Going Backwards

When I left these hallways nearly a decade ago, I was still a brash, arrogant frat boy who, being naive and inexperienced, believed that everything revolved around me and that I was the next genius of my generation. Due to my privileged upbringing, I never experienced any hardships in life (other than the occasional defeat in fencing), and although I didn’t engage in any criminal acts or do any wild things, my life was corrupted as I gradually sank into a sea of parties, popularity, and wild relationships.

That wasn’t to say that I didn’t do well in school and other areas. When my class graduated in June of 2007, I, with my perfect SAT score and 5.0 GPA, I, who already had a Cadet World Championships in fencing and who was going off to Stanford, was chosen as the valedictorian. Yet ironically enough, it would be the same string of successes, the exact ones which others envied and which had propelled me to the podium, that would eventually come back to haunt me and hinder my future.

But thoughts of ruin were far from my mind when I set out for college in the fall of that year. I had decided that nothing could stop me, the kid who was on the top in everything he did, whether it was studying or sports or partying. And for a time, I thought I was right. I earned top grades in all my classes, I was one of the best fencers on the Stanford team, and by the end of the semester, I felt that I was at my best as I prepared to go home and spend the winter break with my family.

The next thing I knew the financial crisis struck; it was as if God couldn’t bear to give so much and not inflict pain. My parents, who happened to be working at Lehman Brothers at the time, were laid off, and due to the cost of my college tuition, they had no savings to speak of. I, being unused to this new environment of economy and saving, saw myself falling further and further into the abyss, and my grades dropped with the worsening economic situation of my family; I could not get any more money to go out on weekends with my friends, and my parents were unable to continue to sponsor my fencing training and travel fees. Then, as if to make things worst, my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and the little money that we had left went towards her treatment; I was forced, for the first time in my life, to earn money to help feed myself.

Then all of a sudden, something mysterious and weird happened. I stopped winning. For some reason, the things that I did before, the things that had felt natural to me, such as sports and math, suddenly became hard and awkward. It was as if a piece of fresh bread left out for too long and subjected to the hard weather had suddenly become hard and stale.

My former, less successful classmates, those who I had shunned and who envied my success, taunted my situation, and while I was still popular among the student body as a whole, I felt that my reputation had been there. I believed that I, who had succeeded the whole way, was above all these people, and a deep resentment began to stir in my heart, not specifically directed towards anyone, but because I was hateful of what had happened in my life and the difficult things that had befallen me. Nothing I had experienced, nothing, not even the shocking news of how my family was now so low on money, nor the fact that mom now had cancer, ruined me as much as my pride. I began to feel unworthy. Unworthy of myself, of life, and anything in general. I ate little and slept even less, desperately grasping for former glory that I once achieved so easily.

Looking back, it was a surprise that I didn’t go on drugs during that turbulent year or commit suicide. I’ve heard too many stories of the too many deaths which happened during my sophomore year. Whether it was due to my pride or upbringing or something else, I do not know. But whatever the reason, I am thankful now that I kept clean and stayed away from harmful actions.

Then came the summer of 2009, and I traveled home for the first time in almost two years, dejected and desperate for something to show for my two years of college. I was on the verge of getting kicked off the team and thoroughly exhausted from the turmoil of college life. Being depressed, tired, and trying to find a way out of the downward spiral in my life, I saw no hope of achieving anything in my life. No fight was left in me. I was about to surrender to the mess.

Then, on one sunny day in July, my ex-girlfriend texted me. I frowned as I picked up the phone, as we had broken up when I went to California and when she went upstate to Columbia. Our conversation ran something like this:

Her: Hey, where’ve you been?? didn’t see u last sum

Me: Srry, i couldn’t come back. stuff happened, u know

Her: u wanna go out for a drink??

Me: sure. Where?

Her: old place

I sighed, and after taking the keys, drove to Starbucks. After ordering two of her favorite caramel frappuccinos and sat down. Five minutes later, her white sedan came down the street, and after she had parked next to my silver BMW, she came in and sat down, taking the drink from my hand and taking a sip.

“I’ve transferred over to Stanford,” she said nonchalantly, looking around at the people around the shop.

Now that was a surprise to me. I cocked an eyebrow.

“Really?”

She laughed. “Of course. Did you think I would be joking with such a thing?”

This caught my attention. While we had planned to go to Stanford together during our senior year in high school, her parents didn’t have the money, and since I didn’t apply for anything other than Stanford, I couldn’t go with her to Columbia. I had missed her throughout my freshman and sophomore years. I asked her why she decided to transfer.

“What do you think, you dumbo? Obviously so I could be with you again.” Then she reached out and laced my hand with hers, and said quietly, “I know that the past few years have been hard on you. Sorry about your mother.”

I just stared back at her. This cute girl, which I cherished during my years with her and who loved me as much as anyone could, had taken the trouble to move over 3,000 miles so she could spend time with me. She smiled sweetly and her head on my shoulder. At that moment, I felt cured of all my insecurities, and my hand reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her year.

That fall, we flew to California together, and at the start of the semester, I had shed my gloomy skin and went back to being a mischievous person, one that retained the good qualities of my past but was also more serious and determined than before. I restarted my training routine, and by the end of the year, I had won the NCAA championships, to the relief of my friends and my girlfriend. My professors were also shocked at the rebound of my grades, and at the end of my senior year, I graduated top of my class.

The echo of my steps and my wife’s echo throughout the hall as we make our way toward the old classroom. She looks at my face and smiles.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks teasingly, her eyes twinkling.

“Uhhh, nothing,” I replied, my face red, as I realized that I had just walked into a pole.

She laughs lightly, and her piercing eyes look into mine, as if knowing all that just went on inside my skull.

The past few years were great. After graduating high school, I, like so many of my fellow graduates at Stanford, went to work at Silicon Valley. My then-girlfriend joined me, and together, we became top executives at our company with whooping salaries of $5 million and $4 million, respectively. Yet I still feel as if I’m just a boy, wandering around in the world, trying to find a place for myself and my flamboyant success.

A student runs past, and as I turn around, Gwen taps on my shoulder. I turn around.

“I see them,” she whispers as I squint.

A group of teachers gathered under the old was waving at us under the old oak tree. We started running, and my mind swirled. After all the things that I had gone through, I realized that the only thing that had saved me was the willingness to fight one. And as I hugged my teachers, I was determined to get to never admit defeat and continue fighting no matter what.