I wish rejections were immediate. I wish that just like how sometimes ladies who get approached by guys they don't like one bit can easily just tell them off without having to string them along, companies, schools, and maybe even most people didn't have to deliberate so much on our applications or requests, just to end up rejecting it. The truth, as those of us quite familiar with rejection know, is that a lot of times it is not the rejection that hurts but the wait. And I'm sure by now you probably would have guessed what spurred this line of thought from me. Well, over a month ago, I put in an application for a scholarship at a university in the UK for a master’s degree program I hoped to pursue, and a few hours shy of writing this, I got a response. It was a three-sentenced email, and the first sentence was basically the salutation.
I remember seeing the subject of the email and knowing for sure what the response was. Usually, an email that comes with some good news, like getting a new job or getting a scholarship, usually carries some buzzword like “Congratulations” as the subject. The purpose of this buzzword is to induce a feeling of elation in you even before you view the content of the email. So, when I checked my inbox and saw this email, I kind of knew what to expect already. But that didn't stop me from taking a full twenty minutes of pacing up and down my bedroom, shaking and trembling, before I opened it. In my head, I had that silent hope that what I thought I knew that email contained could be wrong. I prayed to the universe, believing this to be one of those times when my supposition was proved wrong, and I'd get to open the email and read something that would make me jump for joy. I paced back and forth, hands trembling, staring at my laptop and hoping that whatever was inside that email was not what I feared it would be.
For the first ten minutes, this delusion prevailed. I imagined, briefly, that my delusions were correct and that I did open the email and right there was the best good news for me in two months. I imagined how high I would jump and how I would slump on the floor in tears of joy, screaming, "Finally, a win for Mifa. Finally!" I imagined that at that moment I would be so excited I won't eat anything for the rest of the day and just call my parents and tell them of the good news. It was such a beautiful moment in my head, and in those first ten minutes, the prospect of this delusion warmed my heart. Until my realistic brain started kicking in and its first question was "But what if?" And at that moment I began another drift into the badlands of my imagination.
I imagined opening the email to read and confirming what I had known all along. I imagined reading the email and maybe deleting it out of anger but more likely out of fear that leaving it in my inbox would only be a daily reminder of how far I have come as a failure. I imagined crying and closing my laptop just to go outside my apartment and stare into the emptiness of the bricked fence that was my view. I imagined turning off my phone and keeping my distance from everyone and just rolling up and calling it all quits. I imagined saying to myself "Well, this does it. How much more bad news can you take in two months, just give up already" I imagined agreeing with those words from my own head and taking my duvet and covering my whole body while I sobbed myself to sleep. I imagined how those who probably got a positive response about the application were at that very moment elated and rejoicing about how much their fortunes have changed and how their lives would never be the same again. I imagined wishing I were in their shoes and not in mine.
Trust me, for the next ten minutes that followed the first ten, my mind ran amok with just how much confirming the information I already knew the email contained would make my currently depressed mind sink even deeper into that abyss. I thought about how much I wanted this to not be the outcome my mind already thought it would be. I wanted this to be different. A win for Mifa, finally!
Sadly, that didn't happen.
I opened the email, and the dreadful truth was confirmed. No scholarship. No win for Mifa. Just a three-sentenced email wishing me the best going forward. I closed the email and for a minute or two remained silent. This was supposed to be a turning point for me. This was supposed to be one of the many moments I was to look back on and say, "When I got this win, I knew my life was back on track." I remained silent and looked around my room, my eyes, blank and emotionless. Ever since losing my job, I had felt a lot of emotions, but none was ever so potent enough to cause me to tear up. Until now.
I cried.
In a few days from this newsletter edition being published, I would be a year older. And at a point in my life when I strongly believe that I ought to be making big plans, I want you to know that chances are that I would be on my bed silently sobbing while scrolling through my phone because, at this moment, the hell that is my life just got hotter. And please be rest assured I'm not writing any of this to be pitied; far from it. The truth is, I write this because I know for a fact that there would come a day when the flames of this hell might not sting as bad as they do now and I'm hoping in those days I can look back at this moment and never forget the impermanence of good fortune and the brutality of rejection.
Yes, I really do wish rejections were immediate. But most times instead of ripping off the band-aid in one fell swoop, life chooses to take its time by peeling it off slowly and painfully. And I honestly do not know if there is a lesson to be learned from this but what I do know for sure is that the pain is worse. But then again, what is life if not the celebration of pain.
Cheers.
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