Two days after receiving all of my college decisions, I sat on my deck, listening to the first semblances of spring. The chirping robins sung, providing the cinematic, borderline religious score for the moment I was about to experience. I hadn’t opened any of my decision letters. After waiting for months, I could stand to wait an extra day or two until I was ready. Sitting there, orange juice in hand, half clothed in a robe, I opened them all.
I didn’t get into any.
I sat looking out, my mind turning in. I thought of the past nine months. The hours of writing essays; the days I’d take to film, edit, and comb over every frame of my creative supplements; the hopes I shared with my friends and colleagues. If college applications were still printed, mine would have all been turned to ash. Instead, all I had were liquid-crystal disappointments, forming together in a matrix to form the unfortunate first words: “Dear Ryan, I’m sorry…”
I stopped reading the letters after I saw those first two words. A pulse of adrenaline, a trip down the lane of doubt. The next one. Repeat. I went all the way down the line until there were no more shots of adrenaline — there was only emptiness. That feeling lingered. Like second hand smoke or a terrible aftertaste, it hurt. I couldn’t forget it.
On the verge of having my dreams crushed in totality, I sat at my desk two weeks after The Opening. Recoiling at the thought of stagnance, I said to myself that this isn’t the end. Diving into my past, thinking back to my earlier years, I thought of the versions of myself that would have accepted the fate and moved on. That’s not me anymore.
After almost twelve years of education behind me, leading up to nothing but rejections and disillusionment, I’m empowered. I’ve decided to move on: decided to say goodbye to the schools that told me no, and look beyond to bigger and better potentialities — to seek institutions that want me.
So, this is me. A portrayal of my strengths, my weaknesses, and where I want to grow. It’s a roadmap, soaked in mist, pointing in a hundred different directions. This is my call — a beacon to find a place where I belong.