Carter Carter in Bali for our Community Service Nusa Penida program.

Carter Carter, an alumni and veteran leader of our high school summer programs abroad, will be teaching Psychology of the Criminal Mind and Psychology of Personality this summer on our Pre College Enrichment program at Amherst College. Carter is a psychotherapist who holds a bachelor’s degree from NYU and is a current MSW graduate student at Simmons Graduate School of Social Work in Boston. Read on as he introduces this fascinating Excel seminar and describes its importance to our world.

I’ve had the great good fortune to spend many summers with Putney, first as a student and then a leader. In fact, this June marks our ten-year anniversary! This summer I’ll be teaching a number of different psychology courses at Excel Amherst. I’m a psychotherapist by profession, working mainly with adolescents, so it’s a really unique opportunity for me to be able to delve into the theory and practice of psychology with teenagers. My own summers as a student on Putney programs gave me an incredible education in how to examine the human experience from the outside in, learning about different societies and cultures and how people come to live as members of them. In my classes this summer we’ll be trying to investigate the human experience from the other direction, from the inside out, examining the internal dynamics of the individual psyche and how these come to interact with other individuals and with the socio-cultural systems in which they are embedded.

In Psychology of the Criminal Mind we will examine the idea of the criminal mind from first principles: is there even such a thing? If so what is it and, if not, why does the idea persist? How do people come to defy the rules of society and does society, on some level, need people to defy its rules? For those who have shown a consistent disregard for the well-being of their fellow humans, is rehabilitation possible? These are all particularly salient questions in America at this moment in time. We will address these questions and many more from a variety of angles, examining the best current research and investigative journalism on the subject as well as visiting Amherst-area institutions like jails and progressive mental health treatment programs to gain a deeper understanding of the complex dynamics at work at the margins of our society.

In Psychology of Personality we will address some of the material discussed above while also taking a more panoramic look at the concept of the self. What exactly is a personality or, put another way, how are we who we are? What makes the difference between people who will set a fire and those who run towards the fire to help? How much of who we are is a function of the other people in our lives and what does this mean about the concept of human individuality—are we all unique snowflakes or just variations on a theme? We will draw upon research, literature and our own life experiences in our examination of these questions.

Psychology of Choice will take psychoanalytic theory as a jumping-off point for a more interdisciplinary examination of free will and human agency. We will investigate the animating factors that determine how people make decisions with a particular focus on how people have made especially difficult moral decisions throughout history. We will also pay special attention to how people make decisions about their lives at moments of major change and upheaval. These are the sorts of decisions with which teenagers are faced constantly but about which they are often denied the opportunity to think in earnest philosophical terms. It is my hope that students will use this class to both think retrospectively about the signal decisions that have defined their lives while also looking forward to the future, reflecting on their morals and dreams and how these may guide their decisions as they move into young adulthood.

“Do even the most minor background search into the place you’ll be visiting. Even just a cursory Google or a Lonely Planet skim. You might come across one little thing that piques your interest and then you’ll be invested in the trip, bringing your own unique curiosity.”

-David Hanson, Community Service Costa Rica veteran leader, Read the full interview

“Advice? One of the most important experiences of my life was the result of ignoring my friends who had other plans and doing what I thought would be interesting.”

-Christian Cousins, Language Learning Spain, Language Learning Argentina, Excel Madrid/Barcelona veteran leader, Read the full interview

“The best way to learn a language is through a total immersion experience. Not only are you forced to acquire the necessary language skills to carry out daily tasks, but you build a deeper understanding for the culture and history of people who speak the language. Additionally, travel is an incredible way to challenge yourself, build great friendships, and dedicate yourself to a life of learning and adventure.”

-Brock Lee, Language Learning Spain veteran leader, Read the full interview

“Go somewhere. It matters less where you go than that you go. Go knowing that your interaction with local people will be at the heart of your experience. Treat those relationships with extra respect and warmth. Last but not least: energy is key.”

