why

I just wrote one of the most sincere letters of my life. It was superficially a why letter, a little bit of a lust letter, but mostly a love letter.

I am starting to ask my teachers for recommendations again. I started compiling an email for them and ended up spending half an hour learning about the University of Chicago. It's a great school. It has most of what I'm looking for. It's missing some things that I could remedy. I can see myself there, at least content, probably happy.

And so in the midst of that delight I wondered, "Would I choose this over the First Choice?"
My best friend would be less than an hour away from me, finally. I already have good friends at the school, and I would be near people who I've made close connections with in these past few years. It has the Core. It has majors like "Big Problems" and "Human Rights." And to be disillusioning, the First Choice has its own share of real issues.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I thought, "No."

There is something about the people at the First Choice that is different, refreshing, and nonnegotiable. I want sketchy. I want things that are not a-okay all the time. Because I want to know the world, and the First Choice is the only place I can see myself knowing it fully.

The regrets I have would be minimal.

In other news, I have to start my Calculus homework.

things to let go, things to now know

I crossed three colleges off my to-apply list just now.

I almost feel like someone going through a midlife crisis. I've had this years for ages now, so what prompted me to alter it now?

I've been really contemplating what schools are right for me, not my parents' egos or mine.
Even though it didn't feel like that at the time I put them down, I realize now that it was. Prestige.
I got infected, and I'm a little ashamed, but hey, at least now I can say I'm human.

Admittance and rejection. I am trying to imagine the latter more often, just to be mentally prepared (so if it's an admittance instead I will simply explode), but that doesn't stop the occasional admittance daydream to creep into my skull. Alas.

I had an argument with my mother last night. For the third time since I've asked her specifically not to, she told yet another person what my First Choice is.

And it's not the shame of rejection. It's because it's personal to me, and no one else's business, especially not something for the "Compare Our Children" game Asian parents play. I don't want something so important to be reduced to a name like that, and the fact that she couldn't respect my wishes on that count was kind of upsetting.

I cry over everything now. I'm pretty sure if I saw roadkill I would burst into tears like I used to in elementary school (and only the elementary school part is exaggerating). It's not as though I'm having a nervous breakdown or anything. In fact, I'm no longer self-conscious about it. For seniors, it seems to be as fashionable as bug-eyed glasses. And like bug-eyed glasses, I hope it becomes less common by the end of semester.

So, the bright side. I am rereading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, which I read more than a year ago before adding it to my favorite books list.

I don't like it as much, which is disappointing, but not the end of the world. Some of the lines still ring with me, but not the same novelty as before. I'm marking the best of them with a light blue Prismacolour pencil. When I get to it, I'll buy and reread Everything Is Illuminated as well. And all the other books on my favorites list.

It's getting easier to tell how much I've changed on an intellectual level in the past six months alone. I reread the Handmaid's Tale for AP English and had an entirely new perspective on it because of Anytown and learning more about sexism. The presidential election got me more into politics (though I'd hardly call myself a junkie). I read commentaries without being entirely persuaded and watch reports without entirely believing.

And the things that once held immense sentimental value to me are less so epic, so to speak, because I have experienced even more profound messages in the past few months.

If my viewpoints were marble, I'd be sculpting them.

twenty days.

So, I vowed never to talk about college admissions again on my poetry blog (unless it was rather significant), and thus the need had to met somehow.

I started a general college process blog with this same name a while ago, but I eventually forgot to update it and veered away from school topics.
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I had my interview on Sunday in an empty Starbucks. I thought I was going to be late, but thankfully everyone on the highway speeds relative to the suggested limit. Oh Mapquest. The delight in proving you wrong.

The interview itself? We neglected to buy drinks and I wasn't able to articulate myself as well as I'd have liked, mais c'est la vie. I enjoyed the entire ordeal, especially finally getting the release of talking about the First Choice openly. More enthusiastic than I've been in a while.

It was the usual questions, but we discussed a variety of things. He gave me more insight on the community there and his own experiences, and I got a majority of my questions answered. The minority that couldn't be answered including how the scene is today and "alllohhmyygosshwillIgetin!" He mentioned Kirkegaard, who is definitely on my philosophy to-read list. Unfortunately, The Community Manifesto and Nicomachean Ethics have been gathering dust since I've started school. I'll have to put the Bible in between the two to keep it in chronological order.

I think the only embarrassing moment was when I discovered I had forgotten the plot to Everything Is Illuminated. If I recall correctly, most of the novel deals with plot sandwiched between Foer's philosophy and humor. At least that's the only reason I truly loved the novel.

My interviewer seemed to be an overall nice, intelligent, and laid back. I kind of wish we had gotten drinks, though. The poor man had a cough.
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Anyway, I've been bracing myself for First Choice rejection. It's the only way I can stop thinking about the decision I will see in twenty days. What are my options if I don't get in? A lot. I will definitely apply to UChicago, UIUC, Columbia, and One That Must Not Be Named. Harvard is really at the bottom of the list and probably will be stricken. MIT is a possibility, but it's not a perfect fit for me and I know it.

Ahh, the First Choice fits. It just fits.
I wrote a rather lengthy blog post on why a while ago, so I won't repeat myself any more.
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It's almost Thanksgiving, and I'm particularly thankful with how unintrusive my parents have been in the past few months of my life. I don't think I would have been able to get anything done if they had transformed into the nagging, hyperinsecure perfectionist hawks that I know some parents become.

These next six days will be a major balancing act of work and play. My whiteboard is filled with things to do and my schedule is filled with people whom I adore. Excellent.

My French teacher mentioned that that state of your living space is a reflection of the state of your life. I think I read a similar article about that sometime in the past, right before I read a piece on why disorganization encourages higher cognitive skills. I suppose the two ideas can go hand in hand--an intelligent person with an extraordinary amount of work to do will not be spending time on the "small things," and will probably have the mental capacity to remember generally where wanted items are.

This is why it drives me crazy when my mother cleans my room randomly, even though it's such a pleasant gesture. She's obsessed with order and frequently comments on my whirlwind of a room (composed of only three things: books, papers, and clothes), so when it comes time for me to do something I can't find what I need. Ah, irony.