Right now, I am working on my application essay for Harvard. After I filled all the details in, I take a break. I pull out my phone. I click on Tinder.
Swiping is a mechanical movement now really. A moment of judgment. A moment of power. How much of it do you get of it before it destroys you? Oh, a match!
I could have asked my father to help me out with it. I could have asked my mom to read it. I could have asked my sister to edit it.
The funny thing about putting your own value and brains into other people’s hands is that in the end it comes back to you to bite your ass. I swipe again.
This one is pretty but there is way too much pride for me. That one is interesting, but can I manage to get along with a Scorpio? It is like gambling now, really. At least that is what the British scientists say.
When Harvard asks me what did I study as my previous education I type: “The politics of not being enough”, “Studies in insecurities” and “The philosophy of being unlikable”.
One day after, I end up in a small café in a city center with that lovely person, we chat and we drink our coffee, and then I ask them whether they ever applied to universities. The answer is “yes”, so I slowly change the way of the conversation into them reading my essay. After they’ve read it, we start brainstorming.
- Are you good at sports?
-Yes (the last sport I’ve done was a yoga class one year ago. I think the teacher didn’t really like me, so I quit)
-Did you ever win any Olympiads or chess games or whatever?
- Yes (if you can count the chess.com games online)
-Are you concerned about modern politics?
-Yes (as I said, the “politics of not being enough”)
In the end, they suggest me to write about one of my favorite books. I thank them, pay for their coffee as a little sign of appreciation and we never meet again.
I did not get into Harvard.