Friday, 20 February 2009

How it came to be that I live in Toronto

While writing an email to Gen (oh yeah, she was nice enough to write to me), I realized what a wonderful blog post the email I was writing her would make, see for yourself:

I think the whole Masters at my age was the problem. I basically didn't know what I wanted to do and graduation was approaching. So I thought it would be genius to apply for grad school since I'm good at school and it would get me out of the hell hole I was living in. Plus I would be able to add "M.A." at the end of my name because the letters B and A were just not enough. Come to think of it, it could best be explained from the "real world phobia" which most people who attended university right after high school without breaks suffer from. Unfortunately, due to the excessive amount of students who also had the same fear and the good idea that I had, I was not accepted at the only school I wanted to go to and had to settle for another uni. That was like having someone shake a can of Pepsi and open it in your face: a wake-up call and a reminder that no matter how good you are at something, or in this case, how good your thesis is, there's always someone who has one that's better than yours. Then, during the summer, after two years of being treated like a model/intern, getting paid $0.89 an hour in fashion marketing, and ripping my curly locks from boredom at my other job that brought home the dolla dolla bling bling, I quit all my commitments, refused a full time offer at my money making job, lived on my sister's floor, got addicted to Tetris, travelled back and forth to Toronto whoring my portfolio around, interviews, interviews, rejection, theft, rejection, recession, rejection, then bam! Got a job and moved. Now I'm here, and guess what? Even if it's hard to make ends meet, I don't regret a moment.

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