Source; Unsplash
I feel the phrase "Better luck next time" carries a different implication for different people at every stage of life, depending on what you are pursuing or what you expect at that point.
As a kid, we barely experienced rejection, as my mom gave us most things we needed. Especially for me, a picky eater; she never denied me the meal I wanted or craved after she had prepared food for the rest of the family.
My dad often felt that being more stern and ensuring I ate what was placed on the table was better, but all my mom ever cared about was how healthy we looked.
Aside from food, we were allowed to pick the clothes of our choice and were not overly scolded if we disagreed with a particular style.
People often feel it is a way of spoiling your kids, but I think my parents just wanted us to have what we truly wanted.
When we got into Senior Secondary School, our teachers began advising us to work harder than we did in Junior class, as this phase was more serious and complicated than the previous one. We needed to attain a certain level of knowledge before we would be fit to write our WASSCE and JAMB exams and pass with good grades; that we were young, we should be full of dreams and aim for higher heights. Another of their famous pieces of advice was that the outside world was tougher than the four corners of our school, and things played out differently there.
Not everyone took what they said seriously, but for my clique of friends it was quite different. They were a bunch of very serious people, and I happened to find myself among them. The saying "when in Rome, act like a Roman" got to me, and I instantly started reading more often, reviewing classes we didn't understand together so we could grasp what the teacher was trying to teach us, and constantly throwing questions and answers around to confirm we really understood.
For the mathematical courses, we solved more exercises from our textbooks for a proper understanding of the complex ones, since our teachers developed the habit of always setting the harder ones in our examinations.
The urge to read and make it through kept burning through our veins till our last lap.
Our WASSCE went smoothly, as we were able to navigate the hard questions with the knowledge we had accumulated; then, for JAMB, we were sent to different centers, where we passed to the best of our abilities.
We said goodbye to our friends in our old school and sailed towards our new vision, but what we did not know was that the outside world truly was tougher than we expected.
I thought gaining admission into university would be as easy as entering secondary school, swift and somewhat compulsory, but it was not. I applied to the university of my choice for my dream course; I felt they would review our names, evaluate how well we scored, and our admission would follow suit, but it was a different ball game.
After I went through the necessary interviews and the uploading of my documents, we were asked to wait, as admission does not commence immediately. When it did, I was asked to check my portal, but it showed "Not yet admitted." I was asked to exercise patience, as the process was still ongoing. My mom, on the other hand, kept giving me daily affirmations that I would get through this on the positive side, and I believed and held on to it. Each day was accompanied by a failed scroll through my portal, as the same words were always written: NOT YET ADMITTED.
The days passed, and I decided to pick up my pieces and face the reality ahead of me. A lot of advice streamed in, but I always felt one way: it is easier for them to say. My dad said I was still a young girl and had the opportunity to dream again, and so did my mom; but personally, I knew all I was, was a young girl whose fiercely burning fire had been quenched by disappointment.
But in all, one thing remained: I had to pick up my pieces and dream again. I had a year to straighten things out and try again.
I got enrolled for JAMB lessons, met new people, and later joined A-level classes, which had their own ups and downs as I was exposed to a different environment and new things. I got to relate with guys, as my secondary school was strictly for females. But I carried my books along through all of it.
I did my best in the best way I could and thought it would get me through. I am always lucky to have friends who are persistent in putting me through, making me forever grateful.
At the end of the program, we wrote our final exams and vacated the place. This period was another episode of waiting for admission, with my heart in my hands, hoping I would pass the exams.
The results were released, and there was a mistake from the school which couldn't be corrected. I broke down in every form, as this was my second shot at it and, the way it was headed, there wasn't a glimpse of hope for me. I rejected all forms of food and all sources of happiness and resorted to sleeping; even the words "better luck next time" sounded like there wouldn't be a me to go through such a next time.
Again, I had to face another form of rejection, one I had not built myself for; only this time, I didn't think my heart could go through it again.
I knew I had to get better for my mom, because she felt every inch of what I went through, but I did not know how to do so.
