By Micah Andres
You’re a lot more normal than you think and people who say otherwise are idiots and you should just go ahead and shut them up with a swift kick to the face:
A note to all the 20-somethings who are still in school, and a little bit about me.
It takes some getting used to. The getting-talked-down-to, the strange look people give you when you mention that you’re almost at your mid-20’s but still “almost” a freshman in college, the hushed voices your family uses when describing you to other family or friends, or using ambiguous terms so people can think that, while you may be in college, you may be working there?, that sort of thing. (Eh si Micah kamusta na? Ahh…uhm…ayun nasa [insert school here] hehe…). But you already knew that.
And of course you know that, and I know that, and a whole bunch of other people know just exactly how you feel. What I’m saying is: You’re not alone. It’s true. There are a lot of us out there, 20-somethings who cringe whenever their classmates call them “kuya” (or, god forbid, tito), who feel just a tinge of shame when asked what they’re still doing in college.
There are a lot of reasons why you’re still in college, and chances are, not one of them includes family staples like “eh kasi puro inuman ang inatupag” or “nagbabarkada kasi eh” or, rarely used but is not unheard of, “baka special ka anak?”
A lot of us, of course, are still where we are because they didn’t have the financial resources to go through a 4-year bachelor’s degree in a prestigious school with a prestigious name and prestigious students and alumni. You have to remember, a big percentage of our nation live below the poverty line. But you’re not one of them, no. You’re in the middle class, like most of us. You live with your parents, some siblings, a maid maybe, a family car. You can afford luxuries, not often but it’s no rarity. But for most of us, saying that we were too poor to go to school sounds like a better alternative than the truth. Because we know it sounds stupid, or it’s lame, or it’s an excuse, or a whole other list of adjectives your parents drilled into you when you left your second (or third) college.
Yet, the question still stands: Why are you where you are, when you should be somewhere else?
It’s a tough question to answer, just typing that sentence down made me sit back and wonder about my own station in life, made me reflect on the decisions I’ve made over the past seven or eight years.
Like most, if not all, of us, I had no idea what to put in the “first choice, second choice” line in the numerous college applications we had in high school. My mother wanted me to take business, but I sure as hell had no interest in that whatsoever. Psychology maybe? I always liked giving (mostly unsolicited) advice that people seemed to enjoy. History? My forte, sure, but I’m not sure how to make a living with that. Engineering? Not good at Math. Computer Science? Hmm I LIKE computers, but not enough to make it a living.
In the end, at the behest of my brother who said it would become a lucrative industry in the (then) future, I ended up taking Multimedia Arts. It was during the second week that I realized I have absolutely NO interest in what I’m doing.
But that’s not the only reason, I think. Maybe I didn’t like the school, or the people. Maybe I had expectations about college that just weren’t fulfilled, because seriously why am I taking Algebra again? I thought I was done with that shit? Uniforms? I’M A GROWN-ASS MAN. At least I got to grow my hair. (P.S, best way to spot a freshman in college is by the acne/long hair combo)
Regardless, I lasted a semester and two weeks before I decided never to return ever again. Because seriously, fuck that shit. I thought college was all about taking up subjects I want, doing shit I like.
My mom decided to put me on an extended leave of absence to think about what I “really want in life”. A year of that and I had no answer. Not that I did much soul searching, most of that year was spent bumming around at home, hanging with friends when they had time, and just generally slacking off, like any 17 year old would do if he had the time.
Eventually, I was strong armed into entering another school, something more ‘prestigious’ than the last one. My tita had previously lectured there and she had ‘connections’ to get me in, which of course I did. So I entered this new school with expectations lowered and a renewed fervor for college. But there it was again, that wall of doubt, that nagging feeling in the back of your head that says “I’m not supposed to be here”, that urge to stay at home. It wasn’t the schedule, it wasn’t the people I was with, it wasn’t the campus.
It’s not for a lack of preparedness, or being too immature, it was just that, I didn’t know what I wanted. Or, more specifically, I knew I wanted something but I just didn’t know what.
So, for the second time, I left. I lasted two semesters this time.
