Sweat rolled down the side of my body and my heart was beating so hard I thought the seven other people in the room would hear it. The interviewers told me to ask myself a question and answer it. I spent what felt like minutes in silence trying to come up with a creative question.
“How did you get that scar on your hip?” I thought, but then decided against it. I wanted to answer my self-asked question with a funny story, and appendicitis didn’t seem all that comical.
I came up with another question: “What did you do on the last day of eighth grade as a prank?” knowing I had a funny tale that came along with it, but I quickly turned it down because I didn’t want to portray myself as weird and disgusting.
I finally blurted out a question the voice in my head had been screaming before I thought of an answer and weighed the risk of asking it, “Do you love U.Va.?”
Looking around the room, I didn’t know if I had made a colossal mistake or piqued their interest. Discussing my experience at U.Va. was a touchy subject, even with many of my friends. I felt half of my friends seemed to love the school religiously and the other half seemed to despise this place with a passion. I was stuck in limbo and didn’t feel I had enough experience to make up my mind about this school. Having to answer the question on the spot was a disaster, because I was trying to answer a question so intricate it was almost as if I had asked myself to discern the meaning of life.
After the interview, I walked away from the experience questioning my place at the University and reflecting on how hesitant I was to fully show my love for U.Va.
I came to realize my ambivalence for this school stems from the strong pressure to conform to the norm. Caught in the strong currents of competition, I feel I lose a sense of my identity when I take on another ‘U.Va.’ extracurricular or apply to another internship I don’t necessarily want. Conscious of the clothes I wear, the people I talk to and the words coming out of my mouth, I feel I deny a part of myself in order to assimilate into the culture. With all that said, I recall the times I have felt connected with the school, like when I’ve sprinted down the lawn butt-naked on a blurry night or sung the good old song at the top of my lungs at a football game.
Every day at U.Va., I carry a hidden bag of discomfort and insecurity, only to realize when I pick a petal off of a flower saying “I love U.Va. not,” there is another petal waiting for me to pick, to which I can say, “I love U.Va.”
I wish it were easy to be left with one last petal to decide for me whether or not I love this school, but only my experiences and time here can help me do that. Loving U.Va. doesn’t have to be the binary I created and could be like loving a family member you constantly bicker with. Regardless, I look forward to the next three years to experience more “I love U.Va.” and even some “I love U.Va. not” moments.
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