William Feasey

Caltech is, by most accounts, a demanding place. Students work too hard; professors stress too much. Lunchtime should come as the universal comfort blanket to us all. A chance for our basement-ridden folk to remember what Vitamin D feels like; an opportunity for Caltech students to practice a social encounter; a time to sing Katy Perry to both halves of my grilled chicken sandwich. And yet, it is my frequent jaunts into the Browne dining hall that prove the most demanding of all.

I’ve always said that playing rugby in America is like being a humanities student at Caltech (we’d know, our interim club Treasurer is an Economist).

When I pinged off my Caltech grad application, a little over a year ago, it started something like: I am passionate about applying to the California Institute of Technology in order to escape the effing rain.