Is wishful thinking just a fantasy? It may be an illusion that we seek solace in every day, but is it really worth clinging to?
Nine years ago, my teacher asked me a question: What do you want to be when you grow up? That day, I blurted out loud, “I wanna become an astronaut!” I declared without a moment’s hesitation, simply with pure delight and aspiration, a fantasy of a nine-year-old kid who thought everything was possible.
Soon, however, it became painfully obvious that my ambition was but wishful thinking. It was then that I realized the hidden meaning behind the innocent smiles that people flashed whenever I said that. I was a small fish in the ocean of seven billion after all, and besides, an astronaut in Bhutan would be one without a job, let alone a ship.
And so, I pondered, “Was it all meaningless?”
For as long as the dream lasted, it was wonderful, but even as the dream grew ever distant, it had sowed within me the seeds of passion that ignited in my later years in high school.
Listening to the stories of those who went on to achieve what they wanted and lived their dreams always flooded me with awe, the ripples of their joy and achievements showing me what was possible and at times, what I was missing out. A classic example is that of Edwin Hubble who studied law on his father’s behest but succumbed to his intense interest in astronomy after his father’s demise to give the world the foundation for the Big Bang theory. So, in my leisure, I used to imagine myself living in this dream and occasionally told my friends about it, sometimes in the class, other times on the downhill road to my place from school, all the while soaked in the warmth of the evening sun. I knew it was beyond what I thought I had in my destiny, but nevertheless, I reveled in the thought, raging against the dying of the light. Besides giving off the vibe of a hopeless man clinging to a lost cause, the topic usually made for an excellent conversation. To those of you who had patience for my crazy ideas, you really are the best of friends!
Before I knew it, high school was over. Graduation hit us all... and after that... pain and desperation.
Heavy blankets of snow draped over Thimphu city that day as we all gathered around to choose our paths to the future. Some of us couldn’t make the leap to college while for most of us who did make it, the future that we were promised weren’t quite what we imagined: a person who loved to draw and had a knack for designing was to become an accountant while a prospective up-and-coming doctor consoled himself to set his sights on becoming a dentist. Yes, we realized then that shopping for majors had one thing in common with buying goods on Amazon: the amazing disparity between expectation and reality, the cost of meritocracy which we so often take for granted in school. We knew that this was coming, but feeling the gravity of such despair sink in when our dreams were shattered truly flipped our world.
Damned were we all who put our dream jobs on the pedestal for thirteen year! It was a driving motivation for as long as we believed in it, but that road had reached its end, at least for the most of us. So, I wandered around the complex, sniffing in the extra chilled air flooding with despair and frosty sighs of my dear comrades as their dreams crumbled away. By then, I was indifferent to most of it. Part of the reason was because I had a ton of choices (yes, that’s what you get for listening to your teachers!) and the other part… well I can say that I had lost my light of hope many moons ago in the face of those innocent smiles. Rest assured, apart from a handful of fortunate students, the place that was supposed to be a springboard to our destiny had morphed into a graveyard of our dreams.
When I came back home, I asked myself, “Was I happy?” After all, I was going to invest four years of my future into this, and no matter how much I reminded myself of how safe this option that was handed to me was, it was ultimately a compromise. This became all the more apparent when my cousin brother, former alumnus of SHSS and UA, took his time to talk some sense into me.
One chilly winter night, as we lay crouched on the stairs outside a building wherein a wedding party was in progression, I let my tongue slip and told him about my impossible ambition. That’s when he turned his head slowly around and looked me in the eye before saying, “Then why aren’t you doing anything to make it a reality? You should be applying to those elite universities that everybody is crazy about.”
‘Surely, you must jest,’ I thought. The very idea seemed laughable, but he was dead serious.
It was like that scene from Inception where Eames tells Arthur in a middle of a gunfight, “You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” and proceeds to blow the entire group of hostile units with a grenade launcher when previously, Arthur was struggling to hold his ground with an assault rifle.
I did not realize it then, the significance of that brief exchange, but I am glad that he was there to play that role.
Truth be told, I had considered this option many times before, and it was evidently fraught with deadly risks, but then I realized, if you always shied away from risks, how would you grow? Say, if you wanted to be a bicycle pro but never rode a bicycle just because you were afraid of falling off and bruising your elbows, how would you ever become a pro? It was rather simple. Risk and reward often came together, and it was then that my passion rekindled and ultimately led to my decision.
A week later, when I had finally mustered up the courage to propose this brilliant plan to my dear parents, for a gentle second, they were worried about my sanity. As for what they had to say, it was something along the lines of “Yeeeah, no wait. Say what now?”
I will admit that I was a bit selfish for wanting better when I already had a decent offer, but if humbling oneself was the only true answer to such situation, man wouldn’t have walked across the snowy peak of Mt. Everest, let alone the moon. After many pleas and some sound justifications from my wonderful cousin sister (who was perhaps the only other person in my family to support my proposal at that point), I wagered that if I did really well in this upcoming college entrance exam called the SAT, I would take matters into my own hands and be responsible for the outcome.