-Brian Orland, Global Awareness in Action India veteran leader, Read the full interview

“My advice for future students on these summer programs is to open your mind to all of the things you hear while you’re abroad and figure out how you can carry those experiences into your life back in the US. There are so many things to learn outside of the classroom, from other cultures, people and perspectives.”

-Ruth Geiger, Community Service Rwanda alumna, Read the full interview

Tim Weed

Tim Weed has been leading and directing high school summer programs abroad for more than 20 years. A novelist and creative writing educator, he has helped students find their narrative voice on programs in The Caribbean, Central and South America, Spain, Australia, and Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts. He most recently created Putney’s Writing in Ireland program.  Read on as Tim explains the nuanced relationship between a summer program abroad and the college admissions process. 

Each summer, Putney students push themselves out of their comfort zones and into new environments all around the world. These experiences have a profound impact on their development and their direction after high school, and many students choose to write about an aspect of their experience when composing their essays for college admission.

To be clear, it would be a mistake to apply for a summer program abroad just to improve your chances of getting into the college or university of your choice. Colleges are interested in what you’re like as a whole person. What are your passions? What have you struggled with? What have you learned from what you’ve done?

It is in this respect — as an experience that contributes to the unfolding arc of your journey as a human being — that participating in a summer travel program can indeed be helpful to your college admissions quest. We are proud of the following selection of essays by recent travelers, all of which demonstrate that a Putney experience resonates well beyond the struggle to put together a good college application.

Happy reading and best of luck to all of our graduating seniors,

Tim Weed

Click here for our full 2013 College Essay bulletin.

Emily at Amherst College, 2011.

Emily, a current junior at Edward R. Murrow High School in Brooklyn, New York, participated in our pre-college enrichment program at Amherst College last summer. She recently shared this new writing project of hers, inspired by her wonderful friends and memories from her summer at Amherst. Emily will be traveling on our high school language program in France this summer. 

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A Patronus Memory

After spending six weeks studying fiction, poetry, and essays at the Putney Excel at Amherst program I was inspired to start writing a little each day, hoping to find a subject I was passionate enough about to start writing a book. I found this subject after just three weeks of being home–one moment of pure joy. While at Amherst, I met four girls who are now my greatest friends. Our last night, the entire campus was awake, filled with the unbearable dread of having to leave behind the beautiful campus, the amazing people, and the memories made. The five of us–Sami, Elyssa, Becca, Sonya and I–ran down to the rolling green fields below the memorial ground, where several sprinklers were shooting water out into huge arcs across yards of grass, creating splotches of mud every four feet. We took off our shoes,breathed in the smell of the morning, and ran through the sprinklers with laughter that still echos in my ears at this minute. I’ve nicknamed this moment, my patronus memory.

If you have read the Harry Potter series, you’ll know the word Patronus. It is a spell Harry must conjure to ward off dementors, dark creatures who suck the joy and soul out of anyone who crosses them. A Patronus only works if one has a happy memory in mind while conjuring one–but not just any happy memory. The strongest most powerful joyful emotion one can ever have–a patronus memory.

This is the subject I chose to write about–but not only my own. No, I’ve asked all my friends with interest and skill in writing to submit their patronus memories to me, so I may edit and put together all our happiest moments into one collaborative novel, along with a short essay about why they’re important.

And where would I be without Putney Excel? Without the friends that I made who changed my life? Without the writing teachers who lesson after lesson helped me to increase my skill and my willpower to keep writing? Putney really did open my mind, and thanks to them, I have three, brilliant and beautiful submissions for a new project that inspires me, and makes me excited to create. This summer, I’m going on a language-learning program with Putney in France,  to maybe make new patronus memories there, but if it ever does become the real thing, those four girls will be the first to read it.

Gabby in Ghana, 2012.

Gabby, a senior at Fox Lane High School in Pound Ridge, New York, traveled with us on two different summer community service programs abroad. She spent the summer of 2011 on our summer community service program in Vietnam and 2012 on our volunteer trip to Ghana. This essay, written about teaching in rural Ghana, was part of the admissions package that got her accepted to both Bates College and Union College. Congratulations, Gabby!

