It was a topic I didn’t want to bring up myself, but I wanted to discuss it. After all, my parents already knew that I was somehow—miraculously, I think—accepted to Columbia University’s grad school for the Fall 2010 term, but for some reason, they weren’t talking about it when they got back from Hong Kong earlier this evening. At all.
Dinner was filled with small talk, as I agonized every other topic that was not related to what I wanted to say.
“What can be done in Singapore?” my dad asked over bites of dimsum.
“Erm… Night Safari?” I suggested.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, nodding to himself. “I’ll look it up later.”
It was maddening. No one, not one, seemed to care about my making it to grad school when I thought it was the biggest deal in the world, primarily because I never even expected to pass at all. Every time someone asked about the colleges I applied to, I always started with a disclaimer: “Hey, I just applied to Columbia just so I could say I tried. I know it’s a really long shot, and I’m not expecting anything, but there you go; it’s too much of me, right?” I would say in a nervous, rushed whisper.
Finally, 40 minutes into dinner, I gave up waiting for someone to say something. I was wondering if the grad school acceptance was actually an overblown event in my mind, and not really something to run, jump, sing and dance about. There was only one way to make sure.
