Open letter of dismissal

Jennifer S
Jul 22, 2017 · 2 min read

Being a research advisor mustn’t be a simple job. Except if you happen to be mine. Then, it’s a breeze, a walk in the park — with the perks of co-authoring your work without half the headache.

I’d gotten used to your awkward, incomprehensible behavior. One day you were all in, the next twenty days you’d gone M.I.A. You put me through some though moments of anxiety, forgetting about my existence in the projects’ most crucial moments. But I’d gotten accustomed to it. You were super busy, I convinced myself. Never busy enough to post on Facebook about reading a recreational book, but busy enough to rescue me from extreme anxiety with a deadline in 48 hours.

But now, there’s no excuse. I’ve refreshed my outlook account uncountable times already, hoping that you’d reply, wishing that I wouldn’t have to give up on you for good this time. I thought you were a good person. I really believed you were good. I’d made myself believe that the next three, four years would be great. I’d be working alongside a talented professor that could guide me, help me grow. But no. You have deliberately chosen to be heartless, or you’ve accidentally revealed you’re true self.

You see, I could’ve chosen another professor, a more experienced one. But no, I chose you because I decided to bet on you. I expected you to reciprocate that — to bet on me, to stay all in. You were supposed to be the advisor, the moral support, the guidance counselor, the role model. You were supposed to transmit resilience, to show me the steps to success and tell me that you believed that I could make it, that you still believe that I can — after all, it was a safe bet, I’d already proven you that I can.

But you didn’t. You were only distraught about yourself, wondering whether I was going to be one of your responsibilities for the next three years, or not. I told you my application had gotten a big flat no. You knew what it meant to me. You knew what a refusal would do to me. You didn’t care — you don’t care. I trusted my work to your eyes, I trusted my work to your professional care. You shit on it. You literally shit on it and did not have the heart to give me a sympathetic message of support. You shit on it.

So now, I shit on you.


Encourage me to keep writing, I’d really appreciate it. Thank you!

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