It finally came. My acceptance letter. I have been dealing with so much rejections in this past year, the feeling of receiving not one, but two acceptance letters feel so surreal. In fact, I was doing the most mundane part of my job – transcribing a recording, when the email came.
I kept checking the email and letter again and again, unable to believe that this is actually happening to me, simply because I was rejected by nyp physiotherapy (my final back up plan) the previous week. It felt so unreal, it felt too good to be true, but in reality I was indeed accepted.
People who have been watching me choose the route of a gap year knew how unwilling I was to take this path initially, and knew how much a struggle I was throughout these months.
I was at a crossroad, not knowing where to turn, but I moved on anyway. Walls and barriers had been set up, all ready to trip me and I tripped, countless of times. Time after time, I picked myself up, assuring and reassuring myself that all will be fine but in actual fact my hopes cracked a little each time. I was well, or at least I tried, but I bottled everything up and kept moving forward.
Certainly enough, I’m glad I chose a gap year over a paper chase and I have met tons of wonderful people thanks to my job. However, the weight on my chest was heavy, because 3 rejection letters felt nothing but bitter.
Receiving my final rejection letter from nyp was the final straw. I broke down, completely. My mind was in a whirlpool and for the first time, I didn’t know how to tell people that I wasn’t okay at all. For the first time, I felt so messed up.
I spent the following weekend sending appeals and applications to all sorts of origanisations while feeling so sick of the whole process. Escapism was definitely on my mind but things had to be done, or at least tried. And then I re-watched Misaeng, because the lonely and selfish me craved for some understanding from the world, even if it means through a drama, which was never a reality. Ironic but desperation was at its best.
Going back to work on Monday never felt so dreadful, but again I went, because I needed to. In the afternoon, the letter came. Finally.
Now re-read the start.