsive overthinker. Am I gonna fit in? Am I too strange? But I soon discovered that at Brown, we aren’t strange. We’re… “inter-disciplinary.” We channel our strangeness into action and find courage in contradiction. At the heart of the Brown experience is one particular contradiction: think for yourself – but never walk alone. We are encouraged to think for ourselves by virtue of the Open Curriculum. We choose every class we take. It’s basically a badge of honor here to say that you’ve taken classes from as many departments as possible. We aren’t forced to combine disciplines—we aren’t forced to do anything. But almost everyone does. Why? We do it because we’re driven by curiosity, the aim to understand the world in all its complexity, and the desire to improve our little corner of it. The Open Curriculum allowed me to think for myself. I created my own concentration: Accessible Design. This aims to develop better systems for the 1 in 6 people worldwide who live with disability. 1 in 6. Most of the world is designed for the average user. But Accessible Design starts with people the bell curve typically leaves out and redesigns systems for them. This approach, which reframes disability as diversity, has led to some of our best innovations. Did you know that Siri, closed captions, and the potato peeler were initially designed to address accessibility needs? When we empower those who have historically been left behind, we tend to design better systems for everyone. Which brings me to the second half of the contradiction: never walk alone. During my sophomore year, I learned this lesson literally. I’m walking home at night–alone–and hiding in the shadows is a large pothole, eagerly awaiting my downfall. I lock eyes with it for a moment, but it’s too late. The pothole won. I’m on the ground immediately, with a sprain bad enough to need crutches. But at Brown, people will always pick you up when you fall. Within minutes, I’m limping alongside an entourage of random strangers-turned-friends, who usher me into the Ratty and serve me a Michelin worthy, elegantly plated three-course meal. Seriously. French fries with a swirl of ketchup for hors d’oeuvres, roasted chicken over seasoned rice for the main, and of course, a soft-serve sundae special to finish it off. And it didn’t even end there. We shared stories, became friends, and went back to the Ratty every week for “pothole family potlucks.” Helping a stranger up is basic courtesy of course. But this? This was anything but basic. This was extra, in the most Brown way possible. We all have stories like this. And that’s why “collaborative” is the first word people use when they talk about our university. It’s the reason that a viral Instagram reel anointed us “the happiest college on earth.” Because, above all, we value each other. We know that the more we invest in the people around us, the more we learn, and the better we become. Never was the importance of solidarity more evident than in December. But true to Brown, when things fall apart, we come together. I was in the Ratty during the lockdown. And staff members fed us hot meals and reassured us, despite the terror on their own faces. Heartbroken alumni organized support events across cities, and shattered students mobilized to help affected families. Afterwards, I kept seeing two words: Ever True. On post it notes and t-shirts and social media hashtags: Ever True was everywhere. But what feels current is, in fact, historic. The phrase “Ever True” comes from our school’s fight song, written by Donald Jackson way back in 1905. Anyone who has spent any time here will tell you Brown is far from traditional. And yet, we maintain a centuries-long tradition. Courage. It has taken immense courage for us to get here today. Some of us are the first in our families to attend college, or to attend college in the US. Many of us balanced work or family responsibilities with deadlines and extracurriculars. All of us have sacrificed comfort, certainty, and yes, a bit too much sleep, to pursue our dreams. And here’s the final contradiction: Our fight song calls for unwavering strength, but we are unafraid to be sensitive. To be Ever True is to be soft yet strong. Tender yet tenacious. Vulnerable yet valiant. As we move forward, we carry with us a sense that we can live life like the Open Curriculum. We will form our own opinions and chart our own paths, while knowing that we will never walk alone. Life may pressure us to simplify: to let the very core parts of who we are fade away. We can’t let it. The world doesn’t need fewer contradictions. It needs people like us. Who finds peace in paradox. Create harmony in contrast. Carry courage in contradiction. And remain…Ever True. Original Speech Draft Submitted to Brown: I came to Brown because I was a person of contradictions. A metalhead cellist. An artistic scientist. An impulsive overthinker. My paradoxical existence often confused others. To be honest, it confused me, too. But Brown is a constellation of contradictions. Talk to any Brown student and you’ll find a grab bag of magic, like the kind Mary Poppins carried. A bottomless pit of accomplishments that makes less sense the longer you listen. The biology whiz living at office hours is also an aerial acrobat. The ROTC triathlete is also a nonfiction author. The International Math Olympiad medalist has also interviewed the former President of Nigeria. (These are all real Brown students, by the way). At Brown, people aren’t weird. They’re just… “interdisciplinary.” (make air quotes with fingers) We are not encouraged to be normal. We are encouraged to be exceptional. And this is made possible, in part, by the Open Curriculum–in which students are free to choose every class they take. As a result, there