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Teaching Pants

They came into my life bright, baggy, and a hodgepodge of rich blues, reds and yellows. By day thirty they were dirty, worn, and patched with green duct tape. They were my pride and joy; I wore them proudly.  They could be spotted in a New York City subway station. Not only did I lounge in them, but I also taught in them. They fit like Dorothy’s ruby red slippers; a perfect fit. I loved my teaching pants. Every day as I neared the school, laughter filled my ears and adrenaline rushed through my body.  I was so excited to begin the day. I instantly felt like I belonged. I felt like a teacher not a volunteer.

My first day, July 9th, 2012, was one of the most hectic days of my life. As I collected the day’s materials from the principal’s room, smiling faces popped in and out, which only made me more excited to begin teaching. It was thrilling to walk into the room to see twenty faces smiling at me. I remember the first lesson I taught was telling time. The words analog and digital meant nothing to them, and all I saw were blank but eager stares. But as the day went on and as their pencils ran dull, they were able to tell me the time as if they had been doing it for years. Some still struggled, but in the end they were able to pull through. The joy of seeing a student overcome a roadblock and succeed was more than I could have ever asked for. Even as an outsider, I still felt like I held a niche in their society. Every patch on my pants displayed a different adventure. One day I would be introducing addition and subtraction to my students, whereas the next day I would be painting the local secondary school. In a culture filled with dinners without TV and stories shared without Facebook, I found happiness. The memory of sharing jokes and bringing smiles to each other’s faces has now become a snapshot in my mental scrapbook.  I know now I can be in a totally unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people and have the ability to thrive.

What I wore became the symbol of my experience in Ghana; a chaotic, interesting, and unforgettable journey to the minute town of Cape Three Points. I hope not to, but one day I might forget the first thing I taught or the last question I asked, but I will always remember how I felt wearing my vibrant colored, exotic printed, Ghanaian, teaching pants.

Aliya in Costa Rica, 2012

Aliya, a senior at Weber High School in Atlanta, Georgia, traveled on our high school community service program in Costa Rica this past summer. She submitted a collection of excerpts from her summer journal as one of her essays for college admission. The prompt: Write about an aspect of the world that has engaged your curiosity and led you to ask questions. She is deciding between the University of Georgia and Indiana University. Congratulations, Aliya!

When my aunt, a very respected South African photo-journalist, died of lung cancer last year, I knew her camera lens was shut for good.  But her curiosity about the inner life of her subjects continues to capture the attention of onlookers in museums and in front of our fridge. My aunt, however, was not the only one to convey the life-affirming power of curiosity.  It has been the philosophy of the high school my parents and I chose.  It has been the culture of my home.  And, last summer, it really hit home, as excerpts of my journal remind me again and again:

“Going to Costa Rica was on my bucket list and hopefully, I’ll get to cross some other items off like learning how to surf, and saving a life, and changing a life.  Deciding to go to Costa Rica was one of the hardest decisions I made all year because it meant passing up a summer adventure with peers I know well.  I hope it’ll be worth it.  I’m ready for adventure though and something new in my life.  It’s time to carry out my dreams into realities.  Last night, my fortune cookie from P.F. Chang’s read, “Your eyes will soon be opened to a world full of beauty, charm, and adventure” Well, vámonos ojos y abran.

“Mi Pura Vida, I’m currently sitting on Flight #1511 on my way to Liberia and then into Costa Rica.  Ever since freshman year I’ve been wanting to go to Costa Rica to do community service. Well, here I am headed with fourteen strangers, off to live the pura vida.

“Playa del Coco — gorgeous!  I actually want to live here.   Everything is just so beautiful and lovely to me, and I’m enjoying it all.  This trip I’ve decided to stay un-plugged, un-cellphoned, un-interneted.  I want to focus on the here and now. Our itinerary is so “en punto,” off the map, and sudden. I’m not used to it, but I like it that way.  Back home folks are always looking to the next moment.  Here, I am on Costa Rican time. It’s about “now,” and that’s how I plan to spend these weeks.  I’ve got to take risks.  Yeah, I could fall down 2,000 feet while repelling, or I could get eaten by a shark while surfing.  But I’ll enjoy this land and this people so much more if I loosen up.  I’ll deal with man-eating sharks if I meet them in the surf.