At this point, I had given up. I fell into a deep depression, started growing my bangs, black replaced all color in my wardrobe. More importantly, but ultimately the most detrimental to me at the time, I started blaming everyone around. It was my mom’s fault! She never supported me in ANYTHING I wanted! It’s my sisters fault! She was too strict! It was my brother! He didn’t give a shit! No one was spared. It got to the point where even emo songs stopped becoming about women and it became about how my family didn’t love me, or no one loved me, wah wah wah. I had excuses left and right, never ran out of them.
Of course, after some time, I realized that the problem wasn’t the school or my family.
The problem was me.
Unfortunately, by the time I realized it I was 19 and had given up on the idea of school. Fortunately though, my mom did not. Back then, she was working for a big bank in Hong Kong, and she decided that it would be a good idea for me to strike it out on my own there. I had my doubts but, ultimately, I decided to go.
The plan was for me to take a short 2-year Associates Degree course (of my choosing), and then continuing a Bachelors Degree after it. I had my doubts, but I ran with it. Before I knew it, I was back in school. Prestigious school too, I don’t know how I got in but there I was. And for a time, it was good. I was doing something I sort of liked, the people were friendly enough. But as usual, I found another excuse. Since I was the only foreigner in class, the professors decided to do all the lectures in Chinese and gave me handouts in English.
After a year of that, I left. I convinced myself that this time I had a valid reason, but looking back, it was just another flimsy excuse.
I turned my back at school for the last time. It’s just not for me. I spent the next 2 years partying, working odd jobs here and there to support myself, partying, not caring about a thing in the world. I hung out with great people, but I also got mixed up with bad people. This was also the time I discovered hard drugs and alcoholism. Man, those times were fun. Messed up like crazy, but fun nonetheless. I was living with three of my friends in a small apartment in Hong Kong when I realized that, this is not the kind of life I would want for the rest of my days.
I was living on a month-to-month basis, working just to survive the month, and then blowing the rest of my paycheck on booze and drugs. By that time I was 22, partying like I was a teenager no longer appealed to me.
As bad as it may have sounded, my life there gave me valuable insights and experiences. Thanks to that, I had a huge base of friends the world over, and I finally, finally, found that thing I loved. It sucks that I had to go through my fair share of tough situations just to find it, but without that adversity, I wouldn’t have been able to find it. It took a few months of abject poverty, an overdose scare (or two), numerous bar fights, but it was undeniable: I had found my passion.
My mom and I had a long talk about it, and this time the decision to go back to school was mine. After my mom stopped jumping for joy, we planned out what to do. First was for me to move back to the Philippines. Studying in Hong Kong was expensive, and I didn’t want a repeat of the language barrier.
And I was back here. Suddenly, going to school and taking up what you actually love, and being there of your own accord, was amazing. I never loved it as much as I do now. I’m two years short of graduation, and I’m getting there faster than I thought I would.
There’s this age-old adage that I love: There are many ways to leave school, but graduation is the hardest. I never realized just how hard it was until I actually started trying.
And that is the key, I think. Your family was right, not about you being a failure or being a weirdo for not being in school. No, the thing they were right about was perseverance. Sometimes, you really do just have to grit your teeth and do it. You never lose if you try.
So, here you are, 20 something and still pretty lost. But you know, I bet that if you looked hard enough, you would find that one thing you love, that one thing that gets you up in the morning. It’s a weird thing, I’m sure, and it’s not something that everyone would understand. Maybe it’s writing, or fashion, or music, or sanitation engineering, whatever. Just remember: It’s yours. No one will ever, EVER, be able to take that away from you, but only if you try.
We’re not so different, you and I. I bet if we whipped out our TOR’s, we’d see the same amount of failures due to absences, or disciplinary actions. If college is a battlefield, we’re grizzled war veterans. We know how to read professors, we know the ins-and-outs of the system, we know more than if we had stayed in school or if we graduated on time. If I had a chance to re-do the last 7 years of my life, I wouldn’t change a whole lot. Maybe laid off the drugs and alcohol, or maybe not be a douche to that girl I really liked. But aside from that, I wouldn’t trade the experiences I had, the knowledge I gained, the shit I took. And neither would you. Maybe not all of you, but some of you.
Keep trying 20-somethings-who-are-still-in-school. Shit gets better if you try.
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