‘Two roads diverged in a wood and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.’
— Robert Frost
—
It’s been a challenging month, tinged by the constant nagging notion that I’m not where I’m ‘meant’ to be, doing what I ‘should’ be doing. My internal compass finds itself lacking in calibration, the needle haplessly spinning in a desperate bid to find its place.
What I need is reassurance. And so, it’s time to revisit a story of mine, to serve as a reminder. A reminder that I’ve waded through much trickier waters in the past. I’ll get through this too.
I’d like to acknowledge that, despite the obstacles outlined in the paragraphs that follow, I know that I’ve been very fortunate indeed. It could have been much worse — and it is — for many others. But if you are also feeling lost these days, your own compass a little worse for the wear, I hope you’ll be able to find solace in my story nonetheless.
So, we’ve talked about the challenge of answering the inevitable ‘where are you from?’ question when I’m first getting to know someone. But, a little further into the same conversation, it’s likely we’ll stumble upon the next tricky question: ‘Why did your degree take 7 years to complete?’
I had embarked on a 4-year degree in 2011, only to graduate in 2018. What happened? Why didn’t I graduate in 2015, like I was ‘meant’ to?
Here’s the story.
Up until 2014, my life had followed a pretty textbook-perfect trajectory: I had the chance to attend a beautiful boarding school in the English countryside, followed by university in the heart of bustling, exhilarating, London.
By 2014, I had completed three years of my degree, all set to complete the final year and embark on ‘real life’. But a couple of months before the start of my final year, we were hit by unavoidable financial challenges. Within a matter of weeks, I had been thrown headfirst into a whirlpool of impossibilities. There was no feasible way of funding the year, and I had to make the difficult decision to temporarily abandon my studies, my friends, and the life I knew.
And then, it was the summer of 2015 and I watched the friends I’d made at university graduate, without me. But I made peace with it, reassuring myself that I was due to come back later that year, and I’d be graduating too, just a little later — right?
Not quite.
Despite our best efforts, one year of absence turned into two, and eventually became three. I was devastated. The possibility of losing my degree loomed large, becoming increasingly tangible as the months went by. I had worked tirelessly, endlessly to win a place at this university, and now I was facing the idea that all those years of hard graft could suddenly dissipate into oblivion.
An endless stream of questions started to make themselves at home in my mind, loaded with (futile) self-pity. Why me? How did I end up here? I felt so ‘behind’. Everyone was graduating and hopping on to the corporate ladder, and I was mindlessly working long, gruelling waitressing shifts, desperately clutching on to my life in London.
Despite all the uncertainty in the air, I was certain of one thing (or so I thought). This was not how it was ‘supposed’ to be. I have always been driven, ambitious, and intrinsically motivated to achieve what I set out to do. But when what I had set out to do was no longer a possibility, I felt I had nothing to aim for, to work for.
As apathy gradually took over me, I knew a change - any change - had to take place, to get out of the obscurity in which I no longer recognised myself. So, after the first year of alternatively feeling sorry for myself and anxious about the future, it was time for a reality check. Why was everything a race? Why did my path have to be exactly the same as those around me? This was my journey and I had to embrace it.
So I did. I embraced the journey. And what a remarkable journey it turned out to be.
Here’s what my second and third years away from university looked like, when I finally decided to start taking control of, well, what I could control:
I took online classes in basic code, edited my photos, bought a domain name, and started up a website — this website.
I packed my bags, moved to China, and taught English to young children in Beijing.
We adopted a kitten, who has grown into a beautiful cat and the calmest member of our family.
I moved to Kuala Lumpur to work at, what was then, a little-known startup called Mossery, joining the founders as its very first employee.
And so much more.
There’s no denying that I was lucky to have exchanged those initial months of limbo for some beautiful, unique experiences. But this isn’t really about what I did or what I achieved. In fact, that played a pretty minor part in this unconventional journey. What I learnt came out as the real winner.
I learnt that it was okay if life didn’t go according to ‘plan’. It wasn’t supposed to. I re-learnt the importance of family, a lesson I’m ashamed to admit I’d forgotten. I had moved to the UK at the age of 11, unwittingly growing distant from the family I’d left behind. Being away from university granted me a second chance to live with them again, and we are now closer than ever.
But, perhaps most importantly, I learnt of the strength and courage I didn’t know I had. I came out of those three years a far more resilient human being, far better equipped to handle the next curveball.
And then, when I did eventually return to university in September 2017, I did so with newfound determination. I was humbled. Making it through this bittersweet obstacle course had instilled in me a deep, renewed sense of gratitude for the opportunity to study at university in the UK. So, in that final year, I would leave my tiny flat on the Caledonian Road at 7 o’clock every morning, walk the 30-minute route to university, study hard, and give this opportunity every ounce of energy I had.
I graduated with First Class Honours.
So, as it turns out — graduating in 2015 was the best thing that never happened to me. As soon as I learnt to not only accept, but embrace, my circumstances, the journey became an incredibly valuable one. So what if it wasn’t ‘ideal’? It has filled my life with fascinating stories — stories of triumph over adversity, through both adventure and adaptability.
If you find yourself in a similar position to mine — maybe things haven’t worked out as they should have, as you’d envisaged, as you’d hoped — perhaps my story will offer you a small ray of hope to hold on to.
Life will, seemingly, fall apart before it falls back into place. So, instead of fighting the battle against that which you can’t control, challenge yourself to make the most of what you can.
Trust your journey. It has its own, intricate plan for you — you just don’t know it yet.
Until next time,
S
Cover image captured in Jodhpur, Rajasthan.
