The True Feelings Of A Technical Immigrant

I was in 6 th   grade when I first   truly   learned about the atrocities of World War II. My reading teacher, Mrs. Rose a woman who normally bared a huge smile was somber and quiet when we read about The Holocaust. She told us how people didn’t believe it actually happened, how people went on into the world and refused that these crimes against humanity were taking place. I was shocked that people were letting these crimes happen and obediently following along. People had begun to turn a blind eye to their neighbor.    I couldn’t fathom how people went about their lives   knowing   others were dehumanized. I couldn’t even grasp the idea how there were men and women who believed that those camps were good, or chose to work for them. They felt justified in their hate.   But today? Today I sit here, and I can see it again. This time it isn’t a teacher telling me something that happened years ago, it’s the news telling me what’s happening in my own backyard. People ar

My MCAT is less than two weeks away, and needless to say I am stressed. The Medical College Admissions Test, a very simple name, for a very complicated exam.   Why am I stressed over one exam? Why does one 8 hour period of my life weigh so heavily on my mind? Why is it the constant thing on my mind, forefront before everything else? Why have I allowed myself to put everything on hold for this one exam?             Is it because I feel as if my entire future is dependent on this one exam? Yeah, probably. I have convinced myself that this one number will be the defining number of my life. I have decided that one number will be what represents me. A number will define a human being. A score, from one exam, will explain all my complexities. And I refuse to see how wrong that is. I refuse to acknowledge that a number will not define me, my actions, my thoughts, my hard work will, but a number will not.             Yet here I sit, overwhelmed and filled with anxiety all o

I go to therapy . Every week or every other week I see an on - campus therapist . Why? Because I am anxious, and stressed - probably more than normal, probably to a point that’s not healthy . But for a long time, I didn’t tell many people I went to therapy and it’s not a known fact-even to the people I am close with . It’s not something I’m ashamed of, but it’s  not something you just talk about.    However, I  wouldn't   tell many people . I would cover it up with “Oh, I have an appointment” or a meeting, or I’m studying . But I would never tell people I go to therapy . But here’s the thing this isn’t the first time  seeing a therapist . It’s actually my second . The first time I went I was a senior in high school - almost two years ago . Therapy is a hard thing, it’s almost like Schrödinger’s cat except you’re the box . The idea of Schrodinger’s