On Chinese New Year I woke up a little before noon, earlier than I usually wake up when on break, because my dad was nudging me with a large envelope. “It’s from Bryn Mawr!” he said. I didn’t know whether I wanted to open it or throw it as far as I could. For weeks I’ve been telling myself, “I don’t really want to go to Bryn Mawr anyway,” because if I got rejected, I didn’t want to feel devastated about what felt like my world crumbling into a million little pieces; getting deferred would only prolong my misery. Junior year had been the toughest year of my life, and senior year was only slightly better due to my “I’m too tired to even care” attitude. I couldn’t remember the last time I truly looked forward to the future; what were the chances that I would get accepted to my top choice, Early Decision school?