Notes From My Twenties

My first semester, I started half online and half in person due to the shutdown. It is awkward and not just for me but for everyone. No one really talked, and I’ve always been naturally shy, so it definitely DID NOT help the situation. 

I recall there was this one girl in my class, and for about three weeks, I didn’t say a word to her. I would sit there and look at her backpack, her pins, and her little trinkets, just trying to figure out what she liked and what kind of person she was, just so I could say something to say. Eventually, I got the courage to talk to her. 

And for a moment, I thought I had made a friend. But over time, in the semester, we texted less and less, and conversations got shorter. And eventually, we just became people who had once been in class together. 

To be honest, that whole first semester I struggled more than expected. Chemistry and math are huge parts of it. I didn’t understand what was going on, but I tried hard to keep up, trying not to fall behind. But somehow at the end of it, I made it. 

A, B, B, A

I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday, but just because I was proud, not because I accidentally spelled ABBA like the music group. 

I got an A in chemistry. I couldn’t believe it. I ran to my mom, LIKE ACTUALLY, and told her. I remember how happy she looked, and the pride in her voice was unforgettable. 

And in that moment, everything felt worth it. 

• First Semester: DONE.
• GPA: 3.5. 
• DEAN’S LIST. CHECK

CHECK, CHECK, CHECK. 

I thought this was it. This is what I worked so hard for. 

(my first semester grades)

Over that winter break, I started thinking about my timeline. Technically, I could’ve finished all my prerequisites in one year if I had taken fall, winter, spring, and summer classes consecutively. 

However, deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and I would do much worse. So I decided to slow it down. Take about two years to finish my requirements to give myself a better chance. 

Woah. Even saying that aloud is scary. 

I remember talking to my family member about it first, just to see how it sounded. I then mustered up all my courage and talked to my parents. I was terrified they’d say no. But after explaining everything and convincing them, they agreed!

And it looks like it was working in my favor again!

I just didn’t realize the following year would be one of the biggest burnouts. 

My college was competitive. REALLY competitive. Every day, I’d stand by the elevators and see those screens flashing. 

TOP IN NURSING 

TOP IN THIS 

TOP IN THAT 

And the program itself? Out of every 100 applicants, they would only take 10. All based on the GPA and TEAS score. Ranked highest to lowest. 

It scared me more than I would admit. 

I mostly spent my time alone. A lot of people had already come in groups. I would try to ease my way in, but it didn’t really work, haha. Often these groups would switch languages, so I already didn’t feel part of it. 

Suddenly, I didn’t feel like I belonged. 

After class, I’d go to the library and sit all the way in the back. For hours. Just waiting for the next class. 

Everyday. The same routine. Over and over again. 

I tried. I really tried to make friends. I really did. Sometimes I was too shy. Sometimes too intimidated. Sometimes I couldn’t offer anything. 

My mom would tell me, “You can be just as good on your own as they are in a group.” I tried to believe that. 

But I was so lonely. Some days, when the same routine got too repetitive, too familiar, I’d just leave. I’d walk all the way to the grocery store, not far from campus. Put my headphones on, jammed to music, and walked slowly as I had nowhere else to go. 

I’d buy snacks, drinks, and small items. At first, it was something to do. But eventually it became a comfort. Late-night studying. Long days on campus. I kept eating, just to get through it. By the end of the year, I had gained over 50 pounds. For what?

(Images of me being alone, haha.)

I still remember that spring semester as if it were yesterday. The classes moved up; it got harder, all of it. I remember my math class lasting nearly 3 and a half hours, and still I felt like I learned nothing. I even went to tutoring, and it was just so hard. 

That semester, everything began slipping. Not failing, but not succeeding either. And this time, I didn’t tell anyone. Not my mom, not my family. When I saw my grades drop and my GPA go down, I felt so stupid and angry. Like all the effort I put in didn’t work. Yeah, I still passed my other classes, but the ones that really mattered. The prerequisite? I couldn’t even get those right. I cried all night that day, but I promised myself I could fix it. 

That summer, I decided to enroll in classes. This was my chance. I walked in ready. Prepared and hopeful. I just didn’t realize one thing. How fast it went. Every day was a new topic, a quiz every week, and an exam every two weeks. No time to catch up. No time for me to breathe. 

There was this one girl who would sit up front. She always had answers, always had her hand up, always understood everything. I remember being so impressed but a little jealous. I did ask for her help once and asked how she understood so much. She would then tell me she loved science, and it was just understandable to her. I was stunned. 

I also got a tutor. Not the school one. An actual one. Hourly, and I remember my mom saying I had to understand since it was being paid for. But no matter how much I asked, or help I had, it just wouldn’t freakin click. 

In my second exam, I scored a 35. The lowest in the class. There were only a handful of us, and I felt so exposed. Embarrassed. I didn’t belong there. By the last exam, I knew it. I came home on the train crying. It was so cold on that train, but I didn’t care. I just sat alone crying. It’s not like anyone would care. Just every emotion played in my head: every exam, every homework assignment, my tutor, my parents, and me. 

About two weeks passed when the grades came in. I scored a D. I was sitting on my mom’s bed when I read it. My first D, my first lowest grade on my transcript. I just broke. I cried so hard it hurt to even open my eyes, let alone breathe. I screamed into the mattress because I knew what that meant. 

Getting below a B in any of the prereqs meant you were out. No program, no second chance. I felt it. I did it. I ruined myself. All I could think was 

Why didn’t I try harder?

Why did I do this?

Why did I not do that?

Eventually, someone suggested I take the class again that fall semester. Try again. Do better. And after everything, what doesn’t hurt to try again? I can do it.