If any of you remember some of the earlier “Housekeeping” posts, you’ll know what the title of this post refers to. It goes back to those early days of September when we were enveloping ourselves within our twelfth grade year, locking ourselves away from the normal teenage life and unable to celebrate these golden years:
Just this time last year, I had withstood my trial by fire and emerged on the other side battered and exhausted. I had triumphed, I had achieved everything I forced myself to dream of for the four years of my high school experience: obtaining the IB diploma. What had I not sacrificed?
I slaved away for months, working on a barrage of assignments, tests, essays, internal assessments and mock exams. Anyone who said anything to me received a clipped, curt reply; anyone who made plans with me received a cancellation. I didn’t attend school dances or fundraisers; concerts or prom night. I was the picture of the school nerd, placed among fifty other students of such quality and taught to find a way to outcompete them at something.
So I put down my beloved books, I put a pause on afternoons spent binge-watching; too exhausted to even seek ways to escape reality. There was nothing left of my personality, I could feel myself being molded into a factory product of a student, every individual quality shaved away from my being until nothing remained except what everyone else had. I remember after my exams had finished, and I felt refreshed enough to say something at the dinner table that wasn’t “Mhmm” or “Fine,” the look my father gave me astounded me. As if I had just returned after being away for a long time.
How did every aspect of life manage to boil down to one diploma? And when that was achieved and no longer significant, what would replace it? And even as I realize how many mistakes were made, I still see myself careening down my chosen path in a similar fashion. Ready to sacrifice anything for an academic glory story.
Through my first year of university, I became obsessed with collecting cards. I needed something up my sleeve to prove that I was capable of withstanding the academic firestorm. The stellar GPA, the six course schedule, the ambition to take on notorious, killer courses. Just like my IB diploma, I wanted something more to my name on paper. Otherwise, I would just be left reeling from the knowledge that everything I valued was meaningless.
Something I’ve learned is that the path to academia often takes one far from the reach of the real world and places one in a sheltered niche of society. A place that is wholly built upon a dichotomy between success and failure, both terms often being described in superficial ways. You can either take a stand upon a pedestal and emerge into society as a prominent individual or you can shrink into the masses below and merge with them. Success is seen as reaching that peak in your life. It is the title, the degree, the job that ensues and the money that proves the ultimate point. The failure, in comparison, would be almost unbearable, would almost feel like falling, could just feel like disappearing. The typical all-or-nothing mindset puppeteers us towards our one eventual burnout or oblivion.
We tend to think there is a formula for the perfect life and all those who deviate from this rigid checklist don’t merit a reputation. Why did we think the formula we made was the only way to reach a perfect conclusion? Why did we think we could force our judgement upon those near to us, and then erase their significance when they crumbled under the weight of it? As if we weren’t just as starved as we thought they were, just as deprived of wholesome memories and youthful ventures. We chose to go down one path stemming from the crossroads and imagined we were walking to utopia while the other one led to hell. Did we not realize we could burn just as easily on this same path? That maybe the checklist was only the semblance of control and not the means?
What would go so wrong with life if I chose to sacrifice in the other direction for once? If I avert my gaze from my supposedly shining future for a second and confront the wreckage of my present, would everything I’ve built crumble to dust around me? Because as soon as we leave the institution and fall into reality we’ll realize the fantasy we’ve been living in was temporary and that we were not prepared for the eternity spent in disappointment.
These are my reflections for the second year of my bachelor’s degree. And I’ve decided I’ll sacrifice more salvaging myself from the brutality of insecurity and anxiety instead this time around. Academia will have to live by my time for a while.
- Z