With my Gator1 student ID in hand and new school supplies in tow, I boarded the Gainesville Regional Transit System bus to start my 15-minute ride to campus. It was an overcast morning, on Wednesday, August 23, 2006. I had just survived my first night away from home, living on my own in an off-campus pre-furnished apartment. I was on my way to start my undergraduate journey at the University of Florida. At the time, the institution was simply a college to me, but psychologically, it represented much more. Florida (as us Floridians and Gator faithful refer to the university as) was a symbolic next step in the sequential path of my family’s American dream. It was as necessary for my academic goals as it was significant for my first-generational status. As the oldest child of immigrant parents from Colombia, Florida was the gateway that no one in the Molina family had yet had the opportunity to walk through. And so, here I was, taking my first steps into this almost mystical collegiate unknown.

Besides the perceived symbolisms that college held for me, it was still a looming unknown that I had little preparation for. A few months earlier that year, I had graduated from the International Baccalaureate program at St. Petersburg High School. Academically, I was (or should have been) prepared. St. Pete High was a very large and diverse high school with many extracurriculars available that I partook in. Socially, I felt (somewhat comfortably) prepared. At the start of that year, alongside my admission letter to Florida, I had also received another life-changing piece of mail from the institution: a notice of a full-ride scholarship. This award made me a part of the inaugural class for the Florida Opportunity Scholarship program which is a full grant and scholarship package created to assist low-income, first-generation college students complete their undergraduate degrees without incurring debt. This meant that financially, I was (or should have been) prepared as well. I state these contextual factors because they are important in understanding my foundation as I made my way to campus on that August morning bus ride. While I was (or should have been) prepared on various sides of the transition from high school, I did not know how I was to handle that amount of scholarship money, how my upbringing would impact the looming collegiate unknown, nor an understanding of the sheer size of the institution. I did not know, as a first-generation Latinx student, that I was walking into one of the largest Predominantly White Institutions (PWIs) in the country.

The University of Florida is the core of the small town of Gainesville located in the North-central part of Florida, within the predominantly White and rural Alachua county (CITE if needed). This area of the state is where southerners believe the true American South ends. Like other southern college town and gown relationships, Florida adds an abundant amount of diversity to Gainesville. Yet, while the university itself boasts a culturally diverse student population, the sheer size of the institution’s majority White student population can mask this aspect. As of 2018, 53% of Florida’s 35,491 undergraduate students were White and 22% are Latinx (CITE if needed). The numbers for Latinx students were much lower when I was a first-year student in 2006.

My first-year experience at Florida involved navigating my classes, minority-focused extracurricular opportunities, and my scholarship program requirements. The scholarship program paired me with a peer mentor to help guide me on all things related to campus life. My mentor, Joey, was an older Black pre-pharmacy student who was heavily involved in his historically Black fraternity. Joey introduced me to his fraternity and let me know that it was not solely for Black students, if I ever became interested. This was my first encounter with minority-based Greek life. I had never considered Greek life while in high school because I assumed that they were all characterized by what I had seen on TV. At Florida, I learned that this stereotypical image of Greek organizations, which was predominantly White, expensive, and lived in mansion-like houses on campus, existed as only a fraction of the Greek life present on campus. Following Joey’s recommendation, I decided to learn about other organizations within the university’s thriving Minority Greek Council. I still remember walking into the council’s annual showcase at the university’s main auditorium at start of the fall semester. I came across multiple organizations and members tabling their information to the new students curious to learn more. As I made my way through to the entrance of the auditorium, I ran into a family friend, Tito, who I not seen in years. Tito was a member of one of the two Latino-based fraternities on campus. His excitement upon seeing me was a mixture of reacting to the time passed since we saw each other last, the happenstance of us running into each other at that massive campus, and opportunity to recruit. Within minutes, I was talking to the other Latino brothers donning the same style of Greek line jackets in the same color tone. I could feel the visible comradery that immediately became so appealing. Not only did this niche of Greek life present a chance to get involved, but it also presented a place with a sense of belonging for who you culturally were.

