Walking Away Ungrateful

I don’t like to hear people talk about crime, afraid of burglars, and complain about street unsafety. It's not that I indulge in some blissful ignorance; I simply don't fear such things. Amid these conversations, I often claim indifference to losing my iPhone, saying I "would not ensure that vagabond paid the price." Acknowledging my privilege can breed guilt when lamenting over easily replaceable items. . Also being cautious makes you dismiss the thought of getting robbed.

And so I was in my sophomore year. Halfway through junior year, I broke down. Days became a blur of carelessness and recklessness. .Winter no longer brought glitter and spring once again and spring became disorienting. Returning in the fall was no longer exciting rather it filled me with fear of further self-loss. Destructive thoughts did not dominate my mind yet demonic feelings persisted daily. The moment I hung up the phone, and purchased a one-way ticket to my hometown indicated an unmatched instance of suffocating emotional paralysis.

With my world melting, walls were poking me and my blanket was no longer soft. Breathing felt like grasping for the last molecule of oxygen on a depressurized airplane. Dropping out was harder than staying. There were three stages: leaving, traveling, arriving—each simple yet profoundly (il)logical. Leaving was humiliating and shameful—I lacked the strength to endure six more weeks, abandoning my best friend. On the plane I felt relieved but unsure, needing answers for the future and confused about my past. I had no clue who I had become, I felt like a boy getting his first boner. Although unhappy in my final months at boarding school, I wasn’t entirely miserable. The second my plane landed out of state, I was shaken by a corrosive feeling wiping myself. Immediately got soaked into my bed, shocked and grieving the myth of failure.I felt like i was letting a generous number of people down. I was a quitter. Lost. and worst of all I felt ungrateful. I had walked away from the American dream that those in Latin America yearned for, dismissing it like a snob.

Eventually the laughs turned into the insatiable need for an hour long cry. Every hour of the day. Till this day despite not feeling any of these emotions and pursuing different logics, when thinking about leaving my dream behind send me into the need of a great hug. the one only my best friend could give me. One I am so thankful I got to share an apartment with when moving back to brazil. I am skeptical about universities. Is this going to happen again? I am just going to drop out of a top tier education? throw hundreds of thousand in the trash? not walk the graduation lawn of a prestigious school?

Ultimately, I work hard at things that, deep down, scare me. The possibility of failure is not something I consider when seeking new ventures. Dropping out of boarding school was the first failure I encountered; it proved that failure is real. Reflecting on my indifference to failure makes me question my thoughts on being robbed. Maybe I would freak out, and thoughts aligning with my academic failures would resurface. I try to keep an open mind, believe in myself and those around me. I aim to flush fear from my core and push failure away from my guiding principles.