Why do you want to go here? Please limit it to 250 words

Ah, the college application process, that peculiar journey that turns a well-adjusted mother ( yes, talking about myself, I know some of you who know me intimately may dispute this assertion), into a character straight out of a Salvador Dali painting. If you’re a parent of twin senior high school girls like mine, you know exactly what I mean.

The journey through the surreal world of college applications and visits in America can sometimes feel like a dream — or perhaps a nightmare — as you try to keep up with the whirlwind of forms, essays, and campus tours. Let me regale you with my adventures as I grapple with my teenage twins on this absurd odyssey.

Picture this: I’ve applied for a grand total of 25 colleges for each. Yes, you heard that right. Twenty-five! It all started with the best intentions — I wanted my twins to have plenty of options. But soon, I found myself drowning in a sea of brochures (our mail-man has boycotted our house already), websites, text messages, phone call and tour schedules. Trying to keep track of which schools had pet therapy sessions on Wednesdays and the best dining halls for vegans on alternate Tuesdays felt like deciphering a surrealist painting.

Now, you might think that selecting the perfect college for my twins would be a straightforward process. You know, something logical and rational. But oh no, not in this world. The more I researched, the more confused I became. Every college seemed to offer a unique “Quidditch for Muggles” club or a renowned professor of underwater basket weaving. How could we ever choose?

College application deadlines are like Salvador Dali’s melting clocks — they warp time and space. We’re expected to write heartfelt essays, gather recommendation letters, and complete the Common App, SCOIR, UCAS ( and a bunch of other sites) while also dealing with schoolwork, extracurriculars, and, of course, teenage mood swings. The application process makes you wonder if you’ve slipped into a dimension where minutes turn into hours and deadlines are elastic.

And yes, the daily battles! Trying to convince my twins to write compelling essays instead of binge-watching Netflix series was a Herculean task. I’d find them doodling in their notebooks, creating abstract art on the pages where their Common App essays should be. My pleas for them to at least consider schools outside of the “Ivy League or Bust” mindset fell on deaf ears.

Halfway through our marathon of college visits, I felt like a contestant on a reality show called “Survivor: College Edition.” Navigating campuses, pretending to be enthusiastic about the campus squirrel population, and surviving the cafeteria food became daily challenges. My map app now has a permanent dent from all the frantic double-checking. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any stranger, five of those colleges happened to be in Europe! Trying to get on a flight to see those colleges while juggling the American ones was like adding a surrealist twist to an already bizarre masterpiece. Airport layovers became opportunities for quick Common App edits, and virtual tours.

But the oddest part of it all? At every college we visited, my twins insisted on purchasing XL college sweatshirts and XXL college-branded sweatpants. I still cannot understand the teenage fascination with oversized sleepwear, but hey, I guess it’s part of the college experience. These souvenirs, while somewhat perplexing, provided a bit of comic relief and a reminder of the small indulgences amidst the overwhelming cost of college memorabilia from institutions they may never attend.

Now, if you thought that was the end of our adventures, brace yourself for this twist. My twins, in their eagerness, ended up uploading essays meant for one college to another. It was like sending mixed-up love letters, and it led to some truly surreal moments. I found myself on the phone, calling each admission office to take responsibility and apologize for the big mix-up. It felt like navigating a maze in an Escher painting.

There was also the ongoing battle over their career choices. I begged them to consider engineering and tech programs, emphasizing the promising job prospects, but they remained staunch in their desire to study Astrobiology, the science of decision, theme park technology or turf-grass science. It was like trying to convince someone to appreciate a surreal masterpiece when all they wanted was abstract art. we finally settled on law and sustainable development and international policy.

As if the surreal nature of college applications wasn’t enough, there was also the matter of essay lengths. My twins spent more time counting words than actually crafting their essays. It had to be precisely 250 or 500 words — not a word more, not a word less. They measured their sentences with the precision of a chemist in a lab, editing and re-editing to hit that magic number. It was as though they were composing a poetic masterpiece within the confines of a tweet.

And then there were their reasons for picking certain colleges, which were nothing short of comical. Some institutions made the cut because they seemed to have a higher concentration of cute guys (an unexpected factor in the decision-making process), while others were chosen solely because the city temperature never dipped below 70 degrees — clearly, they were weather aficionados. And, to top it all off, one college earned a spot on the list because it offered maid service in the dorms. Yes, you read that right — maid service.

In the end, as baffling and humorous as these quirks may have been, they were all part of the unique journey my kids embarked on during their college application process. While a few of their reasons may have been unconventional, they added comic relief to the entire experience, making it a tale we’ll remember and laugh about for years to come.

This journey has also been a rollercoaster of emotions, a test of patience and perseverance. But, as a mother, I’ll do whatever it takes to help our twin senior high school girls find the right path to their futures — even if it means embracing the absurdity along the way. After all, in the world of college applications, who needs reality when you can have a little surrealism?