'Language and culture can serve as a bridge, not a barrier'

Arina Danilina: Psychology and Robert S. Harrison College Scholar

5/15/2026

Arina Danilina

Psychology and Robert S. Harrison College Scholar
St. Petersburg, Russia

Why did you choose Cornell?

Growing up in Russia, my high school became my second home. It was a small and warm world that gave me two things I did not yet realize would define the rest of my life: a love for learning and a deep connection to nature, which I discovered through backpacking trips with my classmates. Those two components – curiosity and the outdoors – became so deeply woven into who I was that when the time came to choose a university, I knew I needed a place that could hold both.

I first came across Cornell in the most unexpected way. I was preparing for my literature class, watching an online lecture on "War and Peace" by Russian writer Dmitriy Bykov, when he mentioned that Vladimir Nabokov used to teach Tolstoy to his students at a place called Cornell. “Cornell? What is Cornell?” I asked myself. I looked it up immediately, and within minutes I was lost on the psychology department’s website.

But what really finalized my decision was the academic richness and freedom that the College of Arts & Sciences offers its students. Coming from Russia, I simply could not believe the breadth of what was possible: the ability to explore so many disciplines, to wander across fields, to follow your curiosity wherever it leads without being told it was impractical or incompatible. At that moment, it felt like a door opening to a kind of education I had only dreamed about.

Last but not least, there was the place itself. I could picture myself so clearly: walking to a waterfall in my red Cornell jumper, recharging in nature after a hard day of studying in one of the beautiful libraries on campus. The combination of intellectual depth and natural beauty, of rigor and wonder, appeared to me as a sign. It felt as if Cornell had been waiting for me as much as I had been waiting for it.

What is your main extracurricular activity and why is it important to you?

When I was an early teenager, I was obsessed with the show House MD. I dreamed of being in a hospital setting and working in a laboratory. However, in my country, the idea of a high school or even college student working in a real research lab was something no one had ever heard of. So that dream stayed exactly where it was – in my imagination.

Then, my sophomore year, I started taking Introduction to Neuroscience with Professor Timothy DeVoogd. I would come to his office hours very often, asking about the material we covered in class along with chasing answers to the questions that fascinated me. How are religion and the brain connected? Where does religious experience really come from? What happens in the mind when someone believes? I could not stop asking, and he never made me feel like my curiosity was too much. Instead, he invited me to join his laboratory.

I cannot even begin to describe what I felt the first time I walked down to the Uris basement, opened the lab door with a special code, and put on nitrile gloves. I was living the moment of which I had only dreamed in the past.

The research itself captivated me: we performed histological techniques to measure avian brain regions associated with vision, hearing, vocalization and episodic memory. In addition, in that lab, I met some of my best friends, Sophie and Christina. And, over time, Professor DeVoogd became far more than a teacher to me – he became a true mentor and friend. He showed me that people who teach you are humans too, with warmth and wisdom that go far beyond the classroom. Last but not least, working in his lab confirmed that neuroscience was one of my greatest passions.

What Cornell memory do you treasure the most?

I decided to start facilitating Russian conversation hours at one of the most difficult times for me. It was my freshman year, right when the war in Ukraine started. I watched as fear and stigma grew around the language I had inherited, spoken my whole life and loved deeply. It was heartbreaking to see something so personal to me become something people were choosing to avoid.

I thought it would be wonderful to create a safe little corner, where we could be humans first, where the focus was on open dialogue and mutual respect. My Russian conversation hours were never about just grammar or vocabulary; they were rather about holding space for each other during a time that felt scary and uncertain for many of us.

So I showed up to my first session, and no one was there. To tell you the truth, I was not expecting anyone to come. Two minutes passed, then five, then ten, then 15 … I sat alone in the Language Resource Center lounge and eventually pulled out my laptop to do some homework. All of a sudden, three boys walked out of the French conversation session next door. They noticed my "Russian" plaque, stopped and started speaking to me in my native language. I was completely blown away. They sat down with me right then and there, and we talked for the rest of the hour!

From that evening, more and more Russian speakers began showing up to the Language Resource Center. I was so happy that we managed to create a space where we could leave the politics at the door and focus on the things that connected us – art, hobbies, shared experiences and the simple warmth of being together. Our community reminded me that language and culture can serve as a bridge, not a barrier, even during the toughest times.

What have you accomplished as a Cornell student that you are most proud of?

If I had to point to a single accomplishment, I would say my honors thesis, especially its winding journey. When I first entered the Robert S. Harrison College Scholar program, my project was titled "Made in God's Image: The Divine Human Mind." I was studying Italian Renaissance cathedrals through the intersection of neuroscience, mathematics, art history, archaeology and religious studies. It was beautifully interdisciplinary, and I was consumed by the research. Yet, amidst the data and histology, I realized something important to me was missing: connection with humans.

That desire for human connection led me to work in a hospital during the summer of 2024. While shadowing a gastroenterologist and maintaining patient records, I observed firsthand how systemic gaps in the American healthcare system affected people's lives: patients who desperately needed procedures were turned away because they didn't have the right insurance. Coupled with the daily news of worsening global conflicts that same summer, I decided to step outside the laboratory and try to bridge the gap between academic theory and human suffering.

I took a gap semester in the Spring of 2025 and spent three months in Germany, volunteering directly with Ukrainian refugees and piecing together the new direction for my honors thesis. From there, my journey took me to Bosnia and Herzegovina for a six-week internship in peace education. Witnessing the resilience of post-war communities completely reshaped how I viewed my academic purpose.

Today, as a student of psychology and environmental design, my honors thesis looks very different from where it started. It now focuses on the architecture and environmental design of refugee accommodations and their impact on inhabitants’ mental well-being.

However, the accomplishment I am most proud of is not just the thesis itself; it is rather the curiosity and openness that let my Cornell journey change me, transforming my academic passions into a tool for helping others.

How have your beliefs or perspectives changed since you first arrived at Cornell?

When I arrived at Cornell, I was hungry for exploration, but also worried about practical outcomes. Was this the "right" thing to study? Would following my curiosity leave me lost and unemployed? A persistent inner voice kept reassuring me to be strategic, play it safe and stick to what was expected of me.

Over four years, Cornell helped me silence that voice. Through the College Scholar program and my gap semester, I realized that my versatile passions were not distractions from my path: they were my path. Every time I leaned into something that excited me, even when it seemed completely unfeasible, it opened a door I did not know existed.

Alongside this academic confidence, I also discovered that belonging is something you create. The friendships I have built here – in the College Scholar program, in my research lab, in the Language Resource Center – ended up becoming a family. And Cornell granted me the space, the mentors and the community to learn all of this.

Every year, our faculty nominate graduating Arts & Sciences students to be featured as part of our Extraordinary Journeys series. Read more about the Class of 2026.