Valerie Tan is a Pratt junior and an opinion managing editor of The Chronicle's 119th volume.
Home was a place I had worked tirelessly and pleaded fervently to leave as soon as I was old enough to realize that the option existed.
In hindsight, I’ve only regretted not quitting sooner.
Is it selfish not to be selfless?
As we ease into the rhythm of the new academic year, I find myself, once again, in the company of my old friend, social anxiety.
There are times when I worry that my genuine interest in a language that is so inextricably intertwined with popular culture might be disdained and misconstrued as the fanatical obsession of a “Koreaboo”, so much so that I shy away from opportunities to practice it with others.
Sophomore year is a strange, awkward and uncomfortable phase to be in, one in which the rhythm of college I settled into as a freshman has been plunged into utter chaos.
I was ashamed of not making full use of the plethora of resources available, and worried that my decision to sit out on many “core” experiences was diminishing the value and authenticity of my college experience—that it made me less of a Duke student.
I quietly clung onto the selfish hope that everything could be frozen in time so that leaving could be as simple as hitting pause and returning, as effortless as picking up from where I left off.
This time, no longer shackled by my overthinking tendencies, I will be brutally honest if I must and less afraid to infuse my writing with more personality.
The most difficult part of being a Duke student for me isn’t the classic case of being afflicted with imposter syndrome—I have enough confidence in my abilities to know that I deserve to be here. Rather, it is the frustration of not being able to fully leverage the plethora of resources at my disposal, of being hamstrung from reaching my full potential by something as “trivial” as anxiety.
