05/13/2026 | News release | Distributed by Public on 05/14/2026 02:48
For thousands of Boston University graduate students, Commencement represents more than a new chapter in their lives: it's a new step in their careers or the beginning of a brand-new profession. Nearly 4,000 Terriers will leave BU on Sunday with an advanced degree-and, in some cases, more than one.
Here are a few of their stories.
As a young person, Mohamed Hussein (SDM'26) often had a front-row seat to the ways his mother could change lives through her work. A dentist in the rural outskirts of Abha, a city in southern Saudi Arabia, Fatema Abdo (SDM'26) saw a lot of patients in distress.
"People would come in suffering, in pain. They would say they couldn't sleep all night," Abdo recalls. She was a general dentist and then head of a hospital dental department. In both roles, she found that many of the patients she treated were suffering as the result of preventable disease. But in an area where oral hygiene education was at a minimum-and time or resources to get to regular dentist appointments even harder to come by-these otherwise preventable conditions could easily become complicated.
Hussein remembers watching his mother work methodically, carefully, and even lovingly with her patients, treating their symptoms and taking the time afterward to explain to them how to avoid this kind of painful crisis again by, for example, brushing and flossing properly.
"People would come to her grimacing in pain, and she helped them get their smiles back, get their confidence back," Hussein says.
These formative experiences informed his decision to study dentistry and follow in his mother's footsteps. At the time, neither Hussein nor Abdo could have guessed just how closely he would follow.
The family had moved to Saudi Arabia from nearby Syria in 2001, and had always planned to return. But by the time they were ready to move home, in 2015, long-simmering political unrest had exploded in the country. Syria was in a full-blown civil war.
Fearing that their return would be unsafe, the family instead planned to move to the United States. Hussein went first, to finish high school and attend college. The rest of the family-his mother, father, and sister-came to the US in 2019.
As Hussein worked through his undergraduate education at UMass Amherst and started exploring dental schools, Abdo researched programs that would enable her to practice in the United States. Both landed at the Henry M. Goldman School of Dental Medicine: Abdo began her two-year Advanced Standing program (for internationally educated dentists) just as Hussein was halfway through his four-year Doctor of Dental Medicine program-meaning that mother and son will graduate together on May 17, during BU's 153rd Commencement.
For the past two years, Hussein and Abdo have been classmates, study partners, and "roommates," Hussein joked, adding, however, that the food at home got noticeably better once his family moved in. They would rib each other about grades (especially when Hussein scored higher marks than his mom), but also relied upon each other to prepare for their exacting board exams. They cheered from the crowd at each other's White Coat ceremonies-one year apart.
"It's been amazing," Abdo says. "To sit next to my son, to do this together-it's been a wonderful journey. I never could have imagined it."
After graduation, Abdo plans to get right back to work practicing general dentistry, while Hussein has a residency lined up at Yale New Haven Hospital. For the next few years, they'll be apart. But not for long, they hope: if all goes according to plan, they'll start a family dental practice and be working together again in no time.
As editor in chief of the Boston University Law Review, Aryssa Harris (LAW'26, GRS'26) already has a big job. Sitting at the top of the masthead of the BU School of Law's prestigious student-led journal means that Harris spends her days writing, editing, and researching articles; managing the demanding schedules of dozens of staffers; coordinating with printers, publishers, and authors from across the country for a journal that publishes seven times a year; and organizing in-person Law Review symposia.
That's just the nuts and bolts of it, though. Beyond that, Harris, who is the second Black woman to lead the Law Review, sees part of her role as building a community in which her law school classmates-and those coming up behind her-feel seen and welcome.
"For me, it means being very intentional about making sure I'm speaking to everybody; letting them know that I'm always around and available and accessible has been really important. And then just doing as best as I can to make people feel represented, to show that Law Review is an attainable goal for everyone," Harris says.
