Grateful By Audrey N.
College. All the word does is say that word. It’s not like I haven’t heard it before, nor that I don’t
understand what it means. But now that I am older, it has become a personal word. There is a
pressure to get into a good college, earn a bachelor’s degree at minimum, hold a 9 to 5 job,
get married, have kids, and eventually pass down the tradition. That’s what true success is, they
say. You can’t chase your dreams unless you have a stable foundation beneath you. All those
celebrities and billionaires are where they are because of luck. Be happy that you have a family
to support you and the opportunity to go to Harvard or Yale or Berkley. Be thankful, they say.
I am not one to complain, maybe because my parents constantly remind me of their
upbringing. Understandably, both had a rough childhood, having immigrated from Asia as
children. Their parents started from scratch in a world where they knew nothing of the
language or culture. But they had no choice. Coming here, their families were quite poor and
learned to survive off what they were given. Never complain. Just study hard and don’t drink,
smoke, or get into trouble with the shady-looking popular kids. That’s all my parents ever cared
about. My mom was raised by a strict single mother and had to pay for her own college tuition.
My father was the youngest of five and played in the streets with his friends for entertainment,
though he still worked hard like any child of a first-generation parent did. Now, my mother is a
stay-at-home mom and takes care of the housework, bills, children, and other things a
housewife would do. My father makes the money as a well-paid doctor who always seems tired
when he comes home. Despite little mishaps here and there, we’re fine. No heartbreak, drama,
or financial crisis. And I am grateful for that. I am grateful I had such a nice childhood in a nice
country, in a nice school, in a nice home. Maybe that is why I am so afraid to speak up; I’m
afraid to let go of the peace I have now.
Today is July 14th, a week after my mom’s birthday. We don’t truly know when she was born,
but that’s what my grandma put on her birth certificate. I have around 3 weeks before I must
pack up my belongings and say goodbye to childhood forever. These days, all my life consists
of is searching for colleges, packing for college, deciding what to major in in college, and
everything else that a freshman at college would worry about. My friend Annabelle already
received a partial scholarship from Brown University and plans to major in journalism. She’s
moving away in two weeks, saying she wants a head start. It makes me even more nervous that
I can’t even
It’s been over a year since my parents started pestering me about college; I have yet to find an
answer. We visited over 20 colleges. Some were cottage-like, in the-middle-of-nowhere, and
surrounded by meadows while some were in big metropolises and packed with bustling
students. Despite the stark differences between each, they all gave me the same uneasiness, a
gut feeling that college-life was not for me. As the months passed and I still had not
materialized an answer, it became apparent to me that I didn’t want to go to college. I didn’t
want to go at all. Unfortunately, that does not sit very well with two parents who think double-
piercings are the most scandalous thing on the planet.
“Mom, dad,” I glanced at them nervously, then cleared my throat with certainty. “I decided.”
My words were bolder than I had imagined, like the shell of a girl not quite comfortable in her
own skin. I had never dared say that statement aloud. My father looked up from his book. My
mother stopped her cooking as she too listened closely.