“New food, that too.  Papaya. Tasted like undiluted barf.  But at least I tried it. Yay for new experiences. Oh, yes, I may be sweating like a pig, and smelling like one, too,  but I’m in heaven here.  Thanks for this incredible experience; I’m having the time of my life.

“All the ladies here are like moms to me. They cook me food and are concerned for my health.  After painting, we took a long hike through the reeds to a watering hole.  It has a huge rock you can jump off into the water from.  Initially, I wasn’t going to jump off, but then I reminded myself that I’m embracing YOLO.  So I jumped.  Wee!  I want to seize every opportunity possible on this trip.

“Once we got to the farm, I saw two of the biggest cows I’ve ever seen — cow power for the sugar cane refiner.  Were these the cows we were to milk?  Yep.  Ugh.  YOLO I reminded myself.

“Whenever I take time to look at Mili’s shack of a house, I just can’t imagine ever showing her mine.  These people are so happy and content with how little they have — it’s amazing.  Today, I came across a chili pepper.  Esteban told me to eat it.  Not my usual cup of South African tea.  This time I remembered my first conversation with Rachel about letting curiosity be our guide.  The pepper wasn’t bad at all.

“Today was a NO-LOW kind of day. I went to the school and sat at the 6th grade table.  All they do is take a textbook and copy it word for word.  I asked them if the teacher helps them, and they said no.  It was so depressing.  I asked the teacher why there weren’t more teachers.  She told me there weren’t enough kids for more teachers to come.

“Leaving Santa Lucia was very difficult. It was so sad not knowing when or if I’ll ever see these people again.  And if I do come back in a few years, will anyone even remember me?  Still, I am so happy to have known these incredible people.  It’s odd to think that you sometimes only realize how much you have come to love people once you are about to leave  them, to leave and not to help, to be devastated if anything tragic were to happen to them.

“We woke up at 3:30 to get to the airport. No tears for me . . .  I guess because it doesn’t feel like I’m saying goodbye.  It really doesn’t feel like the end.  My leader, Megan, says that when you journey into the unfamiliar, then you know what you’re missing at home; but when you’re home, you don’t know what you’re missing out there.  My other leader, Esteban, says that when you travel, it seems like everything at home stands still even though it’s actually continuing on. Those are things I’ll never forget.  I’ll be back.  Maybe for a few years or so. How cool it would be to really live in a country where my first language is not the country’s first language.

“Con todo mi amor,
Aliya”.

Roderick in Senegal, 2011

Roderick traveled with us on our high school summer community service program in Senegal in 2011. A current senior at Camden High School in Camden, South Carolina, he will be attending Wofford College in the fall. The essay below, about building bricks during his volunteer experience in Africa, was part of the stellar application. Congratulations, Roderick!

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Foundations

Two summers ago, I found myself a continent away making a brick. This is not a very
complicated process, but it is a process where the efforts of many reaped tremendous rewards. Driving to a hardware store to buy a brick was not an option, but to create just one brick took a considerable amount of time. I soon discovered that laying a foundation for a home was more than just a repetitive and laborious process… it was a catalyst for my future.

I was in another world– one without running water or electricity. One without plumbing. One without a bed. One where speaking my native language was not the norm and accomplishing the most simple daily tasks often took hours. I arrived in Mbissel, a small village in Senegal, West Africa– four thousand miles from my comfort zone and not a soul I knew. I soon discovered that living in this foreign world was far less complicated than living in my world. In fact, it was much simpler: less hectic and full of meaningful experiences. Making bricks step by step, one by one may be mundane, but the friendships I made, the smiles I received, and the relationships I built while creating thousands of bricks were more fulfilling than anything I had experienced in my 16 years.

I traveled to Senegal to learn and explore. My classroom became the building site where I
worked with the villagers. They were my teachers, and as I worked alongside them, they became my friends. My daily lesson was simple but time consuming: hauling sand and concrete, walking the 30 minute roundtrip hike to the well for water, mixing the water and the concrete, pouring the mixture into a mold, carrying the mold to a field to dry, walking back, and starting again. It was a process so simple, yet so painstakingly slow. How could such a tedious job yield such gratifying emotions?

