Lately, I have been going through a series of mini panic attacks. I have pretty much finished submitting all of my college applications, which should feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders- except it doesn’t.

All I want to to do is hoard my applications and continue to toil away on them in the safety of my room without ever having to press the submit button. Sigh, if only.

Like all good things though, they must come to an end and after dragging my feet and quadruple checking every single detail, check mark, and box I have come to reach the inevitable: the submission.

Submitting applications goes a little something like this for me:

First, I click on the scary button that says “Start Submission Process” which is really code for “You will never get to go back and change anything EVER.” But I’ve been working myself up a pretty decent head of grey and a nice set of stress wrinkles. In the end, I have no choice but to click it.

Click.

And so begins the story of my mini panic attacks. After I have entered this awful place where there are no “back” buttons or escapes I have to blunder on.

They start to fire questions at me asking for my permission to do this and to give out that. I don’t really want to keep reading and try to decipher the meaning, so I look for a few quick clues. The words “scholarships” and “acceptance” are good signs, and so I check “yes” and type my signature.

Then, as if giving my permission to do only God-knows-what with all this information isn’t enough, they want more.

“Are you African American?” I don’t think so….

“Are you Latino or Hispanic?” Pretty sure I’m not….

“Are you Native Hawaiian?” Yes! This is me!

Moving on. After checking as many of the ethnicity boxes as I can, I say a quick prayer that maybe, by some lucky chance I will be the only Native Hawaiian and will get a full ride race-based scholarship to the school I am applying for. Chances of that are slim to none, but it doesn’t hurt to hope.

Finally, the end of this process is nearing. My palms have gone slick and my heart is beating a mile a minute. This. Is. The. End.

I experience a moment of panic and think that maybe I should go back and check everything just one more time or forever. Instead though, I force myself to keep going.

The Payment. I hate this one the most. I can’t understand why I have to pay them. Either accept me or deny me.

And then, if they accept me, I have to pay them some more! I feel like if I get rejected I should at least get my money back.

I enter in my payment information and cringe as I see the numbers and zeros that follow the dollar sign. My wallet is shrinking, and it is physically painful to see my hard-earned (or rather, my parents’ hard-earned money) disappear into cyberspace- never to be seen again…

Click. 

“Congratulations! Your applicaiton has been submitted!”

Yay! Now I get to stalk my mailbox for a month as I nervously wait for their decision…joy.