Aside from the prospects of networking and getting blackout drunk, why do I want to go here? I’ve been in school for pretty much my entire life. There were days, many of them actually, where I wanted to drop out and sell "suggestive" pictures on Instagram. That's not to knock the people who do it, however, my dignity, pride, and the image of my mother’s scowling face prevented me from doing so. There were days where I questioned school as an entire institution. I wondered if it would do me any good or if I was destined to fail. As I shivered in the cold seat of a school bus, enduring all the pungent smells of gas and litter, we passed Beacon Hill. It was Christmas time and so many colorful lights wrapped around the pine trees. Every home was well lit and spacious, with the highest ceilings I’ve ever seen. It compelled me to think, “I want it” and “I’m going to work extremely hard for a beautiful home.” 

At the time, I was having a tough time deciding what career I wanted to pursue. College was just around the corner and it felt like a ticking time bomb was going to go off at any moment. Adults pestered me, Naviance pestered me, my school pestered me. Of course, there were feelings of envy. Many of my peers knew what they wanted to major in. Those that excelled in the stem field would either become doctors or engineers. Students who got the most speaking time during fishbowl discussions were natural lawyers. They were not stuck in limbo and if they were, they did a good job of hiding it. However, I was visibly in shambles. I hopped back and forth between psychiatry, political science, and marketing. Truthfully, the enumerated list was b*llsh*t. I wanted to be a children’s book writer. I wanted to be a children’s book writer with a podcast and bakery, living in the rural side of China with an Italian husband. I don’t actually have a preference, but “Italian” was a nice adjective.

It’s not that I don’t know who I am. I just have a hard time deciding who I want to please—myself vs. everyone else. I’ve done such an amazing job at presenting myself as unmaterialistic and autonomous, but in truth, there’s an inkling of me that wants approval. I want approval so bad that I get so riled with anxiety when I feel like I’ve offended someone. It would be over the littlest things like texting them too much or starting a game without them. I was raised a goody-two-shoes which I now know is synonymous with “pushover”. I used to play episodic interactive games because I was so miserable with my own life. I never talked back to my teachers, I never fought any of the kids at school, I did not participate unless asked to, I didn’t even have the will to stand up to bullies. 

What I remember from school was years of being isolated as the only Asian girl. I remember as early as three, telling my teacher that a girl was stealing my favorite yellow coat. She did nothing, brushed it off, and continued feeding me. It was nothing, I was just being a fussy child. When I was in seventh grade, I was publicly humiliated by my Latin teacher for doing math homework in class. Though, how could I explain what had happened to me? I lived more than a mile away from the school. I did not want to carry a heavy textbook and I also wanted to get to the school bus on time, which is why I did not put it in my locker. In hindsight, I could see where I was at fault. However, what made me furiously emotional was the fact that she asked what my parents were doing and how they would feel about me being disrespectful. “Your mother would feel disappointed. She works too hard for you to be disrespectful.” I did not grow up with my dad, but my mother, my beautiful mother was my sole motivation for enduring my Latin teacher’s treacherous outburst. Yet, here I was, being berated by a woman I did not know, claiming I disappointed my mother, and I totally bought it. I really thought I disappointed my mother because a 7th grade Latin teacher told me so. I did not say anything back to her. I didn’t even cry. That story pretty much sums up my relationship with most people, maybe less severe than that. 

I think about my childhood often. Seventh grade and fourth grade had so many parallels. For one, teachers and principals liked to bring up my mother a lot. It was strange, but it seemed as if they could see straight through me. They knew my pressure points. I hated that I could not be as outspoken or aggressive as other people. Perhaps, there was something wrong with me and I should just continue shutting my mouth. The only saving grace that kept me going was laughter. I loved to laugh, I loved to make jokes, but my inability to deal with confrontation removed that part from me. Again, I did not want to deal with people and their antics. It was better not to say anything or approach anyone. My shyness was amplified to a max, turning into isolation as I entered high school. That’s what I remember about my time at school. There was never a chance for me to discover who I was outside of school. Everything I did revolved around my classmates, my teacher, and my grades. Of course there are many great memories that I will forever cherish. There was an indescribable feeling of joy I felt when I made friends who actually liked me. They gave me a sense of belonging which I had not experienced before. Even the excitement I got from being seated next to the snot-nosed little boys I liked, and then the juvenile grudge I had against them when they liked other girls. I cherished the teachers who believed in me, who genuinely cared for me, and I cherished the rare moments where I was applauded for my work, because instances like these are hard to come by. So, despite the gruesome, prolonged years of schooling, I do owe my education and educators lifelong gratitude. 

I think school is much less about career choice than we think it is. Sure, Dostoyevsky may come up occasionally in your adult life (that’s when you have to thank your 12th grade AP Lit teacher), but what does that even mean? Being an intern at a hospital most likely means you will work in the medical field. That’s perfect, but then what happens when all fails and you can’t be in the medical field? Will you cry? Possibly, but your life is not over. You will have to deal with failure, emotional tirades, and fake people all your life. You will realize that there are terrible people and then there are godly people who you just can’t compete with. Life is just high-school on a grander scale. Technically, when we retire from a job, it’s sort of like graduating from high-school. We’ll still carry a little piece of immaturity from fifteen into our thirties, into our forties, and fifties, and so on.

 I’m realizing that I like city lights and high ceilings, but I like the peace and quiet of the rural side more. Perhaps I’ll settle for something in between like a suburb. Maybe not, maybe there will be a recession and my desire for a home will cease to exist. I don’t know and I’ll never know until the future. Maybe I’ll end up marrying the boy I really like. Maybe not, maybe we’ll forever be just friends and the mysterious Italian man will sweep me off my feet. Maybe I’ll just be single and completely fine with that. Aside from the prospects of a life partnership and shared income, what else is there to relationships? I must not have enough experience. Still, I hope this was all sufficient enough to answer the question. Why go to college? Because I’m poor, because I’m trying to be a better person, because that house, because the rural side, because I was told to, because Jerry did it, because I need to know if it really is a waste of my time. 

I need to know if “college dropout” is just a glorified title. How many of us can be a Kanye, Mark, or Bill? What are the exact numbers? How come there isn’t a guardian angel to lead us into prosperity? Or, why is there not a manual on how to become rich and successful? It’s too easy, right? Not all of us can be a Kanye, Mark, or Bill. Then again, do Kanye, Mark, or Bill want to be Kanye, Mark, or Bill? I’m sure they have their own issues. It’s people like Mark that cut your sentences and steal your participation grade. I know he was that kid in high-school. Besides the social aspects of school, as well as spaces for growth, I’m well aware that college will afford me the opportunity to sleep in. My eyes have been trained by all-nighters and anime subtitles. I could survive more blows, but I don’t think I want to. 

Our brain is the legislature of our body. We listen to whatever it tells us, even if that means being hunched over by the phone. Sometimes, I feel tired during the day. It’s probably because I didn’t get sleep the night before. I say this all to say that I didn’t go through all that just to skip college. I’m getting all my hours back. I’ve pretty much forfeited any chance of being physically attractive. Not getting enough sleep counts as one exchange. Another is obviously genetics and my love of carbs, but who’s to say I’m still not doing the best I possibly can? I’m not, but that’s besides the point. 

I will circle back to the central question: Why? 

I did not have the guts to write this in my college essay. Obviously I still have some work to do with regard to my autonomy, but I’ve just explained why I want to go to college. In order to do that, I have to oblige by their rules of respect and “good essay” protocols. So be it. Another stage in my life. What more can I ask for? And that is why I write what I write.