Enjoying the ripened fruit of the mango tree was the perfect ending to my day; this setting became another classroom where I taught and was taught in return. The children of the village flocked to any “toubab” that they spotted, so I was obviously never alone under the mango tree. As I reflected on the day’s work, the children constantly begged for attention, which I freely gave. They attempted broken English while I mutilated the beautiful French language. It didn’t matter what we were trying to say, for hand gestures and laughter were the result of our efforts. My attempts to count in French made the Senegalese children laugh as I could only count to 40, and they would continue on to 100. Out of curiosity, we taught each other.

My experience in Senegal was the beginning of my foundation. I believe that learning takes place not only in a classroom, but along the paths I have chosen to take. The lessons I learned while making bricks and sitting around the mango tree continue to resonate within me. Respect for citizens of the world, other cultures and an appreciation for values taught and learned in new environments will be my foundation. I built bricks for the Senegalese, but they have built so much more for me. I look forward to pursuing the journey, brick by brick.

Katherine in India, 2012.

Katherine, from Durango, Colorado, traveled on our high school summer volunteer program in India last summer. A senior at The Hotchkiss School, she wrote the following essay on cross-cultural communication and language as part of her college application. She’ll be headed to Georgetown University in the fall. Congratulations, Katherine!

For as long as I can remember languages, especially obscure ones, have fascinated me. They connect people, weaving together families, generations, and worlds. At first, Danish, Portuguese, and Swahili seemed intriguing. Now, nearing fluency in French and teaching myself Arabic, I dream of adding Farsi, Urdu, and maybe Hindi to my repertoire.

Recent travels have caused me to rethink if language is the only way to connect with people. When attending school in Australia my accent and vocabulary very clearly defined me and some of my fondest memories are laughing about how a “thong” is underwear to me but a sandal to my friends back Down Under. Those are moments and friendships that were created because of a shared language. But language can just as easily isolate an individual as connect a community. I remember the leader of my trip to India this past summer who spoke fluent Hindi and was very knowledgeable about Indian culture. Yet his pale skin and blonde hair could not be masked by any proficiency in Hindi. Instead he was just as entertaining and foreign to those we interacted with the group of 15 American teenagers he was accompanying. So how important is language when no matter how well one speaks another country’s language he or she will still be a foreigner?

The answer came without words when an Indian woman stooped down to feel my leg that had not been shaved in a few days. She looked at me curiously when she discovered it was more or less hairless. I realized that her confusion was not over the prickly hairs but not understanding why they were that way. She had never used a razor and as I tried to mime what shaving was we looked at each other and laughed. There was no need to speak the same language because we connected purely by being human beings – knowing smiles passed along more than words ever could. We were both in an unfamiliar situation and while the disparity in our leg hair could have further separated our worlds, the mutually noted humor of our differences connected us. In that moment of embarrassment over unshaven legs I put faith in a larger connection between all human beings that transcends spoken languages. In return, I discovered if you treat everyone around you with dignity and respect and you yourself have curiosity, patience, humility, and a willingness to simply observe, then no matter the language barrier a connection can be made, trust gained, and friendship earned.

I still want to learn many languages and still think that truly understanding other cultures can only come from also speaking their language, but have come the conclusion that a smile, a wave, and an open mind can establish a relationship long before any conversation.

Daniel in France, 2012

Daniel, a sophomore at Trevor Day School in New York City, traveled with us on our high school language program in France in 2012. He recently shared this essay with us about his experience with his French homestay family.

By the end of my stay in Colmar, France, I didn’t want to leave but I knew I had no choice. I accomplished things I never before would have deemed possible, but this journey was over and leaving was inevitable. We were all in the train station saying our final goodbyes, knowing we would most likely never see each other again, but never putting it into words because that would make it too real. Slowly, I walked towards the open doors of the train making sure everything that needed to be said was said and when I got on the train I turned around and just waved. As I was waving, the doors shut, the train began to move, and I remember as I saw my new foreign friends fade further away, I was thinking to myself that I was a changed man.

