I can do it, but I don't want to

Ironically, the experience of becoming educated has regularly left me without words, without a language to explain to my family what I’ve lost along this journey. This is partially because I never envisioned there would be any losses. However, I underestimated the challenges of being a first-generation student, and in my delusion fueled grapple for meritocracy, I’ve sometimes lost myself.

Much as in the article, “The Unentitled Kids: California's New Generation of Star College Applicants" by Teresa Watanabe, I hung all my hopes on going to college. I enrolled in my first college prep program, GEAR UP, in sixth grade. I was taught to envision a life that only education could provide. As a result, I did everything in my power to earn it.

In high school, I took nine AP classes and a paralegal course at the local community college. I enrolled in student council, was school ambassador, worked my first job at 16 in a law firm, was a graduate of the inaugural class for the UCI Academy of Law, a participant of the Higher Education Mentoring Program, spent a summer in Washington DC studying Constitutional Law, logged more than 1000 hours of community service, and interned for two youth diversion programs.

Ultimately, I was one of only 4% of students in my high school to attend a four-year university.

When I finally left home for college, I was clear about what I wanted. I wanted to do well enough to get into a good law school. I wanted a career that mattered to me. My BA was just a stepping stone towards the life I would have later. As such, I erroneously thought the hard part, namely getting into college, was over.

I had no idea how difficult it would be to remain in college. That I would be haunted by the versions of me who stayed home and watched my siblings grow up. That a monster would awaken within me, and I would doubt my capacity incessantly. That I would brush up against racism to an extreme degree and learn the violent history that espoused white supremacy. They were all losses I cannot quantify, because despite leaving Santa Ana, I’d never felt more inadequate.

While there are countless anecdotes that made me question my capacity to succeed, one sticks out in particular.

At the tail end of my junior year, I had been accepted to write an honors thesis in both my majors, English and Religious Studies. I quickly realized I could only feasibly write one and went to consult both major advisors.

In my conversation with the Religious Studies advisor, she told me that even if I wrote a thesis, I would not graduate with the Highest Honors I was hoping for. When I inquired why, she said I was just shy of the GPA cut off and would need to get straight A’s my senior year to qualify. I did not see the issue. I should add that my GPA in the Religious Studies department was a 3.9. I assured her I could do it. She assured me it was too difficult. 

Her certainty that I would not make it reinforced my secretly harbored fears that whatever academic success I’d attained had been good luck. She knew, and I knew, like I had suspected all along, that I could not do it.

Minutes after leaving her office, I, an absolute mess, called my mom. We prayed and she challenged me to try anyways. My mom’s kind words and gentle reminders softened what would have been the end of my desire to pursue a thesis.

Ten months later, that same academic advisor bestowed the gold cord around my neck, upon completion of my thesis. I looked her in the eye the entire time. I did not register remorse or embarrassment. I am not sure she remembered her words.

When graduation came, I was allowed to walk the stage with a family member. My mom wore my gold cord as she walked alongside me.

Admittedly, law school has resurrected some of the same monsters from my undergrad days. However, it has also freed me. It brought into heightened perspective the rat race I'd been running. I feel more relieved of my desire to compete for a career. I want a life. I see now that education will only take me part of the way to the life I want. I have to cultivate the rest. 

I agree with Case and Deaton that "[p]erhaps meritocracies destroy themselves over time." I am a destroyed meritocracy. Whether by choice or necessity, I think we all get to point of questioning how the endless need for validation can sustain us. 

As a result, I care less about “earning” my way. There is some measure of freedom in knowing that the education gap is so wide, I can stop splitting myself apart to bridge it. I have no desire to spend my life proving I can measure up. I am here, against a lot of odds, and it is enough.