It was a running joke among my friends freshman year that when I would introduce myself, the first thing to always shoot out of my mouth was “Yeah, I’m from like, basically Mexico!”

I would like to think that I was always talking about my hometown of Brownsville, Tex., because I am genuinely proud to be from there. However, Brownsville is a border town that’s consistently ranked one of the poorest and least educated cities in America, so I know that explanation isn’t true. I talked about home so much because I needed to constantly validate my existence at Harvard—why I was afraid to speak in section, why I didn’t want to go out and feel excluded from listed final club parties, and why no matter how hard I tried I still never felt like I belonged.

The decision by the College to not go forward with a transition program for students from low-income, first-generation, or underrepresented backgrounds is a direct slap in the face to someone like me. I value myself as something as more than just a financial aid statistic or a Latina face on an admissions pamphlet, but I’m not sure if the College does too.

A transition program won’t stop the scores of New York kids and prep school alumni from forming cliques before class has even begun. It won’t eliminate experiences like the one I had in my freshman government seminar, where everyone came in having experience interning in D.C. or talking about their politically powerful parents, making me feel like I had nothing to contribute. But maybe, just maybe, it will make future students like me feel like this is their Harvard too.

While the idea of an advisor for low-income students seems helpful, I don’t think an adult handing me yet another pamphlet on the Bureau of Study Counsel is the best answer to our issues. If I had gotten to know professors in a relaxed environment like the one provided by bridge programs at other schools, I would not have been afraid to attend office hours until after spending a full year at Harvard, and even then, maybe I wouldn’t have panicked for 20 minutes before I finally got the courage to walk into a professor’s door.

I would have gotten the chance to experience what a class discussion is like and how to contribute thoughtfully to one after spending four years in a high school classroom staring at powerpoints and regurgitating memorized information. I would have come into freshman fall with a community of students who were like me, better prepared to tackle the incredibly confusing social scene at this school which is far too often based on class. I would have been aware of and better prepared to adopt the social and academic norms at this school that other students from more privileged backgrounds have internalized since kindergarten.

I have never gone back to my high school to speak about Harvard. I would love to, because there are so many kids from my hometown that deserve this chance at the life that a Harvard degree could give them. However, I’m scared for them. I am scared to tell them to chase their dreams only to have them step foot on campus and have this place break the resilient spirit that growing up in a city like mine gives someone. Students like me need a stepping stone into an environment like Harvard. We need to be guided in how to use our diverse backgrounds to speak, not to be silent.

I’m about to mark my halfway point through Harvard and some days I still feel like I’m struggling to stay afloat. Please, Harvard, don’t let the students who come after me drown.

Lauren A. Sierra ’19, a Crimson multimedia executive and news writer, is a sociology concentrator living in Dunster House.