It has been over a month since I wrote part 1 of this, which meant re-reading the old to begin the new one — not my favourite thing to do but you got to do what you got to do. I needed to clear my head today.
I quit my first job in 2020, while the pandemic was raging out there in the world. I wanted to pursue PhD — I wanted to do it in the field of Social Psychology, specifically in the field of intergroup prejudice and how it could be reduced. I was absolutely enamoured by the idea, but I think that was not enough. It was failed interview after failed interview again. Suddenly I was back in the space where I was during the gap years. The pressure, the worthlessness — of not that severe a degree but still weighing heavy. I expressed my desire to apply abroad but it was shot down. I should have accepted that as my fate then — that a dream that big was not for me. I had always tried, to the best of my ability, to look for the best possible option — but that wasn’t/isn’t shared by my family. Their idea is to get things done in the most convenient, easy way. I wanted to at least try for a good university in the field of Psychology here — but I ended up at one which was close to home. I didn’t enjoy my time there at all. The living conditions in the hostel were horrible, which affected my (physical) health. And then there were small, very inconvenient, administration related drudgeries. I wanted out. I wanted to do something better for my own self. I kept applying for PhD programmes overseas while running around, attending PhD coursework for the current one!
It was after I had finished my coursework that I decided to apply for this Masters programme at the University of Melbourne — with zero hopes of getting in. Since the universe loves messing with me, I did get in. I remember reading that email, half asleep and being scared to death, thinking of how I would break that news to my family. Where there should’ve been joy, there was fear. I think that should’ve been indication enough for me to back off but I think I was too stubborn. I don’t know what the reason was, maybe still the universe doing its thing, that half of my parental unit agreed and the other half agreed sullenly, reluctantly to let me go do a second Masters abroad. For once I thought things will change for the better from there on. I knew this shift will come with its share of struggles but I tried to keep my head up high.
(I’m sorry to those who will be reading this for the hundredth time but) I hopped on my first flight ever to go to a different continent to live my dreams! To go to a different country where I hardly knew anyone. I don’t know if this was insane recklessness or insane courage or a bit of both. It didn’t go well though, my dream was cut short and I had to return after a semester of the course. There hasn’t been a day when I don’t think of the things I could’ve done differently. I don’t even have to think a lot — I would be minding my own business and my brain would be like “maybe we could’ve done this interview better”. There is just so much persistent grief regarding what I ended up losing. On days I find it difficult just to be at peace, just to be with my own self (like today). I do wish I would’ve done things differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have applied in the first place, knowing that my family wasn’t very enthusiastic about sending me abroad. Maybe I could have looked up courses/universities that offered scholarships. Maybe I should’ve taken up that part time job that I ended up doing anyway a little earlier. Maybe I should’ve gotten that working with children check. Maybe I could’ve performed better at that University internship interview. Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped into volunteering so soon. Maybe I could have managed my time better, my expenses better. Gof knows I tried. I tried so hard. But I have come to know through this ordeal that you could wear yourself thin trying but at the end of the day it is the results that will matter. I don’t know how I will recover. I don’t know (yet) what was this supposed to teach me. Perhaps to be realistic, to not dream too big or not to dream at all.
And after all that I have went through in the past decade, I would think that a breakthrough will be around the corner — that maybe there is an upside somewhere near — but that remains elusive. I guess that’s just how random life is. Things just happen. And irrespective of whether you want to or not, you’d have to live with the consequences of the things you do and the things you don’t.
TLDR: Generational wealth could’ve saved me.
You can check out my other published work here — a short poetry collection and a memoir. Thank you for reading, have a great day! :)
