“That’s incredible,” she said, and I wondered how her image of me had changed because of this new information. I didn’t witness the moment when Camilla found out I was Filipino, at a career panel earlier that day where I talked about how the expectation of a linear job progression was not part of my upbringing in the Philippines. I wondered how many other people in that room revised their image of me when they realized I was a different race than they imagined. Over the years, I’d witnessed many averted glances, abrupt halts, mumbled excuses, when I revealed information about me that contradicted people’s assumptions. But unlike in college, I’d learned not to care nearly as much.

“What have you been up to?” I asked her.

“Well, I left the church for one thing,” she said. “My husband and I were both members.”

I wondered if Camilla sensed my own view of her shift then, from reserved politeness to empathy. I remembered her going from table to table at the Freshman Union, introducing herself the first week of school. But unlike so many people I met that year, who felt as though they were nice to me as a form of charity, Camilla really did seem interested in my life, my intention to major in English, my interest in theatre, the parts of me I was willing to disclose. Though that changed after our first few encounters, when she kept asking me if I wanted to come to Bible study because she had become a member of Boston Church of Christ, a controversial group that targeted college students, who in turn tried to convert other students with single-minded focus. I noticed other people avoid Camilla, so I did too, though it felt like such a shame because it seemed as though it was the company of others she most reveled in, which was maybe part of why she became so attracted to that church, not knowing she would end up more isolated.