Four years in law school have definitely changed me inside and out: I still remember the first time I stepped into my first year, all wide eyed and pumped up with ideals and aspirations, beaming with a go-get-it attitude--but only to be dropped two seconds later from height on a concrete floor, as the first lesson that law school wanted to teach all of us fresh-bloods was how to pick ourselves self up and put those pieces back together again. There are cracks--and visible ones--that will stay with me even after ten, twenty, or fifty years down the line. Some cracks will heal. Some will not. And some will not because I have lost some of the pieces along the way.
It taught me how to swim when I feel like drowning, when the shoreline is nowhere in sight and when there is nobody around to help me stay afloat. It made me overcome my fear of reading: now there are no books too thick, no sentences too long and no phrases stuffed with too many double, triple, quadruple negatives that can intimidate me. It taught me things can be adequate and insufficient at the same time. It introduced me to an imaginary friend of the reasonable man sitting on the omnibus: a man whom I have never met ever, whose mind I could never really figure out, yet who has been present in all my essays. It taught me to write simply, but not simplistically. It taught me that there is no failure, only feedback.
In Canada, it taught me how to be alone.
I too learnt how to say yes--and to give a lot of yeses--even if I don't feel like nodding my head. I got a start the first time I uncovered how much energy, tenacity and discipline I was capable of manufacturing to uphold those yeses. Sometimes I felt like I was a factory: and it did not matter at the time that I was not living because the state of emergency put productivity as number one in the manifesto. I learnt how to exude confidence and competence--to simply deliver!--even where there is only a tiny threat holding things together from crumbling into ashes.
I too learnt how to say no--and to deal with the consequences. I learnt how to bite my tongue.
I once toyed with the question: would my first-year self be proud of the type of person I have become in my fourth year? I am happy to answer: yes. I may have ceased to be an unfiltered and unbridled expression of my passions, and now have become more measured and moderated--some even say high-strung!--but I believe that it is part of growing up and growing out. If there is any regret at all, I would say that I wish I could spend more time in law school to get to know the people there a bit better.
This last semester has been particularly diabolical: the tests (and I am not talking about the exams, well, not only the exams) have been relentless and unforgiving. In midst of falling into the cracks of despair and self-doubt, I chanced upon this which gave me a much-needed encouragement.
As humans we are taught and conditioned to behave as though we have everything together--even when we don't. We get so caught up in our daily life that we have a tendency to forget, everyone has faults and that they hide and try to avoid acknowledging. No one is perfect, not matter how perfect they seem. Not even that one girl you know with a fashion blog--we're all human. It's okay. Just do what you have to do, and don't worry about anyone else. It's okay if you didn't get an A this time on that paper. It's alright to eat that red velvet cupcake and not count the carbs sometimes. You're not lazy for sleeping in on Sunday morning--sometimes your body needs the extra sleep. Don't be so hard on yourself.
- Anonymous