***

The train pulled in to the stop at twelve seventeen. We were early. I was nervous. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I had worked up a bit of a sweat. This was what I had been dreading my whole time on my summer program, the home stay. My French was mediocre and I could barely understand the French speaking their language. Their mouths as they spoke moved as fast as a cheetah chasing its prey. The doors opened and I walked out slowly, hesitant to get off the train. When I got off, there were so many parents and kids coming to meet me and the other people on my program. I walked around looking for my home-stay family. I knew nothing about the teenage girl whom I would be living with, or her family. All I knew was her name – Solweig Millière. I finally saw her as I finished my first revolution around the station. She was about 5’4”, Our first interaction was very hectic. When we found each other, the train station was crowded and everyone was rushing out to go to their host families’ homes. Right away the nervousness struck me harder and what I had been dreading became a reality. Solweig and her family kept speaking to me in a language that might as well have been gibberish, because I did not understand a word. All I could do was follow them and pick out a few words here and there. At this point I was chastising myself, why hadn’t I paid more attention in French class? Why couldn’t I go the extra mile and study outside of class and watch French television? If I had done all of these things I would have been well prepared for this week. But I hadn’t  All that was left for me to do was hope for the best. Maybe a miracle would happen and all the French I have ever learned would come flowing back to memory.

We left the station building, put my bags in the trunk of their mini van and I walked around the side of the car to get in. When I opened the door, there were about five maybe six children inside. All were under the age of eleven, except one, who looked about fifteen years old. They were all staring at me and I had no idea what to say so I just got into the car, sat down and buckled up my seat belt. When we left and headed towards their home the kids started screaming and yelling at each other. Solweig was trying to quiet them down and so was her mother. What was I doing? I was just sitting looking out the window at the beautiful view that lay before me. When we arrived at her house, I opened the tall wooden door that looked like it was made during medieval times. Inside was a small cobblestone area that led to the door of her actual house. When we opened it, there was a staircase that was very narrow, which made it quite a struggle to carry my suitcase up the stairs. As I reached the top of the steps, there were six more kids that came to greet me. All of them were very nice and sweet. They were all excited to meet me, except one little girl who was shy. She was the youngest of them all, two years old. Bathilde was her name. She was a cute little girl. She had brown hair and green eyes. I was like her too in a way because I was shy when I first met Solweig’s whole family. The situation was very overwhelming for me. It was one person to fourteen people. I wanted to talk to them, get to know them, but because of the language barrier between us this was very difficult. I felt like an outsider from the first day, just an observer. It was like I never got off that train in the first place, like I was a ghost. Although this was hard, it was also interesting to observe Solweig’s family of fourteen to see how a family this large functions. After my first day I had already begun to realize that this would be the most difficult experience I would ever go through.

The next morning, Solweig and I got up, had toast with Nutella for breakfast, and left to go meet up with her friends. This was my first real interaction with French teenagers besides Solweig. When I first meet them, I greeted each person in the traditional French ways. For girls I gave a kiss on the left and right cheek and for the guys I just shook their hand or gave them a high five or top cinq in French. It was awkward for me when I went up to the first girl to give them a kiss on the cheek. I was not sure which cheek to start at and I went the wrong way and almost ended up bumping lips. That would’ve been so embarrassing. They kept talking to me, asking me questions, but they were talking too quickly for me to understand them. One girl asked me what my name was, a simple question, and I responded, saying I don’t understand, I’m American. It was shameful to me that I had been taking French class since third grade and could not understand one of the first phrases I learned in French. On top of all this they did not speak in the regular and proper French I grew up learning. They had their own slang version of the language. It was hard enough for me to understand them speaking normally, but now they spoke using slang words I had never heard before and leaving out words here and there to make sentences shorter and faster to say. I was frustrated. I couldn’t handle not being able to understand them. It was rough for me. I just sat back and listened, paying close attention to what each person was saying. I was learning a little at a time while I faded into the background and became a ghost.

