who am i?

in losing direction, we often find ourselves.

I woke up this morning past seven o’clock with no desire to be awake. I used to wake up at six, who am I? 

Half asleep with eyes swollen shut, I pick up my phone to read, “If you are unable to take test 2 today (read).” Of course, I’m unable to take Test 2 today. I tricked myself into thinking I was going to finish the test review six days before the exam and take the practice test a minimum of twenty times. Instead, I’ve settled to postpone the exam for a 10% penalty. Once again, I have set goals for myself with no failing consequences, therefore, no motivation to achieve them. I know what I need to do to succeed, why aren’t I doing so? School is important, right? After all, my future is on the line…who am I? 

I put my phone down and begin to weigh my options. Do I skip chemistry for some extra sleep? Oh, but I can’t. Today is the weekly in-class activity and the quiz. But some girl in the GroupMe chat said she wouldn’t be able to make it today, I’m sure I could just find a way to get a doctor’s note too. Right? Oh, but then I’d have to find time to make this up during help room hours. I guess I’ll just go… 

I open YouTube and begin searching for a remnant of inspiration. Perfect, “5 Morning Reminders — Start Your Day Like a True Believer.” This will help, right? God can help, right? “My beloved brothers and sisters,” Mefti Menk begins, “every single morning is a gift from Allah. It’s not guaranteed. It’s not earned.” A gift? Which part, the anxiety? The stress? Or, maybe, the overwhelming feeling of defeat and failure? What’s gotten into me? I used to thank God for another day upon my first breath each morning, for my health, for love, for safety, for comfort, for creating me wonderfully and fearfully in his image, where has that gone? Where has my faith gone? Who am I? 

I continue to listen to Menk’s affirmations as I roll over to grab a protein bar from underneath my nightstand. And no, not the pantry, for I’ve done everything in my power to minimize the amount of interaction with my unbearable roommates.  

It is now seven twenty. A time when, weeks ago, I would normally be brushing my teeth to head out the door, but instead, I’m dragging myself out of bed, substituting my typical leggings and running shoes for sweatpants and Uggs. Might as well wear something I can take a nap in when I get home, right? It’ll save me time anyway, something I seem to never have enough of. 

I dress myself in my lousy excuse for an outfit and put sunglasses on to hide my eyes, puffy from tears and tiredness. As I imagine how comfortable my bed will be after these next fifty minutes, I realized I forgot something: a smile! It’s too late to turn back now, my eight-a.m. class starts in ten minutes! How could I leave my best accessory behind? Wait, when was the last time I had it on me? Who am I? 

“A correct skeletal structure for the periodate Tetraoxidoiodate (VII) is shown. Starting from this structure, complete the correct structure that follows the octet rule on all atoms,” question one reads. I look around. It seems like the other students are understanding, why can’t I? 

I get back to my apartment with an hour to spare before my next classes and a choice. Review the material from today’s class? Tackle the pile of laundry from the last three weeks? Wash the stack of dishes on the floor from the last few days of eating in my room? Or just take a power nap and an Adderall so I can focus today? Wait, Adderall? Since when do I have an attention disorder? I’ve never had a problem with focusing while playing piano or guitar, while writing songs, while creating art…who am I? 

I open my laptop to check my chemistry quiz grade in my next class. “A 10/10, must be nice,” I hear from behind me. I turn around and meet him with a wince and a shrug. That wasn’t me, I didn’t earn that, ChatGPT did. Who am I? 

I walk home from school in silence, observing the camaraderie of Market Wednesday. The path is bustling with smiles, laughter, and joy. How do these people have time for this? Aren’t you guys worried about your studies? Don’t you have exams coming up?  

At home, I sat in bed, conflicted. Who can I call? Scratch that, who wants to hear about this again? What am I doing? What am I going to do with my life? I’m a nineteen-year-old girl, expected to have it all figured out by now. Why is that the societal norm? I guess the world runs on money, but there’s more than one way to be successful, isn’t there? Perhaps any other route would be too risky, too forward? This career is what I’ve promised everyone, my parents, my family, myself. Is this me quitting? Is this failure? Have I given up? Who am I? 

No. This is redirection. This is triumph. This is awakening. I tried for as long as I could and found that this just isn’t for me. I believe that everyone has a calling, everyone has strengths, and I feel as though I’ve been called for something greater: to solve questions you can’t Google the answers to, to share my voice and spread wisdom, to understand how people think, to be creative…so no, I don’t choose to view this as failure, but as a moment where I’ve prioritized purpose over pressure.