Graduation season is always very bittersweet for me. I feel so much happiness and love for the people in my life who have hit that milestone and who’ve worked to overcome such daunting obstacles to their success. I never want to be the kind of ghoul who can’t feel happiness for people who achieved what I could not.
But I also remember my first quarter at UCLA, finding anti immigrant literature in every copy machine at the library and knowing immediately i wasnt wanted. And I remember getting seven parking tickets in one quarter because I couldn’t afford to pay for gas and food and having to choose between those three. And I remember being so depressed that id climb the outside steps of Luskin and imagined falling down or being so manic that I’d come to school with my readings in backpack next to two bottles of riesling I would go through just to be able to sit in class. Or being so strung out on my meds after I finally saw CAPS that I’d wake up in the sculpture garden or on the hill not knowing how I got there. Or falling asleep on the 405 NB after working two jobs to pay for the basics required to attend. On and on and on. It was hell.
So when I see my friends walk, I know they went through hell too. And I’m so proud of them. I’m so proud of them. But I kinda wish someone would be proud of me too.