I didn't think May 1 would be eventful. While my peers were finally figuring out where they wanted to go, I already put my deposit down for a school in Texas. Already I've been researching the journalism curriculum for weeks, nervous about adjusting to the South. In fact, for my American Pop Culture blues lyrics assignment, I wrote in one stanza "My college is in Texas/Which is pretty much another country."
Although I wrote that in pen, it didn't stay permanent.
I had applied Regular Decision to Syracuse University, specifically for Newhouse. After a slightly annoying classmate got in during the first week of March, I waited around my computer on every Friday, from three to six, waiting for that fateful email. I watched the Orange dominate NCAA, unsure of whether to cheer or curse them. On Facebook, I saw my classmates get into Syracuse, and my friends from journalism camp get into Newhouse. Everyone kept asking me if I heard back, from the annoying guy to my wonderful newspaper adviser.
Five long weeks later, I got the email. Waitlisted.
Even though it wasn't a rejection, it felt just as bad, if not worse. I had wonderful choices for college, but I felt hurt by Syracuse's little wave system. They said I wouldn't find out until June. So, I tried not to think about it, but it was hard. When will I actually find out? Earlier, in mid-May? After prom, graduation?
I thought the most eventful thing on May 1 was how the hell I was going to survive the pollen. Then, around 5:30, the phone rang. My mom picked it up. A few minutes later, she called me into the kitchen and said, "It's Syracuse!"
I picked it up and it was a woman from admissions, calling to tell me that I was off the waitlist and into Newhouse. I didn't scream or cry. Instead, I was shocked. Really? Of all the days to tell me, Syracuse picked May 1? But, I was happy. Who can say they've been accepted into one of the top journalism schools in the world?
I can, and trust me, it was worth the wait.