"Dear future reject"
“SAIF Internship Application Update.”
I remember staring for a few seconds at the long-awaited Outlook notification before opening my very first decision email on campus. It was my application to be a SAIF Intern curriculum writer; as an experienced curriculum writer, it was probably the best-put-together application I submitted in any ALA space. Although I didn’t have much hope in some of my other applications, I envisioned my spot in that elusive team.
Yet for some appalling reason I couldn’t understand, the email quickly followed with the very much dreaded “Unfortunately….”
I was at a loss for words or even emotions. And eventually, infuriation crept in, coupled with the overwhelming desire to materialize the fist in the SAIF logo and punch whoever sent me that letter. My unwillingness to associate the rejection with any internal misfit for the role immediately pushed me to declare the process partial.
And oh God, I couldn’t be silent. I complained to my roommate. I complained to my soon-to-be girlfriend. I even complained to my newly formed friends, who, even more irritatingly, couldn't empathize because they flipping got accepted. I complained about everything to anything (yes, thing) that could listen.
I condemned the application questions for being “shortsighted,” and I blamed the despised reviewer for choosing Yewans from the same country as them. I neither went for feedback nor mentioned it to the reviewer again, allowing the bliss of my ignorance to construe the wildest reasons for my disavowed rejection.
It was hell.
But later, once the fog of the application season war settled, I began seeing the light of my ALA roles that gave me enough legroom to do the things I cared about. After indulging in a bit of schadenfreude (NOT a good coping mechanism), I found out that many of the people I'd envied for dodging rejection had also faced some similar disappointment, somewhere I hadn't seen. I even mustered the maturity to be sincere with them about it. This eventually drove me to the conclusion that, although I still felt some hurt from SAIF, I was happy with the peer coaching, the ESC, and whatever else I did in Yewan.
And even more surprisingly, I found out that this arc of aggravation to gratitude was a canon event on campus.
And it’s an arc you will likely soon slide into. You will likely get rejected from a space you believed – and maybe rightly – you were a fantastic fit for. You will probably want to choke the student in charge of selections. You will probably put your ego above your growth and talk rubbish about the selection process instead of asking for feedback. You will probably scapegoat any external factor as the cause of your misfortune to stay sane.
That's a valid reaction.
After all, much of our sadness over losing out on an opportunity is rarely the opportunity itself, because we all know that there are tons of them elsewhere. It’s the FOMO, the feeling that others are just simply better than us, and that we’re wasting our time in an academy thousands of kilometres away to sit in your rooms because you didn’t get accepted into anything.
None of that is true. Regardless of rejections, you will find a space here as impressive as the next person reading this article. Being with SAFCORP is not the coolest thing on campus; SAIF lowkey abuses their interns, and the flashy titles fade away much faster than you expect. (Verify with the nearest Yetu if needed)
That said, (crazy SAT transitions ball knowledge) I'll leave you with three prophecies:
99.9% of the ALA populace will get rejected from something they REALLY REALLY (like really) wanted. You are not alone. If you see someone gloating over their success, or acting immune to rejection… yeah, long day, fam.
You're more likely to regret what you didn't do than what you did. Never let fear of rejection stop you from applying. Sometimes an application reviewer will know more about you than you think they will. (Yes, our ultimate goal is to become like an American embassy interviewing Nigerians for a tourist visa.)
Sometime in the middle of the year, you'll feel overwhelmed by everything you've taken on. The moment you hit that threshold, every rejection you’ve gotten on-campus will become fundamentally meaningless.
I write this not as IRC CD, not as an ALDU board member, not as an ESC representative trying to justify anything, but as the Evan Salama who was also rejected from a great deal of opportunities on campus. As the guy who was so confident in his own abilities that it made him feel completely alone in his rejections.
So go be furious, complain, enjoy your failures and your success, and if it still burns, come complain to me (or any other Yetu you're comfortable with); we’ve had the practice, and unlike your friends who somehow got in everywhere, actually know what you're talking about.
A luta continua
(Damn it, this should have been my letter to the Yewans)
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