Exactly One Week

Going to university was always one of my biggest dreams. It was another place for me to achieve, learn, grow, impress, win, conquer. Until university decisions came out, I didn’t get into Harvard or any Ivy League for that matter, nor did I get into Oxford, but I got into a lot of other very good schools — UC Berkeley, UCLA, UC San Diego, Yale NUS, King’s College London, Durham, Queen Mary and Georgetown, schools I wish I acknowledged were fantastic the day I received my decisions when I was bawling and thought the world was going to end. Debating between schools, I finally decided I wanted a liberal arts education so I ruled out England, Singapore was too close to home (a thought I would never ever have in the future), I wanted to eventually get into the field of diplomacy so the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown made sense, it seemed intense, I didn’t know anyone there unlike all the other schools, I could make connections, be challenged, it was 4th in the world for International Relations, it all made strategic sense.
I wasn’t too excited, I had debate practice for almost 7 hours a day for about 5 days a week during my senior year, through exams and after I graduated from high school, I then went to Croatia for 10 days for a tournament and came back with less than 30 days until I had to start my new life at university. I hadn’t had a break in 15 years and I really wouldn’t have one for another 4. But that’s fine, intensity is what I wanted, intensity is what I get. My anxiety attacks were mostly under control, I had an amazing support system I could call family and although I was traveling alone, to a country I hadn’t been to before, to settle down for the next 4 years, I was oddly fine. Numb. Friends came and went, I was excited through the jitters and the tears, 18 hours of flying, 12 hours of transit and 3 hours of customs later, my dad’s friend picked me up and dropped me off at university, and then he left.
And I cried.
I had never met this amazingly kind gentleman before in my life and knew him for a good 45 minutes at most, but when he left, I just cried. I was actually alone, away from the love of my life, my best friends, my family, my dogs, my spicy curries, my worn out blanket, I was away and alone. International Students Orientation depressed me — the advisors, ambassadors, activities and events were perfect, but I was the only Sri Lankan in a pool of about 30 Indians, 30 Chinese, and more people who knew at least ONE other person from their home country, lived here most of their life or had traveled with family so didn’t really care. In a room full of my international classmates, I felt alone. I cried. A nine and a half hour time difference, everyone at home was sleeping, my bedding wasn’t arriving till the next day, my roommate hadn’t arrived, I was alone and I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t eat, I cried.
I was lucky to have a roommate amazing enough to drop off some bedding for the night, but although my body was warm, my heart, my soul was freezing — the thought that it was just the first night, of 4 years daunted me. I could see cliques forming, people not just making friends but making best friends from the looks of it, with inside jokes, telling hilarious stories, hugging each other — interacting with people they had been with for just a few hours the way I interacted with people I had known for 7 years. People were, are, will be, so nice. But nice doesn’t mean you can talk to them about your heart aching and gut clenching every minute, nice doesn’t mean you can hug them whenever you feel like it, nice doesn’t mean you’re friends, and I wanted friends so badly. Orientation kept me busy, the crying reduced, the anxiety slowly became dormant and then classes began.
The readings and the syllabi for my Philosophy, Government and Sources of Environmental Policy classes scared me endlessly, but my Intensive Chinese class was eating me up. I had never learnt Chinese before, I had to learn script from scratch, and I was up for the challenge. I was ready to learn this foreign language at the age of 18 from scratch because again, it was strategic if I wanted to work in politics or development or well in anything because China is basically taking over the world heh. But I hated it. It was class number 2, the homework was giving me anxiety, I knew I couldn’t handle it — well actually I could handle it. I could handle it even though it meant not enjoying it, I could handle it even though it made me cry, I could handle it even though it gave me one of the biggest anxiety attacks of my life. But of course I could handle it, why would I want to take up French and continue a language I had only been out of touch with for 2 years and would be so much easier? Why would I ever do anything easy? I could handle it.
But should I?
My entire life, I had never done anything the easy way, it would mean I’m not the best, I’m weak, I’m stupid, I’m a quitter, I give up on things. Oh by the way, don’t forget I have to join 26 clubs, be the best at those activities, get on their committees, find an internship, find a job, get fit, socialise, and if I didn’t I was a failure. I could do it, I could be a success, but at what price, at what cost, for what?
Should I replace Intensive Chinese with Intensive French is what triggered this tangent. I was crying for the past hour, trying to decide, strategising, crying, strategising, until I realised, it was exactly one week.
Exactly one week since I had landed and had my first anxiety attack on US soil, but I just had another one, has nothing changed, will things ever change?
Things had changed, that first attack was about feeling lonely — I no longer felt that, my attack today was about my class schedule, tomorrow it will be finalised and I hope, I will no longer panic about that. Each day was a challenge for me, but it is a challenge I have overcome, 7 days, 7 challenges, 7 triumphs. So although I am still a ball of anxiety, whatever I decide to do with my language class, I will have gotten through exactly one week, and I think that makes me a success, in the most strategic way.