If the experience has been demanding, it's been equally rewarding, Harris says. It has also been a perfect way to bridge her legal studies and her PhD research. On top of her law degree and role on the Law Review, Harris is also pursuing a PhD in political science. (LAW offers several dual degree programs, but not a JD/PhD program, so Harris had to create her own.)
Harris' PhD dissertation examines how Black communities are conditioned to avoid interactions with police, even in the absence of personal negative experiences. She connects this research to a 2016 Massachusetts case that ruled a Black man's decision to flee from police in Boston is not sufficient evidence of guilt. And she's building upon the legal foundation and existing research to show how this idea of avoidance plays out for a number of communities, including, more recently, immigrant communities.
After Commencement, Harris will clerk for an associate justice on the Massachusetts Appeals Court, while she finishes her dissertation. In the long run, she's focused on impact litigation that can tackle some of the most complex legal and social issues of our day.
"Massachusetts has such a rich history of pushing the law forward at the appellate level. I'm really excited to see what goes into that," Harris says.
From a very young age, Aija Rēķe (CFA'15,'26) understood that music can be much more than a collection of notes. She grew up in post-Soviet Latvia, in a house with no heat or running water, and has distinct memories of visiting her grandfather Žanis Rēķis who lived about an hour away, in the rural area of Rubeņi.
Rēķe's grandfather, an aspiring pianist in his youth, was captured by the Red Army as a teenager, and then interned in a labor camp in Mordovia, where he lost an arm. He was eventually released, seven years after his capture. He had to give up playing piano, but learned to play trumpet one-handed, instead, ultimately starting an amateur brass band in his small town. Witnessing her grandfather's passion for music-a passion he passed down to her-helped Rēķe understand something intrinsically that would only become clearer the deeper she journeyed in her own music education.
"At that young age, I still didn't understand the value in what I learned from my grandfather," she says. "Music can be healing and transformative and it can build community."
In her grandfather's case, Rēķe adds, "The music was his way of healing and a way of reintegrating back to society as a disabled person and political enemy. Music gave him hope and made him feel like a valued community member."
Now Rēķe, a violinist, teacher, and chamber musician who is graduating with her Doctor of Musical Arts degree from the College of Fine Arts, is planning to spread that lesson as far and wide as she can. Last summer, she traveled to Moshi, Tanzania, near Mount Kilimanjaro, where she volunteered for three weeks, teaching beginner and advanced violin at a local school. Rēķe worked with the Daraja Music Initiative, an interdisciplinary program that combines music education and conservation education. Her students ranged from complete beginners to relatively experienced violin players.
"It really was the experience of a lifetime," she says, adding that she is eager to go back. Until then, and with support as a recent Kahn Award finalist, Rēķe is looking to inspire musicians closer to home: she's working to create a music education program that would connect students at Tukums Music School in Latvia with students in Boston, which she would name the Aija Rēķe Violin Institute.
"The work of teaching is really my calling," she says. "Tukums is still a very economically depressed place with significant infrastructure problems, but with many very talented children growing up there; to be able to connect to the hope and the vision that music creates there would be wonderful. That can be possible with community events, concerts, and creating new employment opportunities."
Halfway through her genetic counseling program at BU, Kim Nguyen (CAMED'26) seized upon the opportunity of a lifetime. Her summer rotation, a required six-week placement in a clinical care setting (such as a hospital), would take place at a pediatric hospital in Hanoi, Vietnam. It was an opportunity Nguyen helped to create, and one that combined so many of her passions: pediatric care, patient counseling, and serving as an advocate for her community.
As the name suggests, genetic counselors are healthcare professionals, trained in the complex field of genetics, who help patients and their families understand and adapt to genetic conditions or diagnoses. They can assess disease risk based on family history, guide genetic testing decisions, and interpret complex results.
The duality of the role is what first drew Nguyen to the field, she says.
"I've always been interested in genetics," she says. "I knew I didn't want to become a doctor or a researcher, but I did still want to do something that was patient-facing, where I could make a difference and really talk to people and to families."
