“Why aren’t you graduating with distinction?” A friend pointed out the uncharacteristically empty space on my name card at the graduation ceremony. “WHAT?!?” was the response when I told others that I lost the Millennium twice (Millennium Scholarship was initially funded by the settlement money received from tobacco companies and is relatively difficult to lose, even harder to lose twice). These responses indicate that others expected something better than ordinary from me, and such expectations derive from their personal experiences with me, both casual and academic. So why is there this discrepancy?
Let me first preface the explanation by the following tenets, my guiding principles which I lived by for the last two years: 1) if you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid; 2) do not fear failures but embrace them as opportunities for profound reinvention; 3) only those who dare to fail greatly can achieve greatly; 4) always, always have hope.
When I switched from biology to business, I was at the bottom rung of my class. I had already lost the Millennium twice and was hair above the probation level. But when the previously mentioned event changed my perception of my surroundings and consequently reshaped my priorities, I was given sufficient reasons to not give up hope–not just yet.
The following two years have been nothing short of remarkable. In 22 months, I took and completed 84 credits (averaging 21 credits a semester for four semesters), yielding only one B+ and one A-. I took on three different leadership roles, one at work and two at school. I had averaged 25-hour work weeks while going to school full time. I studied and took the GMAT and scored 660, a formidable score considering I already had an overwhelming schedule. And how can I forget, I somehow managed to fit in one crush and one heartbreak all within that time frame.
Even my own father, a graduate of business and law from the most prestigious school in Korea, Seoul National University, was amazed by my astounding and rapid turnaround. Many people would hear my story and flatter me with “you’re smart,” or “you’re brilliant.” I like to think otherwise. If I were truly smart, I like to believe that I shouldn’t have had to work so religiously to get to where I am today–it should have been a cinch. Some of my friends became exhausted simply by looking at how much I studied. My achievements are not the result of my intelligence; rather, they are attributable to my tenacity to believe in hope.
It’s not difficult to believe that there is an end to a tunnel when you’ve only been in it for a day. But it gets exponentially more difficult as days go by without even a hint of light from the other end. Doubts sink in, the tendency to give up hope rises, and the darkness threatens to engulf the person whole. I survived the tunnel for 22 months. And the only reason I survived was because I believed, whether doubts existed or not, that as long as I held onto hope, I would eventually see the end. Hope is the reason I am where I am today. Hope is the reason I continue to believe tomorrow will be a better day. Hope is the reason I believe in myself and in humanity.