Every single day, I woke up, and my first thought was:
“I can finally begin to live when I get into Stanford.”
It was everything I could have hoped for, starting with the first look at campus.
From the Marguerite shuttle, I peered into the distance and there was Hoover Tower, rising above the Palo Alto foothills as a stalwart of academia. As the shuttle traveled down Palm Drive, I was shocked at the pure beauty of the place. Reading the brochure, listening to the students and faculty, walking around campus…
I knew that this was the one place that understood everything I stand for,
everything I love.
This was where I wanted to go.
After 3 months working on my application, 10+ hours each day, writing essays which made people both laugh and cry, I received the following opening to an email:
It is with regret that I write to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to the freshman class at Stanford University.
Yes, my application was flawed, no one could possibly be perfect.
But to devote my entire life to accomplishing this goal and having an application clearly stronger than the majority in both tangible and intangible aspects, all to be rejected, leaves me empty.
Then I realized, I don’t need to hide behind the Stanford name.
Yes, it would have been great if I got in, but I wouldn’t be happy. I would be stuck in the sterile Stanford bubble.
The real world needs people to venture out and make a difference, the people who would not only have thrived at Stanford, but the ones who don’t need it to truly have an impact.