is no such thing as the average Brown student. As a community, we celebrate individuality. We find peace in paradox. Harmony in contrast. Courage in contradictions. Inspired by the ingenuity of my classmates, I created and pursued an independent concentration in Accessible Design. This degree aims to design better systems for the 1 in 6 people worldwide that live with disability, and for those who may develop one someday. Most of the world is designed for the “average” user. But, like Brown, Accessible Design instead starts with the exceptional. It starts with people the bell curve often leaves out and redesigns systems from there. This approach, which reframes disability as diversity, has led to some of our best innovations. For instance, did you know that Siri, closed captions, and the potato peeler were initially designed to address accessibility needs? I’ve learned that when we work to empower those who have historically been left behind, we tend to design better systems for everyone. I could have never made that discovery in a conventional major, at a conventional university. At the heart of Brown is a fascinating contradiction: think for yourself, but never work alone. During my first semester, I struggled in an advanced math class and almost dropped it. But a senior noticed my struggle in the library and went out of her way to help. Despite being done with her own finals, she camped out with me in the dining hall—which we call The Ratty—from 7am to 7pm. Every day. For a week. We Brown students know this as The Ratty Challenge. This senior helped me work through each problem one step at a time, and it worked. I not only passed the course, but found a close friend in the process. I’m sure you all have your own stories like this. They are why “collaborative” is the first word people use when they talk about our university. It’s the reason that a viral Instagram reel anointed us “the happiest college on earth.” Because, above all else, we value each other. We know that the more we invest in the people around us, the more we learn, and the better we become. Never was the importance of solidarity more evident than in December, when our community faced an unspeakable tragedy. But, true to Brown, when things fell apart, we came together. While I was in the Ratty during the lockdown, generous staff members fed us a hot meal and reassured us, even though they were terrified themselves. Broken alumni organized support events across cities, and stunned students mobilized to fundraise and help affected families. Afterwards, I kept seeing two words: Ever True. This phrase, “Ever True,” which comes from our school’s fight song, became a campus-wide symbol of solidarity. In its own way, it’s a contradictory call to action. While our fight song calls for unwavering strength, we are unafraid to be sensitive. To be Ever True is to be soft yet strong. Tender yet tenacious. Vulnerable yet valiant. And here’s the other paradox: what feels current is, in fact, historic. Ever True is as relevant as ever, shared by social media hashtags and printed on custom T-shirts, but it was written by Donald Jackson way back in 1905. Anyone who has spent any time here will tell you that Brown is far from traditional. Yet, we have the privilege of being part of a centuries-long tradition. History has shown us that when crises pull us toward fear, the Brown community demonstrates real courage. During the 1918 influenza outbreak, when official quarantines were lifted, Brown students stayed on campus voluntarily to support the members of the naval and army units who could not leave. After WWII, Brown created a Veterans College and accepted nearly 500 GI Bill–supported students. And after 9/11, the Brown community came together much like we did this year. Students hosted candlelight vigils, donated blood, and covered a White Memorial Wall with handwritten messages to each other. Across time, members of the Brown community have thought independently, and worked in solidarity, to remain Ever True. It has taken immense courage for us to get here today. Some of us were not born in the US, or had to learn English as a second language. Others are the first in our families to attend college. Many of us balanced work or family responsibilities with deadlines and extracurriculars. And all of us have sacrificed comfort, certainty, and sleep when challenges contradicted your expectations, steadfast in the pursuit of your dreams. From this resilience, we have learned that courage lives in contradictions. Being deeply grateful, yet refusing to be complacent. Standing alone when conscience requires it, and standing together when change demands it. Speaking out, while listening intently. Feeling afraid and showing up anyway. Now, as we go on, we carry with us a sense that we can live life like the Open Curriculum. We will form our own opinions and chart our own path, while knowing that we will never walk alone. When we leave this campus, we will be presented with the biggest contradiction of all. In an increasingly divided world, how do we build a better future? We do it by holding two contradictory convictions at once: think independently and act in solidarity. I want each of us to have the courage to say what we believe, and the humility to listen when someone sees the world differently. Because in a world where things fall apart, we need people who can both sit with what’s broken and help stitch it back together. We need the data-driven dreamers and rational romantics, who seek to both understand the world as it is and imagine the world as it could be. Our communities don’t need fewer contradictions. They need people like us, who find peace in paradox. Create harmony in contrast. And carry courage in contradiction.

