The Uneducated

I applied for a master's degree at one of the Philippines' best universities.

Initially, I wanted to get into the creative writing program to hone my writing chops and help me advance in my content writing career.

There are a lot of things wrong with that statement. But I'll get into that later.

I passed the entrance examinations but not quite. Instead of getting into the creative writing program, I was transferred to the Anglo-American Literature program of the university. 

How they made that determination, I'm not sure. I would assume I didn't perform well enough to get into their CW track but I did good enough to get me into another program...that I didn't apply for,

Again, lots of problems with that premise. But please bear with me.

I was initially hesitant to get into the Anglo-American Literature track because I have no intention of learning about Shakespeare and his contemporaries. 

Nothing wrong with them, mind you, but it wasn't even part of my choices, to begin with. It was either CW or bust.

However, I was talked into taking it by my father because...I can remember the exact reason. I think it had to do with me being there, getting accepted at a university that lots of students want to get in.

At that time, it made sense. After all, I could probably move the jump to CW if I do well. At least, that was what's on my mind.

This journey to getting an Anglo-Am degree started in 2008.

Fast forward to 2011, on a lazy Thursday afternoon at exactly 4:20 p.m. I was eating a tuna sandwich in the department's cafeteria. The cooks are pulling out the empty food trays from the pile and the janitors were placing the chairs upside down on top of the dining tables.

I was the only one left sitting them, contemplating on whether or not I should head to my Language class that started at 4 p.m.

In fact, I don't even want to contemplate it. I was just sitting there, hating every second I spend in those rooms and classes with subjects I have no interest to be part of.

I was helplessly watching the time run its course, but it seems to clock in slower by the second.

Four years later, I was studying German using Duolingo in preparation for the required foreign language exam that all students must take before taking up their thesis.

I was studying my best, which doesn't amount to much, to learn German, but I know deep in my heart that I wasn't ready to even take the exam. I was pretty damn sure I would fail, which would be a give a big sigh of relief, to be quite honest.

But I'm no quitter. On that Thursday morning at 8:45 a.m., I vowed to at least try my best to pass this god-forsaken exam. If I pass, great. If not, so be it. At least I did my part.

So I went in, got my exam papers, and I just hacked away through the exam.

While more than half of the students were still in deep taking their exams, I submitted my papers, stormed off, and fuck all.

That rarely happens. Usually, I'd be one of the last to come out of the exam room because I'm very slow as shit when answering the questions. But this one's different.

Among the exams I've taken in my life, this German exam was one of the easiest. There's even a section where you can see the translations of the words in English. I kid you not.

With little surprise, I passed the exam.

During that period, I consulted with my adviser on how to proceed with my thesis, the topic I plan on writing about, and the resources I'll need to produce the paper.

I interviewed people, attended talks, and bought resources of my own to get the wheels started.

In 2016, I quit school.

I can't do it anymore. I can't keep up with the charade of forcing myself into something that either doesn't want me or the other way around.

I took the course with the idea that I'll come out better in the end.

Sure, they'll be battle scars, sleepless nights due to writing a 25-page reaction paper that was due 24 hours from now. I even submitted a paper that had no substantial data in it because I can't produce an interview with the person I'm supposed to write about. The latter is my fault.

That said, all that amounted to nothing when I decided to just drop it all and move on with my life.

I can dwell on it and talk about how much I could have spent those times becoming a better and more available person, having more quality time with friends and family members, acquiring new skills, or building on existing ones.

But really, there's no point in even conjuring up those feelings.

Instead, the first thing I felt was freedom.

I no longer have to be bound by the chains I voluntarily attached to myself and locked myself in even when the clear choice was to break loose of them.

At first, I felt the obligation to do good with the opportunity that presented to me, instead of thinking whether or not I am actually interested in it.

More importantly, I was obliged to do my father good, as I was learned my entire life, and to see things his way. I should have known better.

I haven't really opened up this can of worms ever since I kept everything in and stored it in a safe place in my memory with other cans that I would probably open up soon here.

To be clear, it's not anyone's fault but mine. And the result is seven years of agonizing education down the drain with no way of recovering it back. 

I don't have any use for the things I learned in class, which goes to show how my life didn't align with was the course wanted me to go.

But I just want to be free, dammit! I can't be everyone wants me to do. I can't even be what I want myself to become.

What I can do is be what I am right now, at the moment, with no plans of changing.

At this moment, fuck school.