When my parents and I decided that I would study college abroad, we signed a silent agreement: Long breaks were for them; otherwise, I was free. Despite quietly signing this tacit negotiation, deep down I’ve known that I had to give up summer holidays to internships and research programs eventually. I dismissed this thought and made it my future self’s problem to breach the contract, yet when I got accepted to the intern abroad program I applied to, I knew I couldn’t postpone the discussion any further.
To my surprise, my family reacted a lot more warmly than I expected, primarily because I would be in Europe, which was about an ocean closer to my home country than the United States. They made plans to come and visit me at least once a month; if I were available, and if I wanted to, I could even fly to Turkey on certain weekends.
Then, on a WhatsApp video call with my aunt, she told me about my family’s plans to go to Bulgaria, and that she was upset I couldn’t go with them because I had to do my internship. As the conversation progressed, she acknowledged that we would be spending less time together with every passing year. Maybe I could call more often and visit frequently, but it would never be the way it used to be.
During that conversation, there was one thing I was missing. I was under the impression that my years of hard work — though they meant I’d miss family vacations, birthday celebrations, tea breaks, car rides, spa days, grocery trips, coffee gossips and movie nights — would certainly pay off. I imagined myself returning to my loved ones with everything I dreamed about: validation, wealth and recognition. Once I achieved it all, I would settle down and not work as hard.
My aunt’s next sentence crushed my delusions. You have been working hard since high school; I guess this will be the case forever. Forever. This was my first time acknowledging such a possibility.
I wasn’t imagining a future where I didn’t work. Throughout high school and college, being involved with clubs, juggling a bunch of activities and connecting with people over these passions have defined who I was. It made me feel powerful, versatile, interesting. No matter the age, I envision my future self involved with writing, advocacy, science. However, I was hoping for a future where I wanted to but didn’t have to do things: a future where I could say no to responsibilities without the fear of missing out and choose simple pleasures over them.
I assumed if I worked hard enough for years, then I could choose to have breaks, but since when are people nice enough to reward perseverance with anything other than more work? Is there actually ever an end to working hard?
Back in middle school, I told myself I would be secure when I got into a decent high school. When I got into that decent high school and encountered more competition, I convinced myself that I had to suffer through those five years and get into a top college; then, I could take a break. I got into that college, and now I’m convinced that once I graduate with a good GPA, take part in meaningful research and get into a Ph.D. program, I will be secure. Deep down, I know this won’t be the case, but I want to believe that one day, I won’t need to exhaust myself to catch opportunities and rather they will find me, because I will finally be that good.
To be that good, I have no choice but to spend summers away from home. I have to tell my mom I can’t shorten my internship or say no to the position that asks me to cut my visit to Turkey short. I need to tell my dad I won’t be able to call today before he goes to sleep because I’ll be in class all day. I am obliged to inform my grandma she will see me for a few days in May, because that was the best I could do with my finals schedule. I get the urge to beg them: Wait for me, give me a few years and when I come back, I will be better than ever.
But it kills me to think that it might be too late when I finally decide to settle down. Every time I say no to such family activities that would require me to divert my focus from academics, I imagine my validated, wealthy and recognized future self who had the resilience to keep going by avoiding “distractions,” but then I sense the void in her heart because she selfishly prioritized the wrong things at the wrong time. Now, she can’t even restart to make the “right” choices. I say “right,” because I know that if I did give up on some opportunities, I could regret doing that in the future, too.
The weight of this possibility and not knowing what is right feels harder to shoulder when during each video call, I count one extra white hair strand or wrinkle on their skin. Time is ticking; I might ask them to wait for me, but will life be understanding enough? Is there a way to follow my passions without feeling selfish? How can I, if it is even possible, don’t fear regret?
I attempt to answer: No, life is not understanding, so I should make better decisions. There has to be, because if my passions define me, following them can not be selfish. I might not keep myself from fearing regret, but I can listen to my soul, realize my potential and accept that opportunities will find me if they are meant to be. And if things are meant for me, I won’t need to give up on my values to catch them.
Buse Koldas is a sophomore from Istanbul, Turkey majoring in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. She is the Voices Editor for The News-Letter. Her column discusses how her past experiences have affected her, with the hope of making others feel seen and understood.
