On a bright spring afternoon, Abie Florestal (C ’25) steps out of her desk position at Holman Biotech Commons to sit under the trees, watching freshmen returning to their Quad dorms as she readies herself for her walk out of Penn. Thick warm air breaks through after months of frigid cold, letting everyone know the end of the semester is approaching. Newly admitted students wander across Hamilton Walk, lost. Under Goddard Laboratories Abie watches them, oblivious to the commitments, twists, and turns that await them. But Abie knows what is coming all too well.
Abie started college off with a rocky start. She was riddled with homesickness and unsure whether she wanted to stay or transfer. Her relationship with Penn represents a nonlinear path of persistence and overcoming. In those early, homesick months at Penn, Abie clung to the longing of her Haitian heritage, so vibrant in her family’s Brockton household through food, Konpa music, and Haitian Creole. The overwhelming environment made it hard for Abie to anchor socially given her nature of being on the more timid side of the spectrum, and transferring loomed as a real possibility as she faced academic and mental hardship. “I thought about it, but I decided to stay because I wanted to finish what I started here, and I am thankful I did.”
One morning during her first year, Abie was running on freshman standard time—aka late. When she stepped out of her room in a towel heading for the infamous communal Quad showers, the realization dawned on her: She forgot her PennCard. Armed with just her shower caddy, she faced her first true test of freshman–year problem solving. As the morning rush of students flooded the hallway, Abie’s predicament seemed hopeless. With no PennCard and no option, she climbed the stairs to the floor above, where she spotted a fellow resident. With a deep breath and a halting request, she secured borrowed sweatpants and a hoodie—allowing her the decency to retrieve the ever shameful temporary card. In that moment, she learned a lesson that would carry her through Penn: A solution can arise, as long as she remains keen in her efforts to find one.
Abie was born in Brooklyn, N.Y. to Haitian parents but raised in Brockton, Mass. She was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, a form of inflammatory bowel disease at an early age. The ordeal of finding an effective treatment, jumping through the hoops of regimens of medications and potential solutions, sparked an interest in the mind of young Abie. Her curiosity led her to explore the biochemical basis of disease and would later propel her to venture into gastrointestinal IBD research.
At Penn, Abie has pursued a major in biochemistry and worked as a research assistant at the Belle Lab, which focuses on understanding the mechanisms of IBD and colorectal cancer. Aspiring to continue into pharmaceuticals for disease treatment, she had hoped to gain more experience through an NIH–funded post–baccalaureate program—an initiative designed to support underrepresented researchers like her. Now, however, Abie sits and ponders restlessly at the ghosts of her prospects.
The first email arrived in February. One of the universities she applied to was canceling its NIH–funded post–bacc program. Then came more notifications, clouding the horizon of her post–undergrad prospects like an ominous storm: academic hiring freezes, diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives scaled back, programs vaporizing. Soon enough, the final blow came to strike, the NIH declared that it had pulled its funding and closed the post-bacc program at all schools nationwide. For Abie, everything felt “up in the air.”
“It’s really disappointing,” Abie says. “It’s a program that does such a good job of providing resources for people, if they’re interested in applying to grad school. It’s part of a requirement for being in the program—you have to apply [to grad school] within a year of being there.” She pauses and starts discussing the broader research cuts: “There are so many other areas of research like cancer, women’s health, that won’t get the attention they deserve now.”
In her final semester at Penn, Abie watched the evaporation of her plans and then her back–up plans. “If I had known some of this stuff sooner, I would have been able to pivot faster and make plans,” she says, with a sigh. “Everything has been so sudden.”
She’s been planning for her future for much longer than it took for the current administration to dismantle it. “I had been preparing for these applications since last year. It feels like a waste of time.” She had spent three of her undergraduate years spreading herself thin across classes, maintaining grades, working jobs, and research—all with the hope of attaining at least something. “I’ve put all this effort in my journey,” she says, “and it almost feels like it’s for nothing.”
The whiplash leaves her plans in constant flux: “I’ve pivoted my plan at least three times at this point.” Each time she turns, every new opportunity is only a mirage and seems to disappear in the ether of funding cuts. “It’s a month before graduation,” Abie says, “I have few prospects.”
Although the application cycle is over for the majority of opportunities, with each passing week, she persists. “My PI has been helping to keep me sort of sane through all the changes, and recommending opportunities where she sees them, encouraging me to keep applying and keep being positive. And sort of just navigate the storm however I can.” Abie has evolved her strategy and broadened her horizons, casting her net wherever she can. She’s considering positions in the United Kingdom and Canada, where scientific opportunities still beckon. Her mentor’s advice lingers around the corner, encouraging her to pivot toward public health or genomics and circle back to her original passion later. A compromise, but one that stings.
Abie has also considered entering the workforce as academia’s carrying capacity is being funneled, with grants and programs cut, and many academic positions either experiencing hiring freezes or firing. In her search, she attempts to assemble functional employment and personal interest. Yet she explains that there is a cost. “I’m trying to stay within the research realm. So I don’t lose the skills that I’ve been able to gain at Penn.”
Abie has come a long way from the timid freshman who first stepped into the Quad. Warming up to Penn, she has opened herself up, allowing herself to get help when she needs it and putting herself out there, whether it is by going to the floor above to ask for help or sending yet another cold email. The NIH’s abrupt funding cuts have pulled the foundation from beneath her carefully laid plans, but in this new uncertainty, Abie is now more open than ever—not just in professional networking, but in prioritizing the people around her. She has increasingly invested time in friends, knowing these moments can’t be reclaimed. Where institutional support failed, her circle became both anchor and lifeline—sustaining her mental health, grounding her in the present. She fondly recalls her 21st birthday, which she spent with her friends in the city, “for one night, not thinking about all of the chaos that is happening and enjoying being a young person in Philadelphia,” reminding her that happiness in her twenties is the least that she deserves.
