It is a bright new day, and the sunbeams happily. Filled with brand new energy to experience another 24 hours, I dutifully set out to carry on with my morning routine. I proceed to get my workspace prepared for my day.
Just in time, my phone beeps with a notification from Gmail. I pause to check — It is a mail from an organisation I sent an application. I am nervous. To open or not to.
Eventually, I read through the body of the mail.
I did not make it to the finals, the many words it held says.
I was surprisingly cool, calm and collected — I had just finished reading a rejection mail and decided to take my time to process my feelings.
There is this lump in my throat. My eyes are moist, but I can not wail or cry. I wish I could. My temperature rises, my heartbeat increases its pace and my headaches.
My bright day darkens when it is only noon with the scorching sunlight outside. All the energy I used to kick-start my day evaporates. My balloon of hot air lessens gradually.
With slumped shoulders and sad hearts, my inner lamentations begin.
Will I ever apply for an opportunity and get chosen? I wonder in silence.
The voices of self-doubt increase.
Am I good enough? Will my story ever be convincing?
How many more rejection emails would I have to read in this life?
The feeling of helplessness mixes with the unpleasant memory of my history of past rejections.
I’ve never been a successful recipient of a scholarship. The thought of it makes me feel quite unfortunate, like a fake trying to be the person she is not.
As for helplessness, I doubt my ability to write a winning essay.
The voices in my head continue to scream that I am not good enough. I’m struggling to keep them shut.
It was not yet my time. I console myself.
I recall reading about the rejection runway while waiting for the outcome. I guess the concept helps one before and after rejection but does not take away the pain that comes with it. The rejected is not immune to pain but must wipe the teardrops and continue with life.
I recall putting in the hard work to apply for internships but never got in. Being rejected is not a good feeling. It feels like poverty. Like shame. Like failure.
I recall the faces of the interviewers and nurture a dislike for them. I allowed their menacing mannerisms to intimidate me.
I knew I did not do well in the virtual interview. I didn’t prepare, logged on late, talked gibberish and made a mess. I didn’t answer the questions but said many things I thought my interviewers wanted to hear.
By the way, I should check that flaw of saying things I think people want to hear or just saying words to fill up space.
I prayed for mercy, but it said a different kind of no. I remember telling myself that if I deserved this one, I would get it, but if I did not, I shouldn’t come in the way of better-qualified candidates. How I come up with these things in the face of pain, I don’t know.
I recall taking a nap the afternoon after the interview and dreaming that my church granted me a sponsorship. I doubted the dream and dismissed it as my consciousness mixing with my unconsciousness.
My friend offers a hug, but I prefer to mourn in private. I appreciate the jokes he cracks. They make me laugh but I want to be left alone.
It is okay if other candidates are better qualified than me. I continue my monologue.
It is okay if my energy is low for the day; it is perfect to have a sad moment. I say to myself. Life is tough, but so am I.
I pick up my phone to sneak into LinkedIn. I want to see the faces of the winners. Wrong move there. Mission unsuccessful. You can always trust LinkedIn to flaunt photos and posts about persons making it big in life while you wallow in self-pity.
Please avoid that platform when feeling low.
In all, I choose to believe that I am one step closer to receiving a successful outcome from future applications.
