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College Core
Here’s to the first ring on the tree trunk, onto the next three; and to freshman year — may sophomore, junior and senior year be each better than the last.
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Here’s to the first ring on the tree trunk, onto the next three; and to freshman year — may sophomore, junior and senior year be each better than the last.
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With the advent of college and amid the stomach-dropping realization that I was suddenly “on my own,” I had come to the realization that I needed to make a new community.
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The academic expectations I had put on myself during A Levels were so intense that I developed a nasty streak of perfectionism. So much that, at times, it became brutal to my self-worth.
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However, I want to care about my appearance, even though I am a college student. It’s a form of control that I can be as meticulous as I would like.
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I had forgotten my love of the beach, of being enveloped in the sweltering heat, the smell of saltwater in my hair.
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While it was strenuous, it sometimes felt like playing a part in a play; it wasn’t miserable, but more so a challenge of trying to stay in character.
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But here, it seems the scent in the air is of hyperprofessionalism where any trace of genuine passion gets lost in the wind.
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It wasn’t like I was afraid I would be a total recluse in Berkeley, but I think putting myself out there was an important step toward reidentifying with me being American.
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It’s a strange, liminal space very few kids acknowledge. This new identity, which I have quickly tried on and am still learning to adjust to, is trying and incredibly difficult to fit into sometimes, as if there’s a script and my delivery is always just a little off.
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Despite the shortcomings of Valentine’s Day I had, and still do have, the inevitable longing for something more.
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