So call me the most dramatic person in the world, but here are my thoughts:

Being a senior in high school, I’ve learned, is all about waiting. Waiting for each class to end, waiting for each teacher to write a recommendation letter, waiting for your mom to check over your college supplements, waiting for your decisions.

I’ve waited patiently, filling the time with cooking elaborate breakfasts, going on drives, doing homework assignments. And when finally I was given responses, each college decision I opened gingerly, worried that the possible rejection would send me into a spiral of regrets and “what ifs” and self-doubt. But then I was accepted into one, two, three, four, (and so on, you get the idea) schools. Some exciting, some less.

Through the process it’s become apparent that college is a game you play, it’s arbitrary at times, and usually unfair — especially when it comes to private schools. This isn’t to say I don’t find it completely incredible when students are accepted to prestigious places and go off to fulfill their dreams. But when GW rejected me—a school I thought would fit me like a glove— I was reminded of how meaningless this process is; I knew as I was reading those silly words on my phone screen, that I was still bright and capable. That the AP classes, musical performances, essays I’d pour my heart into throughout high school were in no way lessened by this rejection. My world was exactly the same.

I sat on a blanket with my friends, the sun shining, the wind kissing my back gently, my phone clutched in my hand as my heart pattered nervously. I looked up, muttering the words, “they rejected me” and life stayed exactly the same.