As the year closes out, I’ve found a new form of active avoidance — doomscrolling through college acceptance posts on Instagram. Reflecting on the many seniors who have shaped my MVHS experience feels like the right way to end the year. On @2025mvdecisions, I mentally link baby photos, committed colleges and the names of students I know — people who I’ve worked alongside, people I’ve joked with and some whose names I’ve only heard in passing. I’ve had nothing to do with their success, but knowing how much they’ve worked makes me feel proud being around them.

Still, the spiral keeps going — I follow up on mutuals from other schools, anyone with ‘25 in their bio, even my cousins who don’t follow me back. Then, disappointingly, my time limit hits in the middle. I stop temporarily and consider unlocking the app again.

Every time I don’t instinctively recognize a university logo, I’m reminded of something my mother said: if she doesn’t already know the name of a school, it’s probably not “good enough.” She meant it in a joking way, but as my junior year melts into my senior one, the reality of that judgment is beginning to bleed through: where am I aiming? And is it “good enough” for the people who have been supporting me for so long?

It’s a mundane confession, but I’m terrified of applying to college and throwing myself to the wolves, only to hear that the wolves do not find me very qualified. 

On a day-to-day basis, I try not to let the idea affect me — I do what I do because I love the work, even if it wouldn’t mean much to an admissions officer. But that dread, fueled by my caustic curiosity on Instagram, is deepening by the hour. There is no rationale behind it to articulate. It’s just me, caffeine and the vagueness of “enough” reaching out from the void of the future. If and when underclassmen see a decision post for me, what will they think? Was I hard-working enough, appealing enough, ambitious enough? 

Ambition pervades MVHS’ sense of achievement, although we rarely frame it that way. Even though every part of high school demands its own kind of effort, it’s seen as normal for students to apply to selective schools, and the image is even sleeker if the applicant themself acts like associating with an elite university is a given for them.

Our treatment of success is paradoxical. On the one hand, we take pride in being considered high achievers, but on the other, that appeal is multiplied by the unrealistic suggestion that we don’t work ridiculously hard for what we display — we love ambition and pretend we don’t.

So when I see people admitted into their dream schools or bragging about the Ivies they’re applying to, I wonder if I should be aiming higher and looking more nonchalant. Beyond hoping and working for more, I wonder if I should be expecting more, too. I fear that I’ve become so fluent in Asian humility that I’ve undercut my ability to thoroughly, actually believe in myself.

Ironically, it was AP Chinese that had me rethinking my relationship with ambition. During one of our scheduled tangents, my Chinese teacher explained why she doesn’t wish students wealth or success, but rather abundance — being genuinely happy with what you have, and having enough to share with the people around you.

I placed the idea next to my concept of academic ambition. It sounded, on first pass, close to settling, the complete opposite of what striving for more means. But then I thought about how much effort goes into each goal — how easy is it to achieve abundance? And how does that effort compare to what it takes to get into an elite school?

I don’t have quantifiable numbers for either of those, but removing the effort from ambition helped place my concept of success into perspective. I realized that if I had to choose a goal, I would be happier with abundance, with openly trying towards something I believe in, rather than worrying about how my effort is interpreted by others.

So I’ve been trying to do that: I try to be less judgy, experiment with spirituality and reflect more on what I truly want to be. It’s corny, but in tough situations, I think about what the ideal version of me would do — listen, think about it and make a choice when I’m ready. The ambition of becoming a better person doesn’t automatically make me a better person, but the pursuit has made every effort I make just a little more meaningful.

I still take breaks from journaling to doomscroll, but the college acceptance posts have taken on a new dimension. Even if it’s not a mother-approved name brand college, I hope they enjoy where they’re headed, literally and otherwise — I hope that in a year, I can confidently say the same.