I want to be better. And then maybe… maybe I'll be worthy.
Liana
The document was blank.
Just a blinking cursor and too much air in the room.
I'd opened the page three times already.
Typed three different sentences.
Deleted all of them.
Now I just stared.
"Tell us who you are," the prompt said.
Who I am?
I didn't even know where to start.
Elias had printed out a checklist.
"GCC Application: What You'll Need."
It was sitting on the kitchen table, half-covered in his messy handwriting.
He'd underlined things in red.
Circled others.
Wrote notes in the margins like Ask about ESL waiver and Reminder: proof of residency?
He was trying so hard.
Like always.
And here I was, stuck on the first sentence.
I turned back to the laptop.
Typed:
I used to be someone else.
Deleted it.
Typed:
I have no awards, no medals, no leadership titles.
Deleted that, too.
My fingers hovered.
I closed my eyes and thought about what I did have.
A backpack I barely used.
A shelf of books Elias kept buying for me even when I didn't ask.
I do like books. Didn't know how he found out.
And a body that still flinched at every sudden sound.
Great.
Very inspiring.
The articles all said the same thing:
Be honest. Be specific. Show growth.
But how do you show growth when most of your life was just surviving?
The other kids probably wrote about helping their community or winning science fairs or starting a coding club.
What would I say?
Hi, I used to sleep with the light on for three years straight.
The cursor blinked again.
Mocking me.
I closed the laptop.
Rested my forehead on the table.
I didn't cry.
Just felt... tired.
I used to think I was strong.
But maybe I was just stubborn.
Maybe there's a difference.
Later, I made tea.
The house was quiet.
Elias wasn't home yet.
I liked it this way sometimes—when the silence didn't feel heavy.
Just still.
I looked over at the folder he'd left by the door.
It had the Glendale College logo printed in dark blue.
Inside were notes, printouts, a brochure, a calendar with deadlines circled in black pen.
He'd done all that for me.
And I couldn't even write a sentence.
I opened the laptop again.
Typed:
I used to think surviving was enough.
I stopped.
Didn't delete it.
Just... stared.
That was true.
Wasn't it?
For a long time, surviving was the goal.
Getting through the day.
Sleeping through the night.
Making it to the next one.
But now?
Maybe I wanted something more.
I didn't know what.
But maybe that sentence was the start.
I used to go to school in Taiwan.
It was crowded.
Noisy.
Always rushed.
I sat in a classroom of thirty kids.
I didn't have many friends.
Not because they were mean.
We just didn't connect.
I always found it hard to fit into those girl groups.
I was honest.
Sometimes too honest.
And that's not a good thing in Chinese culture.
People didn't like that.
I wasn't bullied.
But I also wasn't liked.
School felt like a place you were required to be— not a place that wanted you.
I didn't hate it.
Didn't love it.
It was just there.
I wonder what American college is like.
The pictures in the brochure looked nice.
Open lawns.
Smiling students with laptops and coffee cups.
They looked comfortable.
Like they belonged.
I don't know if I'll ever feel like that.
But maybe…
Maybe I could try.
I stared at the sentence on the screen again.
I used to think surviving was enough.
My hands hovered above the keyboard.
Then, slowly, I typed the next line:
Now I want to learn how to live.
I hit save.
Closed the laptop.
I didn't know if it was good.
Didn't know if it would help.
But it was mine.
And for tonight, that was enough.
Or so I hope.