When we think of Brigham Young University during graduation season, we often picture the high-profile stuff: our beautiful campus and inspiring professors, well-dressed deans and high-flying dunk teams, clever Cosmo and college valedictorians.

It is Friday night. I finish curling my hair and put my shoes on, ready for the date. I’ve been looking forward to it all week, and I do not even know what he looks like.

This summer will mark two years since my family and I got sent to “Covid camps” in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.

When I started at BYU I was eager to make friends and to find “my people.” I met kind people and made a few friends, but into my first semester, I still hadn’t found the kind of people that I was looking for. Instead, I felt alone and tired.

To quote the director of the local Provo Bicycle Collective, Kira Johnson, who has been cycling to work year-round since 2016, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.”  

This mindset that missions are wonderful and aren’t hard that can lead to the stigma that missionaries who didn’t enjoy their missions or came home early did something wrong. Yes, there were so many amazing moments and I met tons of wonderful people but that doesn’t take away the trials I faced.