***Two days later***

Solweig and I were going to meet up with her friends again. I was ready for what awaited me. I’ve been learning, listening, and studying. Everything that I have been doing the past few days prepared me for this moment. When we arrived at the park where we had all planned to hang out, I went up to her friends and, without any hesitation or mistakes, gave each person the traditional French greeting. I went even further then that by asking them, “What’s up?” in French and when they responded, I was actually able to comprehend word for word what they were saying. I was so excited. I felt like I was almost fluent. We continued to have many conversations with each other that day and from then on, I thought, spoke, and even dreamed in French most of the time. It was amazing. I never thought anything like this could happen so quickly. My French improved so much, and to think when I first arrived I was nervous and could barely speak a lick of French. Wow!

This amazing journey that I went on was a major eye-opener for me. I realized that the assumptions we make about ourselves at first are not always accurate. When I arrived I assumed that I would have a terrible time and that my French skills would be far inferior to what they needed to be. I never would have thought in a million years that I would have had one of the best experiences of my life and actually ended up being able to speak and understand the French language. It’s all thanks to my wonderful host family, especially Solweig.

Hailey in Cambodia, 2012

Hailey traveled with us on our high school summer program in Cambodia in 2012, focusing on gender and the arts in a country recovering from the devastating effects of genocide. She recently shared this college essay she wrote about her high school summer program abroad. Hailey, a senior at Westlake High School in Austin, Texas, will be attending Duke University in the fall.

The sun beats down, and I can feel the sweat drip down my back as we pass through the temple’s entrance. I look at my watch. Ninety-five degrees and humid, and it’s only 9 a.m.  I fidget in my clothing, attempting to become comfortable underneath the mandated extra layers. And although my pants are lightweight, the sweatshirt our translator forced on me moments ago is not.

This past summer, I travelled to Cambodia for a month with a group of fellow students to learn about the recent developments and the rebuilding efforts after the devastating genocide, which killed about a quarter of the population less than 30 years ago. Immersing myself in an arts and public school named Phare in Battambang for the majority of my stay, I witnessed and experienced the unequal gender roles in existence.

Upon arriving, we were told that since the ousting of the Khmer Rouge females had been given more opportunities than ever before. However, there is an economic and social dichotomy between the rights of women. Women are beginning to be allowed to work outside of the home. They work the jobs they can find, a large number of them in garment factories. They work for a better life; a better education for their children. Only 12 percent of women over the age of 25 have more than a primary level of education, but 25 percent of women under the age of 25 have reached at least secondary school. At one point, the arts were considered only a man’s job, but Phare has equal proportions of entering female and male students. With this increase in education and employment, the entire country is pushed down the path of development.

Nevertheless, in other realms, women are still bound by tradition. Many young girls are pulled out of school before their brothers are. Even as an outsider, I was treated differently than my male counterparts. There were places I could not go and people I could not speak candidly to. I was not allowed to physically contact a boy, even a member of my own party, nor was I allowed to show my shoulders or my knees. And even in some situations, Phalla would put bulky jackets on us girls to cover us up.

I lived like this only for a month, but this is how the women of Cambodia live every minute of their lives. To me, the society’s restrictions on females were just an inconvenience. But to them, these constraints are their reality. Khmer women are expected to work like men without reaping any of the cultural benefits. The frustrations I endured personally are minimal compared to the way the women of Cambodia feel. I had never before experienced such blatant sexism.

The imbalance between men and women is not confined to Cambodia or even to third-world countries. In fact, the issue stands as a popular debate topic in my own backyard. For example, in Cambodia, women receive 90 days maternity leave with pay followed by two months of required light work and a year of extra breaks for breastfeeding. In Texas, women are allotted a total of 12 weeks of unpaid leave.

We are far from perfect, and there is still much progress to be made. I cannot sit idle. I plan to be part of this advancement of women’s rights in America and in nations around the world. I hope to return to Cambodia next summer to further my understanding of the gender gap, eventually becoming not just an observer, but a catalyst for change so that no young woman is shoved into a sweatshirt on a 95° day.