Julia Krausz’s Experience Creating a Group Independent Study Project (GISP)

My name is Julia, I’m a senior concentrating in Chemical Engineering and one of the CRC’s Independent Studies Coordinators. Throughout my time at Brown, I’ve become fascinated by sustainable food systems and food technology. I’ve been curious about how science, policy, and engineering can come together to make food systems more sustainable and thanks to the GISP program, I was able to bring that passion into the classroom and create a space where students could explore the future of food together. 

Co-Designing and co-leading “The Future of Food: Understanding Alternative Proteins” was one of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had at Brown. We studied everything from cultivated meat and fermentation-derived dairy to food policy and entrepreneurship. We hosted guest lectures from founders and researchers across the world, connected with other students at the Food 4 Thought Festival, and saw how food technology can be applied to creating a better future of food. More than anything, it showed me that learning at Brown doesn’t have to stay within the boundaries of existing courses since we have the resources to build something entirely our own. 

If you’ve ever wished you could study something that isn’t yet offered, I highly encourage you to apply for a GISP/ISP. It’s your chance to turn a personal interest into a credit-bearing academic project, work closely with faculty, and take real ownership of your education. To apply for a GISP or ISP, visit the CRC website or attend (G)ISP open hours. 

Reflections on being a mentor, compiled by Neva Mathew ’26, MAPS co-coordinator

Walking into the CRC for the first time can feel a little uncertain, especially if you’re not quite sure what mentoring actually looks like beyond the description on a website. But for many mentors, it often started with a small moment of curiosity. Zoe, for example, hadn’t even heard much about the CRC until an email from Peggy about the IC program caught her attention. What stuck wasn’t just the opportunity itself, but the idea of being part of a community where people openly explore their interests and goals. For her, mentoring became a natural extension of that, combining her love of writing and connecting with people to help others pursue what excites them.

For others, mentoring is rooted in gratitude. Neva describes being inspired by an unofficial mentor who became a steady source of guidance throughout college. That experience shaped how she now approaches mentoring: as a way to offer that same kind of support to someone else. Mmesoma shares a similar perspective, grounded in her previous work with pre-health students. After going through so many formative experiences in college, she found herself asking a simple question: What’s the point of it all if you don’t share it? Mentoring, for her, is a way to make those experiences meaningful, not just personally, but for someone else navigating a similar path.

One of the most surprising lessons mentors mention is just how much their words can matter. Mmesoma reflected on how easy it is to jump straight into giving advice, but also how important it is to pause. Sometimes, mentees aren’t looking for answers as much as they’re looking for space to think out loud. Realizing that your influence is bigger than you expect can shift how you show up in those conversations. It becomes less about having the “right” answer and more about helping someone arrive at their own.

So what does mentoring actually look like? A typical meeting usually starts simply: introductions, a few questions, maybe sharing a bit about your own path to make things feel more relaxed. From there, it’s really up to the mentee. Conversations can range from picking classes and finding research opportunities to talking through career goals or just figuring out how to navigate life at Brown. Over time, those meetings often turn into ongoing connections, quick texts, follow-ups, or just knowing there’s someone you can reach out to when something comes up.

If there’s one piece of advice mentors consistently share, it’s this: you don’t have to have everything figured out. Being a mentor isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about being willing to listen, to share honestly, and to help someone find their way using the resources around you.