The Minority Greek showcase was a pivotal moment of adaptability in my college experience. I met many other Greek organizations and individual members, and eventually learned of other upcoming events and meetings that I added to my calendar. These included the Hispanic Student Association assembly, the welcome party at the Institute of Hispanic-Latino Cultures (endearingly referred to on campus as La Casita), and the first meeting for the Colombian Student Association. I was eager to get to meet so many relatable students and organizations because up until that moment, I had not considered the idea of sub-group specific organizations. Throughout high school I had been deeply involved with the multicultural club, but there was no Hispanic, let alone Colombian, club to join. This clash of past and present experiences quickly changed my eagerness to curiosity. With such diversity, why were there so many separate organizations? Even the subgroup clubs, like the Colombian Student Association, belonged to larger organizations of the related larger culture, like the Colombian Student Association being a branch of the Hispanic Student Association. I remember thinking that it did not, personally, speak diversity to me, even though it clearly displayed the institution’s diversity. My response to the internal paradox was to attend the Asian American Student Union assembly with some friends from high school. At this assembly, I met another Latino student who was a part of the predominantly Asian fraternity on campus. I hit it off with this student, as well as with the other brothers, and by the end of my first year I had joined this Asian fraternity while being an involved member in the Colombian Student Association and La Casita. I was creating my own appealing vision of diversity at Florida and building off my social capabilities attained from high school.

On the other hand, as a first-generation college student, my lack of navigational capital showed in my finances and academics. At the time, my scholarship worked as a lump sum of money that was deposited into my account after tuition was taken care of. Since I lived off-campus, the amount I was given was meant, at my discretion, for living expenses. The structures in place to assist students with handling that amount of money were present at Florida, but the guidance to seek them out were not as clear. The program assigned mentors, like Joey, and had advisors, but the follow through on helping me track myself were primarily focused on meeting academic requirements to maintain the scholarship. It could have been kinks still in the system with the program, as it was in its first year, or it could have been to promote autonomy. I admit that the freedom to explore that first year without the worry of financing my education was truly liberating and it allowed me to absorb the social aspects of campus that I had discovered. It was also somewhat scary, as I was truly moving forward half-blind with that afforded freedom. The same could be said of my academics. I chose to major in Sociology, purely out of interest, with added courses to satisfy pre-med requirements; a typical dream of so many first-year students. This Plan A dream was extinguished by the end of my first year thanks to the onslaught of college-level Calculus and Chemistry I was not mentally prepared for. I was left with my major of interest, the thought of I still have time, I’ll figure it out soon, and my new social circle of diverse friends.

Looking back at my transitionary period to college at Florida from my current stance as a higher educational professional brings me questions as well as feelings of appreciation. I developed tremendously as a person at Florida, and I largely credit the niche of diversity that the institution nurtures for that. From that space, I met my future spouse, my best friends, and my eventual career path. That small corner of diversity grounded me while my scholarship allowed me to graduate debt-free. Additionally, I believe that that same special space also insulated me from the feeling or the fact that I was attending a PWI. I never once felt singular nor different as a Latinx student. Instead, I felt slight spells of anxiety about my future post-graduation. I now understand that these bouts were more reflective of my first-generational status than of my Latinx identity. Yet, as diverse of an institution as Florida was, I do not have memories of seeing or relating to Latinx staff or faculty. My major advisors were distant and White. My professors were predominantly White, with some being Black. Even the staff that I had to work with through my involvement in minority-based organizations were mainly White, with one being Asian. This realization makes me question how different, if at all, my experience as a Latinx student would have been if Florida were a Hispanic-Serving Institution (HSI). Would I have met someone with my exact cultural background in a leadership role that could have understood my unfolding experience at such a large institution? Would they have also had parents supportive of college without knowledge on what is supportive at college? Could they have guided me better on career aspirations when I crashed out of pre-med? Would La Casita have been located on campus instead of across the street from campus? Would any of this have added meaningful space to my created corner of diversity at Florida? These questions about singular aspects I did not have at Florida also brings up questions about how we understand PWIs. Can HSIs really outdo diverse PWIs regarding the Latinx student experience? My own experience says otherwise, although it riddles that experience with many what ifs. Even so, while Florida was and is designated as a PWI, it did not fail me as a Latinx student. Instead, it made me the proud Latino Gator that I am today.