Dear Diary,
How are you, my dear, emotionally stable sheet of paper? I hope you’re well-rested, because you’re about to carry the full weight of my despair again.
Remember when I told you I was hoping for a 17/20 on my research paper? Ah yes, the sweet, naive optimism of a soul who still believed in things like fairness, effort, and the myth of academic justice. I was so innocent and full of hope. A walking TED Talk on dreams.
They say, “Lower your expectations to avoid disappointment.” But apparently I don't dodge disappointment,I just meet it face-first, hand-in-hand with its twin: burning fury. Because, dear diary, I didn’t get a 17. I didn’t even get close. I got a 14/20, which, in the language of crushed ambitions, translates roughly to: “Nice try, sweetheart.”Like if I want to be from the top 10 ranked people in my college how is getting a 14/20 going to help ? Truthfully I am beginning to lose hope on that dream.It is becoming unattainable right now.
And I am too embarrassed to even admit my mark to my mom she would tell me to talk to my professor .Right. And I’ll just casually explain how if they even smell a hint of AI, I’ll be branded a digital heretic and burned at the GPA stake.I’ll try my luck anyway. Because apparently, I enjoy pain. But let's not kid ourselves because luck and I are estranged cousins who only meet at weddings.
Meanwhile, let’s all raise a glass to my friend who got an 18/20 because her dad ghostwrites her papers.I am happy for my friend and everything. I do not want her to get a bad mark but I feel so wronged diary. She excelled by outsourcing her work, while I sit here alone with my stunning 14. Because why not? Hard work is overrated. Clearly.
People always say breakups are the worst pain imaginable? Please. Try pouring every ounce of your brain into something, only for it to be dismissed like a 5-year-old’s crayon drawing. That’s real suffering, diary. It’s an existential crisis wrapped in disappointment and topped with academic failure. Now that’s what we call heartbreaking.
The one thing that kept me from pulling out my hair is a sweet, overwhelmed first-year student who messaged me, “Thank you so much, you are the best, really,” after I sent her our old semantics and pragmatics powerpoints .And you know what? For one glorious second, I felt like something more than a 14/20.Maybe not a top student, but at least a slightly useful, semi-functional human being.
Yours in academic desperation