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A Slice of Life



Joined: 12/1/2014
Posts: 1
cchinek
When you are a mostly-white, middle class, twenty-something, American college student, they tell you that the world is yours. Pumped full of my own propaganda, I fully subscribed to the belief that I was not only going to change the world. but that I was destined to change the world. It practically owed me. It did not.

Yes, I worked hard in school. But did that merit special money, special classes, special room and board? Should performing to the standard ever merit special praise? No.

But that wasn’t how I saw it, then. And at the end of four years, when I found myself needing another to complete my study, I was lost. I found myself without my comfortable scholarship padding, out of my home, without savings, without food. Most importantly, I found myself unable to admit that I was in trouble. Confusing pride and optimism, I barreled through.

I split a house with five other girls. There was no room for me inside, so I lived in the garage. I built a bed from cinderblocks and two old doors, and then stacked every blanket I owned to form a mattress. A wooden screen divided the desk from the bed, and I lit the whole garage with two desk lamps. A cheaply made rug someone had been about to throw away covered the cement floor, and I tacked posters to the thin drywall. The only entry was the garage door which made up an entire wall, so in the winter I had to move everything back to allow the snow to fall into the room and melt without soaking anything. All of my clothes were in two boxes next to the bed. There was an abandoned piano, too. If I wanted to go inside the house without opening the wall, I would climb over the top of the piano and through a window.

Without money for food or gas, I walked to and from school. It was in the mountains, and the hills were steep, and the roads were covered in snow. I arrived to class tired and wet. I ate one meal per day, and I begged fresh-baked cookies and disposable snacks from my roommates. It wasn’t the worst hardship in the world, but for two days I ate nothing but marshmallows. One day, I asked one of my friends for a slice of bread she had baked that morning. She considered it...

There was no reason for me to be doing this. I was too proud. Too proud to ask for help, and too proud to allow anyone to become a part of the mess I had made of my life.

...And she sliced off a piece of bread. “This was supposed to be for church, but I think that the congregation would agree that the spirit cannot even begin to be nourished until the body has.” I had been too proud, and then I was humbled.
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Comment by cchinek


Joined: 12/1/2014
Posts: 1
When you are a mostly-white, middle class, twenty-something, American college student, they tell you that the world is yours. Pumped full of my own propaganda, I fully subscribed to the belief that I was not only going to change the world. but that I was destined to change the world. It practically owed me. It did not.

Yes, I worked hard in school. But did that merit special money, special classes, special room and board? Should performing to the standard ever merit special praise? No.

But that wasn’t how I saw it, then. And at the end of four years, when I found myself needing another to complete my study, I was lost. I found myself without my comfortable scholarship padding, out of my home, without savings, without food. Most importantly, I found myself unable to admit that I was in trouble. Confusing pride and optimism, I barreled through.

I split a house with five other girls. There was no room for me inside, so I lived in the garage. I built a bed from cinderblocks and two old doors, and then stacked every blanket I owned to form a mattress. A wooden screen divided the desk from the bed, and I lit the whole garage with two desk lamps. A cheaply made rug someone had been about to throw away covered the cement floor, and I tacked posters to the thin drywall. The only entry was the garage door which made up an entire wall, so in the winter I had to move everything back to allow the snow to fall into the room and melt without soaking anything. All of my clothes were in two boxes next to the bed. There was an abandoned piano, too. If I wanted to go inside the house without opening the wall, I would climb over the top of the piano and through a window.

Without money for food or gas, I walked to and from school. It was in the mountains, and the hills were steep, and the roads were covered in snow. I arrived to class tired and wet. I ate one meal per day, and I begged fresh-baked cookies and disposable snacks from my roommates. It wasn’t the worst hardship in the world, but for two days I ate nothing but marshmallows. One day, I asked one of my friends for a slice of bread she had baked that morning. She considered it...

There was no reason for me to be doing this. I was too proud. Too proud to ask for help, and too proud to allow anyone to become a part of the mess I had made of my life.

...And she sliced off a piece of bread. “This was supposed to be for church, but I think that the congregation would agree that the spirit cannot even begin to be nourished until the body has.” I had been too proud, and then I was humbled.
Posted: Monday, December 1, 2014 1:31:39 PM
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