February 25, 2am

I was writing my Spoken Word piece for the next day's Talent Show for Homecoming Week. It was 2am, Eric and Craig were asleep in their bunkbends behind me, the fan was softly wiring away (the twins can't sleep without background noise), and Eric's small lamp was emitting its soft, yellow glow. In the quiet of their small and messy room, I was putting forth all of my energy, passion, chaos, anger, love, and hope into words, rhymes, letters. In that bedroom, I was contributing to the revolution against racism and hate crimes.

After finishing, I went to email myself my Spoken Word piece when the subject line with the word "Columbia" caught my eye in my inbox. It was already read, because that morning during my opening shift at 8am, I had already opened up that email. It seemed to be like another email from Teacher's College reminding me to apply for scholarships just in case I get in. In this email, there was nothing else that appeared to be special other than a notification that my username code had been changed for my account. I had to have an account to apply, you see. But nothing special. They changed my username code. That's all. It wasn't an email saying whether or not I had gotten in. No biggie. More waiting.

But for some reason, I decided at 2am, hey, what the hell, I'll try logging in with this new username and see if that does anything. So I did. I logged in, and was greeted with the same exact page that I'm always greeted with. Or so I thought. Before clicking to exit the page in disappointment, I read a sentence located insignificantly at the bottom of the page: "Your application decision is now available online."

My heart skipped a beat. Not exactly out of excitement that OH MY GOSH, I'm going to find out if I get in or not RIGHT NOW. Instead, it was more... damn, there goes my night. Sigh, the hope of getting into Columbia was fun while it lasted, but now it's time to read my rejection letter.

I clicked on the link, and the first sentence hit me:

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Teachers College, Columbia University for the 2010 Fall Term.

I stopped breathing. The room crashed to the side. All sound disappeared into a vacuum. I lost all feeling in my body. My brain swirled at 100mph in my skull. Breath came back to me, but broken, choked. I read the sentence again. And again. And again. No. This can't be happening. This is not real. I can't get into Columbia. I'm a UC Irvine is the best I'll ever get to kind of girl. I'm dreaming. I turned around and saw Eric asleep with the T-shirt over his eyes (he can't sleep with light on). I turn back to the computer. Should I tell Eric? No. I need to make sure that this really is an acceptance letter. To Columbia. That I really got in. I don't want to embarrass myself and tell him that I got in when I had really stupidly made a mistake in reading this rejection letter.

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted--

I started crying. Not because of happiness, because there was still too much going on for real emotions to set in. I cried the same way I'd cry when a ball hits me in the face: I'm not crying out of pain or anger or anything, the tears are just uncontrollably coming out due to the shock of the ball hitting me in the face. So there I was, crying. Crying because that sentence hit me in the face harder than any ball has in my life.

Finally I go and shake Eric awake. The first time I've ever said those words in my life: Eric, I got into Columbia. He was awake in a second. I hear Craig wake up above us and groggily ask, "Doris, are you okay?" Craig, I got into Columbia. "Wow, congratulations!" and he falls back asleep. I grab my phone and run out into the living room. It's 2am, but I'm going to wake my mom up if it's the last thing I do. She picks up the phone in the same confused, groggy manner. Mama, I got into Columbia! She then sounded like it was 10am in the morning. I was shaking and stammering and quickly ended the conversation, to which I will later find out my mom would spend the rest of the night calling all of my relatives in China telling them that I had gotten into "Ge Da," Chinese for Columbia. As soon as I hung up with my mom, the same thought hit me: Wait, what if I didn't get in. What if I read the email wrong. What if I just made my mom the happiest woman in the world about something that wasn't true. I run back into Eric's room and reread the sentence.

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted--

Okay. I think I'm right. I think I did get in. I run back out and call Sarah. I tell her in the same shaking, quivering voice: Sarah, I got into Columbia. Excitement, squealing, and unconditional love from her. But as soon as I hear her excitement, the same exact thought hit me: oh crap. What if I really didn't get in? I quickly end the conversation and run back into the room.

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted--

Okay. I run back out and call Christina Ho. Goes straight to voicemail. I'll text her. I'll text Ron, too. I'll text Xtina, Jamie, Julie, Ainsley. I'm still shaking, breathing hard, smiling, somewhat crying, in a crazed delusion. The feeling of pure excitement, happiness, joy, thankfulness are all setting in. I'm whispering Thank you, God over and over again. But after all the texts, AGAIN: maybe I should double check that letter one more time.

I run back into the room and this time Eric had gotten out of bed and was reading my acceptance letter. A part of me was suddenly struck with terror: what if Eric reads it and turns to me and tells me "Doris, you didn't get in. You read it wrong." I timidly ask, Eric, I got in, right? He turns to me with a smile and says, "Yeah, you did." He hugs and kisses me. Okay, finally, I believe it 100%. I'm not crazy. I'm not reading it wrong.

He then turns to the address written at the bottom of the acceptance letter.

525 West 120th New York, NY 10027

He then goes to googlemaps and enters the address. Clicks on Street View. There it was. Teachers College, Columbia University. He turns to me and his big, proud, green-brown eyes tell me This is where you're going! Then it wasn't just happiness and excitement anymore. Suddenly, I was scared. This is it. You have been accepted to the Master of Arts degree program in the Department of Arts and Humanities with a specialization in Teaching of English - Initial Certification. Wow, am I finally going down this path of teaching? Before I got the acceptance, I would kind of have fun thinking about what would happen if I didn't get into graduate school. Maybe I could have gotten a job at a law firm, or something that has to do with politics and lobbying, or just taught English in Japan for a few years. But now-- I did get into graduate school. I got into Columbia.

And I looked at Eric. Suddenly, it wasn't the same old room that I basically have been living in for the past 4 months. Eric sitting in his chair, the yellow glow of the room, the clothes lying in piles on the floor. Suddenly, it felt like it was disappearing. Finally, the realization that everything is going to change was settling in.

Before I knew it, I had finally emailed myself the Spoken Word piece. Eric and I talked more about the racism issues in UCSD and about the brand new report of a noose found in the library. We kissed goodnight, we turned off the light, and I was snuggled in bed with Eric. I couldn't sleep, though. And I knew in the dark that Eric was awake, too.