By Anjali Nayak
Amidst a trip to the East Coast the summer between my sophomore and junior year, my mom and I decided to take a slight detour to Providence, Rhode Island. Throughout our New England holiday, we visited a number of prestigious universities—a shallow ploy for my mom to get me excited about college. We wandered the Greenwich Village, visited a gallery in Cambridge, and took a day to explore Philadelphia. Yet, every university—no matter how big or small— was met with a yawn and a shrug. Nowhere seemed right for me.
But stepping onto the campus of Brown University, I realized that it was my goal—nay, mission—to become a part of the prestigious school’s class of 2028.
Walking around, I felt as if my entire life led up to the moment I found Brown. For the first time, I saw myself going to a college; life after high school was no longer some far off impending doom. Of course, the school was amazing. The campus? Gorgeous. The opportunity? Boundless. The location? Perfect. At every crook and cranny, I was head over heels. Obsessed.
I googled Brown, and I will never forget the piece of information that quickly solidified the “dream school” status. Brown was the number one happiest student body in the world. My logic was obviously clear.
At Brown, I would be happy. I liked being happy. I needed to be at Brown. Happiness was almost guaranteed if I got into and went to Brown.
Newly-purchased crewneck in hand, I boarded the plane with Ivy League ambitions, hoping that my departure was not a “goodbye” but rather a “see you later.”
During my junior year, I worked hard. Chapters of APUSH notes were done at lightning speed, I sharpened my rhetorical analysis skills in AP Lang, and of course, my writing only strengthened as I frantically crafted articles for The Shield. But at the end of the day, it was all for something. I was so stubbornly sure that through all my efforts, I could possibly make my East Coast dreams a reality.
Into the summer I went, eager to start my college applications. The first school I tackled? You guessed it. Between hikes and beach days, I spent my summer crafting the perfect set of essays to send to Brown University. In fact, their deadline was first—I planned on applying Early Decision, giving myself the highest possible chance of getting accepted to the school.
On November 1, 2023, I submitted my application. And on December 8, 2023, I found out whether or not I got into Brown. I either got in or I didn’t. My dreams were either crushed or true.
Deferred? And in March…waitlisted?
People will tell you that applying to college is hard. Figuring out your major is hard. Picking out a list of schools is hard. Writing essays is hard. But no one tells you just how hard the waiting game is.
OKAY?! So you liked my application, but not enough to accept me? You made me pay 70 dollars, then wait for months while you cruelly monetized my value to your institution? And you will only give me an extremely vague, ambiguous time period in which I could possibly get my acceptance to my dream school OR never hear back from you ever again? What?!
In my humble—and admittedly, extremely biased—opinion, joining the deferral/waitlist is worse than a rejection.
I took a deep breath, and knew that it was time to put all of my energy into other schools. I got excited about other prospects and applied to most UCs and a handful of out-of-state private schools. But at the back of my mind was Brown, a daydream I would wander to in the most desperate of moments.
Now, it is May, 2024. I am committed to a different school, and to junior-year Anjali’s sadness, that school is not Brown University. Instead, it is gratefully UC Berkeley. Doing more research, I found that Berkeley is a school with everything I could possibly want: great academics, student life, community, and research opportunities. A lot of those things they actually do better than Brown. Though it was not exactly what I envisioned, I couldn’t be more excited to spend my next four years there. An unexpected ending does not have to be a sad one.
And when I tell someone that I’m going to Berkeley?
“Wait…so what happened to Brown?”
Admittedly, I sorta set myself up for that one (quite the understatement). But as mildly embarrassing as my ambitions were (are), I have a piece of advice that many would be surprised by.
It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a dream school.
Yes, the college system is corrupt and somewhat of a lottery. Yes, a college essay long enough to wrap itself around the world would not be nearly enough to display the complexities of your identity. Yes, there is a lot of elitism that goes into being accepted and attending a prestigious college.
But set those goals. Write that T-20 essay. Strive for that school, dream big. Reach for the stars, and maybe you’ll grab one. Worst case scenario? You land on the moon.
Looking back, I would not have worked nearly as hard as I did without the ultimate end goal of Brown University. From a silly little dream school 3,080 miles away, I learned motivation, time management, and, most importantly, aspiration. These are skills that I’m going to take with me to Berkeley, or any school that I ended up attending. They are with me for life.
Though I might not be attending Brown next fall, I can wholeheartedly say that without that goal in mind, I am 100% sure that I would not have gotten into Berkeley.
It’s not a bad thing to be a dreamer. Ambition is important, of course, make sure you back it up with work. Don’t be afraid to ask for more out of yourself, but don’t let yourself down.
And when one star dies? Don’t worry. Another is born.