(Of course, this was after we assessed all the risks involved and considered multiple safety nets in case I failed, and if I did flunk the test, I was to be a good boy and agree that the plan was stupid.)
I started out a bit shaky because everything I was supposed to do was so foreign. There were tons of new stuff that I had to research while preparing for the test was another hurdle of its own; it was unlike any exam I had written so far. It tested not what you knew but how good you were in finding patterns and implementing it to solve problems. After just over 3 weeks of preparation, I did the test.
It was over in what felt like a fleeting moment, and after I exited the test center, a crushing sense of dread weighed down on me as I waited for a month to see how well I did. After all, my entire future hinged on it.
My family cheered me on and supported me in whatever capacity they could. My parents gave me a strong support base, and although they wanted me to succeed, they had difficulty accepting what that would potentially entail.
Before long, Spring was ghosted and with the warmth of summer came a sense of relief. I had done well, but that was far from the end. However, as I was but a child inexperienced in the ways of life, fear of the unknown lurking in the uncertain future gripped the hearts of my family, and the agreement we had come to earlier was vetoed out sometime afterwards. All negotiations broke down.
At this point, there was this voice in my head that said, ‘You should play it safe, wait until you can take care of yourself, and maybe risk it when you are looking for a grad school.’
That voice was seductive and the offer, tempting.
‘But then again, that would be a compromise,’ I reasoned.
Thinking back to that snowy day in Thimphu city where my friends made life-changing compromises that could never be undone, I realized that every time I settled for less, I was steering my future farther away from my dreams, and besides, who was to say that I wouldn’t succumb to that same voice 5 years from now and play it safe all over again? What if I chickened out and cornered myself in the sanctuary of safety for the rest of my life? The decisions of my friends were purposeful when faced with such scarcity of choices and resources, and I have deep respect for them. Though, in my case, with the SAT done, I now had an actual shot at getting to the place I longed to go to. We had found a path less trodden through the forest of life, but it was married to uncertainty. That was the problem.
Then again, to live your entire life making one compromise after another doesn’t seem a bit attractive now, does it? Without any initiative in the present, no fruit can be borne. With each compromise, regret piles up. So, it became apparent that if I had a goal, I would have to act now, lest I wanted to be an old man full of regrets. Even if my efforts tanked, I would at least know that I tried, and so, I had made up my mind.
After many rounds of debate, deliberate display of unhappiness, and partial regression to my stubborn self, it was finally settled one fine afternoon that I was going to take over the wheels to my future and see where that led. That day, I unceremoniously let go of my scholarship... and it was tough. It was a bit strange then, watching all my friends go to college while I held myself back. Perhaps, it was the loneliest time in my entire life. I was obsessed with the idea of having the freedom to explore and dictate my future, and for that, I had to go beyond the path that was set for me.
The feeling of uneasiness followed us for several weeks, making us doubt our decisions over and over again until our face turned blue. We did what we could to find peace in our decision amidst heavy sighs that we let go every once in a while. We were doing something that none of us had ever imagined doing just a few months ago, and although I was the one taking the risk, my parents felt the sting more than anyone.
Eventually, though, as the long saga of writing essays, signing up for interviews, and corresponding with my high school teachers for their recommendation started and got intense, all worries began to fade away.
In the midst of a global pandemic earlier last spring, the college decisions started to roll out. I had my fair share of rejections and despondencies, which were really hard to stomach, and I got waitlisted to a few colleges here and there, but when an admission letter came in at 5 am in the morning that read:
“Congratulations! You have been admitted to the Stanford Class of 2024!”
My brain was beyond perplexed. All signs of sleepiness washed away at that moment, and I sat there reasonably astounded. After the initial wave of ecstasy, I was worried that the letter would vanish into thin air if I looked away from it. So, before it had a chance to disappear, I woke up the entire house and made sure to imprint this moment in everybody’s memory. I went as far as to call the principal way earlier than I should have, and I sincerely hope he didn’t mind me disrupting his sleep. Tears of joy were shed that day. The fruits of long labor had finally ripened. That day was unlike any other, and I took great pleasure in informing all those who had helped me get here about this wonderful news.
It has almost been 11 months now since the events of that day transpired. Through this wild venture, I have had the honor of meeting so many incredible people, each with their own exhilarating stories to share, that too in such a short span of time, and I find myself to be extremely fortunate to be part of this wonderful community.
As I write this from my dorm room inside Branner Hall at Stanford, California, unsure of what field I will be majoring in eventually, I dedicate this yearlong effort to all of those valiant souls who had to watch their dreams slip by and make do with the cards that fate had dealt them, and I dedicate it to you as well, the new seeds of tomorrow; if you ever find yourself despairing, know that you have the power to make things right. The wheels of your life ultimately belong to you.
So, in the end, I only ask this of you: give yourself a chance to be that nine-year-old kid who thought anything was possible, and once again find the aspiration that gentle child dreamt so proudly about. When there is no path, build your own. Find that lost identity, fuel it with passion, and cling onto it tightly. Above all else, don’t let it go. If it is a crucial part of who you truly are, let it be your guiding light in life, and strive to soar ever higher.
