Dear All the Colleges Who Rejected Me,
I am pleased to inform you that your final decisions have not marred my charismatic persona, nor hindered my growth as the bright student and hardworking human being that I still am today, two short months later.
At first I was hurt by your decisions, as they appealed to me as personal pokes at my capabilities and slaps on the face of my very much alive writing skills. I scooped ice cream straight out of the pint while barking complaints and grievances at my mother, trying to find a reason as to why you didn’t want me, why I wasn’t good enough, much like the common female protagonist at the beginning of a Romantic Comedy after being dumped by their douchebag boyfriend.
I decided to attend my “safety” school, despite being accepted by colleges that – ahem – were able to accept me, because of financial aid issues. Now my so-called safety school feels more like the boy best friend I had ignored for years and am finally beginning to fall in love with, because I realized that I wasn’t too good for them, and that they did deserve me – in contrast to your feelings of “she’s out of my league” when you sent that rejection letter after all these years of me thinking I was perfect for your school – for that type of elitist, name-dropping, money-fuled innovative environment – and that you were all I needed. It was a vicious love triangle, I believe.
Something interesting happened after the rejection and the hurt and the sorrow – one of my idols contacted me to ask to write for her magazine. What?! Someone wanted me? Weird, right? Well apparently, not really. She loved my writing and asked me to be on the staff for her magazine. Of course I said yes, with feelings of excitement and overwhelming gratefulness, nothing short of the look on the protagonist’s face from so-and-so movie as her man gets down on one knee to ask for her hand in marriage. Although I needn’t depend on someone else’s validation to become aware of my self-worth, my confidence increased and it was understood that you had made a mistake, not me.
I made use of all of the resources that were available to me in high school – and more. I worked harder than I had to, missing out on parties, cute boys, and a wacky sleeping schedule on the weekends (studying wasn’t just for the weekdays). My parents couldn’t afford to give me a car, and trust me I wanted one, but not for easy accessibility to my friends and shopping and food (well kind of for food), but so I could get a job that I could easily drive to and from without wearing my parents down with all the driving they already had to do for my clubs, tennis, volunteering, and high school events I helped out with. Trust me, if I could’ve taken on more, I would have. Just for you, babe.
But I realized, after seeing people whose bank accounts were considerably high and their standardized test scores and list of extra-curricular activities considerably low get accepted by you, that there was more to it. That you were a part of the shallow, monopolistic game that I had for so long denied the existence of. Although I had slipped through your cracks, some of the lucky ones hadn’t – and I was happy for them, as I was for myself, too! It wasn’t the end of the world, and this fact was proven by additional praise of my worth as a writer, the awards I was presented at school as validation of my worth as a student, and my ability to redeem myself from rejection and heartbreak as self-acknowledgement of my ability to be a strong human being. Going to your school? Big deal. I’m alive, aren’t I?
Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for leading the way for me to finally gain some understanding of my identity and my value, as well as fueling my fire for becoming a better writer as I angrily and passionately started this blog to rant about how awful you made me feel, as well as all the other heart-wrenchers in life.
I will be looking forward to hearing from you in four years.