I am an incoming first-year college student, and needless to say, I've been a wreck these past few weeks.
While some of my classmates are already set on their college admissions, I am still at home, waiting for the results from the two universities I've applied to. It is with a heavy heart that I say that in both universities, I am only on their waitlists. My rank isn't far off; in fact, in one university, I am at the top of their priority list. However, both universities are prestigious and picky, so my future is still undecided. It doesn't help that every day, my parents nag at me for not applying to other colleges.
Well, I did.
But then my parents kept telling me to cancel my applications because either the university was too far from home, or they simply did not like it.
However, just a few days ago, I managed to secure a slot in Fine Arts in one of the universities. But my mother immediately told me to reject the offer since the course was too impractical, or so she said.
So I did.
And just a day after I rejected it, she came up to ask me, "Do you still have the slot?"
I instantly replied no, and she told me to apply again for the same course. So I did.
Today, just this morning, I received a response from the same university, telling me that I did not manage to secure the same slot. Okay, that was alright, I supposed. After all, it wasn't entirely my decision to reject the offer.
But it wasn't alright.
It fucking wasn't.
Because after dinner, after my parents discovered that my application was rejected, they began scolding me for not studying and reviewing enough to pass at least one of the universities I had applied to. The cycle started again. Them blaming me for my failures, and me shutting their voices out and trying not to cry.
I did study. I did review before my entrance exams.
But juggling my academics at that time and my college applications was too much for me to handle— the workload was too heavy.
So now, here I am, hanging on to my last hope — the local university near us that I had applied for Architecture. Perhaps I am already hanging by a thin thread, because every so often, I would find myself staring at my wrists with the urge to slit and cut them.
Is it my fault that I am not naturally smart? My good grades come from late and sleepless nights of studying, from effort and not from pure intellect. Additionally, the courses my parents push me to pursue are not in my interests. I love art, creativity, literature, and writing; but they urge me to take courses majorly related to technology, math, and science— subjects I've never really enjoyed.
I envy students who have parents who support them in whatever they want to do. But at the same time, I can only hate myself for not being good enough to support myself.
The blame is completely on me.
