On Struggling Post-Graduation
Regret is a filler feeling that often come visit us when we have nothing else to feel about.
Mine came to me when I silently graduated in May during the pandemic. I felt a bit lucky, since no commencement would mean no grad photos and group photos. No photos means I wouldn’t risk exposing myself having no friends. After taking solo caps-and-gown photos at my University’s most sought after posing spots, I splurged on an intimate celebration dinner with my long-time roommate & BF, Alexa.
Covid hit and I shifted all my plans, like every other normal person did this past year. Summer started out humid and slow. I left my brain every night I go to sleep and didn’t bother to pick it up the next morning, and the one after. I laid on the couch, bickered with my boyfriend, who’s doing PhD, or I would insist on going out to eat to avoid making meals. I had had plans. My French classes and saved up internship money were originally for a backpacking summer in France. Instead, I got two jabs and kept feeding myself nothing until I am ready to go to work in August at a big-name company.
To kill time and potentially end my time at the East coast, Li and I embarked a 30 day road-trip from Atlanta to Maine. It was a long haul, yet an enjoyable one. We stopped by Durham (where Duke is at), D.C., NYC & Boston (twice each), Portland, Camden/Belfast, and Charlotte. We visited our friends from Taiwan and Georgia Tech. We also dined at Michelin star restaurants while we stayed at NYC.
I travelled hard. I spent money big-time. From a student to a soon-to-be software engineer, money is a newly emancipated element in my life. Li’s Toyota Camry hit 26,000 miles on our way back. Seemingly, my thought and anxieties were also chasing after our tail light. Dollar signs don’t really cover up the sensitive skin under my thinning confidence.
Fortunately we made it back home. All-inclusive insurance plans did nothing but served as a peace sign. We visited everyone we wanted to see. When travel high gets off and every-day life goes on, I continue to sit around and watch Li doing theory day in, day out.
I still remember how regrets creeped up right after I got my dream offer.
During my undergrad days at Georgia Tech, I spent so much time trying to do the glorified ‘Tech hustle’. Hustle. Because you can’t afford not to have a research project during your first year. Hustle. Because no one will hire you without internship experience. Hustle. Interview 20 companies and learn to handle the rejections. Hustle and go to silicon valley they say. It seemed like being a software engineer at a big tech company is the one-way ticket to a stable and independent life.
Sure, it is true. I have seen many changed their lives by learning how to code. They’re uplifted by the communities that encourage the hustle culture. After all, hustling is a major way for marginalized people to steadily and surely achieve successes.
Despite being privileged in some ways, I felt disconnected for a long time. The burden of huge financial consequences and being alone in a foreign country really weighed, especially during some nights in a dorm room, by myself. On top of that, my friends and social groups in Taiwan have very different aspirations for life and future than those at GT. (Prior coming to a STEM heavy school, I was actually in a humanities/social science-focused class.)
The internal conflicts, stressful coursework, and a sprinkle of guilt created this big, fat sundae of crisis, ready for a melt-down at any time.
I didn’t melt. UNFORTUNATELY.
Maybe I didn’t crash and burn because I avoided all the hard classes. Maybe I always had people that cared to help. Maybe I was just too good at faking it.
I landed an internship, nailed it, and returned full-time. I am the textbook GT student that serves as inspiration post on LinkedIn. (Plus I’m minority). Yet I was so occupied with ‘not failing’, all I did was ‘to succeed’.
I never had the courage to spend a semester abroad at Sciences Po or LSE (which should be super easy to get since no one is interested at my school) during my 4 years. I refused to listen to myself, instead, I turned to people who write the formula of success for advice. Though they don’t know me, my story, or what I can dream of. I never took time off to water the seeds that people or I have planted along the journey. I was too busy to take care of things that cannot be reaped immediately.
These things bring me regrets. Regrets turn into anxiety when I see people satisfied with their garden. Negligence I cultivated, and today I have nothing but the things people wish they have.
How about me? Sometimes I get convinced that the things I have are valuable and nice. Sometimes I don’t. Self-doubting has become a process of endless cycle and although I meditate, I am not hypnotically optimistic.
I still remember the times I prayed for things I now have.
Yes, I do remember. Not the result, but the process I celebrate. As a (first gen) college grad, I know the ‘hustling’ formula is a general but effective way of making successful students. Now that I have graduated, all I need is to independently commit to a making of a whole and happy person.
Being said, I finally got out of a prison I built for myself.