Plus, looking at the field, Nguyen realized she saw few other Vietnamese genetic counselors-a gap she wanted to help fill.
"I'm Vietnamese American and there just aren't a lot of Vietnamese American genetic counselors in the US in general. And so I was like, 'Well, I speak Vietnamese. I'm bilingual. I always wanted to do something to kind of advocate for my community.' And as a genetic counselor, I would be able to do that."
Nguyen will graduate with a master's degree from the Chobanian & Avedisian School of Medicine's Graduate Medical Sciences degree program.
So, when Nguyen realized she could take those same skills and work with Vietnamese patients in Hanoi, she jumped at the chance. The hospital system works slightly differently there, and genetic counselors aren't always part of the care team. Nguyen learned to navigate and advocate for a role that was unfamiliar, but welcome.
"To engage with Vietnamese patients consistently, that was really wonderful. I learned a lot about the role of a genetic counselor, and how to counsel patients in this new setting," she says.
At BU, Nguyen also sought community within the Newbury Center, where she became a frequent visitor and volunteer. She and a friend, Kim Ta-who is also graduating from the medical school's genetic counseling program-became such staples at the Newbury Center that they became known affectionately by staff at the center as "the two Kims."
Friends and first-generation graduate students Kim Nguyen (CAMED'26), left, and Kim Ta (CAMED'26) both found a welcoming community at Boston University's Newbury Center. Nguyen and Ta will both graduate with master's degrees in genetic counseling from BU's Chobanian & Avedisian School of Medicine's Graduate Medical Sciences Program. Photo by Cydney ScottWhen Kim Ta (CAMED'26) started going to the Newbury Center two years ago, she was mostly drawn in by the events, which usually sounded like a fun way to spend a few hours in the evenings. Now, on the cusp of graduating with her master's degree in genetic counseling from the medical school's Graduate Medical Sciences program, Ta says the center has come to mean much more to her.
The Newbury Center, which opened in January 2021, aims to foster the holistic success of first-generation undergraduate or graduate students at BU. For many, however, the sense of community gained there runs much deeper.
"You meet all these people who, at the core, have something in common-being first-gen," Ta says. "But then you start talking and realize we have even more shared experiences. It's just a wholesome community. And, you know, grad school, being away from family, having to cook for yourself, it's tough. So having a space where you can really feel at home is so helpful."
As a field, genetic counseling is only really starting to diversify. Most professional genetic counselors-89 percent as of 2022-are white. And so when cultural differences would inherently arise, Ta says she could talk through the experience with friends, such as Nguyen and others, at the Newbury Center.
"Going through my training, that was always super helpful, just to be able to talk about my experiences and get some good advice or feedback," Ta says. "I love genetic counseling, but every profession has its challenges, and it was wonderful to have a place to talk about some of that."
And there are plenty of parts of the field that Ta loves: talking to patients directly, offering the types of preventative screenings that can mitigate health challenges in the future, and helping her patients navigate those challenges when they do arise.
Ta recalls a particularly impactful moment during a clinical rotation at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. A patient came in whose mother and grandmother both had breast cancer. Since it ran in her family, this patient, who was pregnant at the time, wanted to be tested for a common genetic indicator of breast cancer.
Ta walked this patient through all her options, making sure she understood various treatments available should she decide to take them.
"She got very emotional," Ta says, and soon the patient started opening up about other, related fears and concerns. So, they continued talking, and Ta and her supervisor helped connect this patient to other support and resources at the hospital.
"That moment really stuck with me, because you're seeing a patient for a certain indication. You're prepping for that case, but you never know what a patient's going to come in with, what baggage they have, what they decide to share with you in that moment," Ta says. Being able to help this patient-if it wasn't the help she was expecting to provide-was exactly what drew Ta to this profession in the first place, she says.
Find more information about Commencement 2026 here.
For Thousands of BU Graduate Students, Commencement Is a Step Toward a New Profession