“You’ve got a college Degree? What are you doing here?”

I looked up from the papers and paper stacked before me. Before my desk stood a person. No, rather a distortion. It was a person I definitely knew well by name, but their features seemed to shift every second I lay my eyes on their face. My high school English teacher. A friend I knew long ago. My sister. They looked down at me, who had a hunch back from all the loads of paperwork and unfinished tasks.

“I thought you were going to pursue your dreams,” whispered the figure in my sister’s voice. “Isn’t that what you told me you wanted?”

Before I could even speak, she grasped my shoulders, the weight sinking me deeper and deeper into the old office chair.

“I guess you finally realized that sometimes it is best to let go of what you want.”

I then woke up in my bed drenched with sweat despite the cold, howling winter banging at my window. With my eyes still half closed, I fumbled my hands around the blanket to find my phone. An old notification popped up on my screen as I opened my phone to check the time. “Yale Admissions Release Date 12/17.”

Long story short–I got rejected. I knew it was going to happen anyway. My college essay was lame, my SAT score a mere 1450, and I only had one AP subject with a 5. I remember staring into my screen for a long silent moment and opened my common app to read my supplemental essays. My “why major?” essay started with “Psychology is a fascinating path…” The admission officers must have tossed my application into the rejection pile before even finishing the first sentence.

They knew. They could immediately tell from my application that my interest does not hover close to psychology. My face flushed as I read through the extensive paragraphs about my supposed interest in psychology. It was embarrassingly obvious that it was a pretense, because I had no true passion or particular field of interest. But to be frank, that is also not entirely true.

In the beginning of freshman year, I was at a new starting point. Despite leaving my small home on the other side of the world, away from my parents’ control and familiar environment, I distanced myself from what I truly enjoy doing because I believed that is the right thing to do. I believed that all students must strive to excel in classes, commit themselves to various extracurriculars, enhance their English skills to get to a well-known college placed somewhere in the top 20s and 30s, or even higher. So, despite the genuine passion I had in my character, I made the decision to follow “conventional” paths.

However, if this was “conventional,” the path that all students experience, how come everything seemed so wrong? Why was it that I was having trouble understanding a single section of a biology lab while others were busily writing down their hypotheses and observations? How come I was the only one in my literature circle to have misinterpreted an entire chapter and made a fool out of myself? Why did meaningless memorization of dead kings and their frivolous achievements bore me out so much?

“You need a break,” my sister had said, trying her best to comfort me during my midlife crisis.

It was during February break when she had given me a ticket to watch a Broadway musical to refresh myself. I was unsure about it. It had been a while since I had last seen a musical. In fact, music was my life–something I would literally die for. When tracing back to my earliest memories, there wasn’t a single moment in my past where the thrill and connection of music weren’t present. The rushing emotion when I leap onto the stage, the blinding stage lights, and all the eyes of the audience fixated on me–everything about the moment was magical. Fearing that it may become a distraction to my future, I had given up on the magical sensation it gave me.

And to this day, I deeply regret having gone to that place.

The lights dimmed as the orchestra immediately jumped into the overture. I felt a deep thrill stir at the bottom of my heart. The powerful performance on stage along with the grand music made me contemplate about all the things I had been missing out on. The portrayal of Elphaba, who declared her will to be free of suppression and embrace her true self, was so heartbreakingly vivid that I felt every inch of her bravery. In the moment, watching everyone pour their souls into the performance, I realized something was wrong.

Something more than an interest or entertainment, but a passion.

Something I would do for the rest of my life without complaining.

Something I could truly die for.

How genuinely I craved to be on the stage.

If only I had noticed it much sooner; if only I had recognized this as a young kid holding millions of possibilities for her future; if only I had explored this further when I had the chance–it seemed too late for me to seize the chance.

“I wouldn’t waste your time if I were you,” my friend looked up in irritation as I blurted out my contemplation. “I can’t believe you are deciding to waste your life away when you can get to a better college than any of us. You don’t want to live poor for the rest of your life.”

I swallowed the words down my throat. What if I do? So what if that is how I wanted to live for the rest of my life? What do you know about what I love?

But, I am a coward in the end.

She was right.

I was about to waste my life away and end up regretting my shallow decision for the rest of my life. I strayed away from my passion and continued on with the things I called “stupid.” I once again reminded myself that I was on the right track.

But I can’t stop thinking about running away whenever I dream of myself sitting down in that stiff office chair, going through paperwork after paperwork, day and night. I am haunted by that vision. The vision of a life where I betray my heart, waking up everyday to a life that no longer feels alive.