Hello, fellow insomniacs.
I haven’t blogged for a while, partially because my creative muse hasn’t been doing its job and partially because I’ve been simply lazy. I like to blame the former for the latter, but some may see it in the other way. It doesn’t matter; I have the blogging power.
So I thought that since it’s 1 am, and I haven’t been able to force myself it a sensible slumber, I would try to muster up something to put into the blogosphere. There are a number of things I could talk about: the recent crisis in Iraq, paleo diet recipes, why people interested in taxidermy should be committed. Instead, I decided to just rant about my anxieties. Why? Because I’m an 18 year old with an internet connection.
I recently graduated high school, a feat which, for an average Asian American girl with sufficiently caring parents, is not hard to reach. However, this is the kind of thing that everyone wants (or feels obliged) to clap and cheer for anyway, like when an old person reveals their age on a TV talent show.
“And how old are you, Mr. Bobaloo?”
“72 years young.”
WOOOHOOO1 YEAH! CONGRATULATIONS ON STAYING ALIVE!
I imagine that same sort of feeling applies to high school graduates. It’s not hard for most people, let’s be honest. There are a few people that have it tougher than others; maybe someone’s negligent mother accidentally enrolled her awkward, nerdy, science-geek son into an 80’s movie high school.
In my personal experience, it was simple: go to school, pay at least half-attention half the time, wait it out four years without punching somebody, and graduate.
While I never took anything for granted or assumed anything too soon (I felt that whenever I did that, life liked to slap me in the face with an unpleasant “surprise!”), I always sort of knew that graduating high school was a given, a guarantee. Our government kind of forces kids to get an education, but when they stop being kids, that’s it.
The idea of college has been chiseled into our brains for so long. I remember getting the college talk before I got the period talk.
Side note: Remember the period talk, ladies? When teachers seated all the girls in the fourth/fifth grade into a room and whipped out pads, badly-acted videos, and diagrams to explain why your vagina will bleed? Those were the days.
By the time you’re in high school, college talks seem like less of well-intended lectures and more like sales pitches with graphs.
But like the juicer commercials I’ve seen on late-night TV, they got me. I have decided to attend college this fall and, assuming that I get all my papers finished on time and don’t have a life-altering epiphany at the last minute, will be falling into the next socially-approved stage of my life.
This, basically sums up the “everything” I mention in the fantastically crafted title that caught your attention.
I never thought I would say this a year ago, but I am scared of college.
More specifically, I’m scared of what it represents: adulthood, moving on, career. While all these things made me happy when I was filling out applications, they’re really freaking me out now because no longer distant, no longer subjects on which I can contently gaze at from afar. They’re here, right in front of me, and like Zooey Deschanel’s eyes, they’re much more formidable up close.
What am I going to do about money? Parents! But they won’t be around forever. They could die. Like tomorrow. And leave me an orphan. Except I won’t be an orphan because I’m 18 and no longer considered a child.
U.S. government, I still sometimes guiltily watch the Disney channel, in cupcake pajamas, while eating a whole carton of thin-mint ice cream. I don’t think that’s the type of person you want to throw fancy titles like “legal adult” at.
On top of that, I still have no idea what I’m doing or want to do. I’m going in as undeclared and as someone nicely told me, “Oh, that’s a bad idea but good luck.” Thanks, someone-whose-name-I-shall-not-mention. You were great.
There are people who will gladly tell undeclared majors things like, “It’s okay,” “You still have time,” “Lots of people haven’t decided yet,” “There’s room to explore your options.” That’s very great and dandy but this is the first time in my life I’m having to pay thousands of dollars to “explore.”
I want to know now. I want an oracle to burst out of the heavens or wherever oracles reside and tell me what I’m going to do with my life. Even if it’s that I’m going to kill my father, engage in an incestuous relationship, and finally gauge my eyes out in shame, I want to know. At least then I’ll have a sense of security.
(That was an Oedipus reference, by the way. Just making sure you all don’t think I’m insane.)
On the day of my orientation, I met my academic adviser. She told me that since I took a couple college English classes, that she assumed I would go down that route. “Okay,” I thought to myself and nodded. Then she asked me if I was thinking of something in the English education field. Yes, the idea of being a teacher did scatter around in my mind for a few moments, followed my some cringes. “Yeah, that’s definitely something I’m thinking about.”
She then wrote down “possible English Education major” and that was that. If I don’t have some big epiphany in the next year or two, or find out in some other way what I really want to do with my life, I’m going to be an English teacher.
With a minor in film studies.
Judging from my lack of grammar skills and motivation to edit any of my blog posts (evidenced by my earlier blog posts), I am having a hard time convincing myself this is a good idea.
I always thought that if I ever becoming a teacher, I would be one of those awkward, push-over type ones that one day has a nervous breakdown and curses at one of her students. However, since I’m taking French next year, maybe I can do it covertly in another language.
I try, sometimes, not to take things so seriously. “Take life one day at a time” the old adage goes.
But that’s stupid and whoever came up with it clearly was not a high school graduate in 2014. You always have to plan ahead and whatever you do, no matter how many #yolo tweets you post, you always have to make room for an annoying thing called “security.”
Today, the average debt for a college graduate is $30,000. I knew that without looking it up because EVERYONE talks about it, and then follow it up with “Follow your dreams,” and “Do what you love.”
Okay, I want to be an art history major at a state university.
Honestly, I hate these lists more than I hate jean mini-skirts, but that’s for another rant on another blog post.
I realize that I just sound like an anxious teenager with too much time on her hands.
I know that because I am.
The reason I decided to post this was because I was bored and unable to fall asleep, as I had previously mentioned. These things have been on my mind for quite some time, and I can’t help but fuss over them– usually over a carton of thin-mint ice cream while watching the Disney channel.
It is possible that my subconscious motive for writing this was to get out all of these feelings and shout them to the world in a way that doesn’t wake up my parents at what is now 2 am.
Did it help? Who knows, but I’m drowsy and believe it is time for me to say nighty night to the blogosphere.
Maybe everything will be solved in the morning (or early afternoon, when I usually wake up). Maybe the skies will clear, a unicorn will come dashing across the sky and sprinkle magic dust on all of my worries.
Maybe this is part of what it’s like to be an adult: living in the most practical, self-sustaining way in this very real world while at the same time always hoping for some magic dust.
Your beloved blogger,
P.S. Forgive the many errors I undoubtedly made throughout this post. I will edit it later, possibly. I’m sure the many non-existent people reading this won’t be too judgmental.