It was only Tuesday afternoon, and I already hated the week. Thankfully, or unfortunately as I needed more money, my work ended at three in the afternoon—and as I was quite tired, I decided to go home instead of killing a few hours in the library, trying to study. The day was still bright, and mail has not yet been checked. I decided, of course, to get the mail; why not? I park right next to the mailbox due to space constraints in the driveway. I wonder what my neighbors think about it, but I (and my family, probably) ignore any possible indignations stemming out of it by the neighbors.
The mail was rather hefty. While no packages arrived, a big lump of letters instead filled the mailbox. Some of the letters were even bundled together with rubber bands. Most of the mail was directed to my younger brother, who has not received much mail at all until quite recently:
Look at these motherfucking letters… pardon my French. I am but a few years older than him, and I have not received as many mails from colleges as he did. Some of the envelopes were recognizable; I have gotten brochures and letters from them a few years back, when I was a senior in high school and was apparently bright enough for college. Macalester was one, as was Mercer. I may also have received something from William and Mary, but I cannot remember, and I doubt that it even matters now, as I am now virtually grounded in my bloody state college that it almost feels like a tenure. Some of them look to be so far out of my league that I would not have dreamed of receiving anything from them, however: MIT? Caltech? Columbia? Highest-regarded college letter I have received is probably that from NYU, or maybe University of Southern California. I was also briefly interested in Emory and visited the campus thus, but that is as far as I have gone. Through a series of blunders, miscommunications, and other complications, I have missed all chances to get to other universities. Perhaps it was not that bad; Tulane, one of the colleges I thought of attending, was hit by Katrina on the second year of university.
I do not know how I should feel about this. Have I mentioned that I feel like a failed experiment? I am a brooding figure marred by odd actions and beset by trial and errors that my relatives have made from raising me. They are like my parents; I am, in fact, adopted by them, but while I call them parents while I am at school and work, I cannot accept them as such when I am at home. I think it is home, anyway.
So, what am I to do? I cannot blame my relatives for raising me poorly; moving to America was possibly the biggest break I had up to this point. The follow-up was pretty terrible, though; I admit it, and they should too. But with the past gone and the best that will come out of bickering about it being the hindsight of what went wrong and what can be fixed (if you are lucky), there is little I can do to better myself in the regard to the school I am going and the grades I have so far.
I would like to get behind my cousin—or my brother, whichever. But… call me evil, or perhaps call me selfish. I just can’t seem to do it. The very fact that he will get a head start in life fills me with rage and grief.
It should also help me with get my ass up and try to get somewhere. Let’s hope so.
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