September 29th, 2015.

Standing at the gate of that famed institution on that rainy Thursday afternoon, my nerves were off the hook. I had just been dropped off and given final words of advice but once the car zoomed off, I realized that it was just me now and beyond that gate was a series of endless opportunities. Would I grasp these opportunities or would I follow the path that had already been mapped out for me? A question I posed to myself that afternoon, a question I spent five years in college trying to answer. 

I was one of the “privileged” few who got admission into Bridgeway University, the premier academic institution in the country. Only the elites and the brightest minds could get into Bridgeway, I fell into the former category. There was a popular term among the students of this institution, a term by which they referred to this institution: A place where dreams go to die. Bridgeway raised sad and unfulfilled students, forced to pursue “professional” careers that supposedly held more opportunities at the expense of doing what they had a passion for. I felt it few weeks into my first semester. Students spent long nights in the study halls, often falling sick in the process, not because they loved what they did, but for the fear of falling short of their parents’ expectations who “worked so hard” to get them into Bridgeway. 

I decided to be different. I was admitted to study Mechanical Engineering because I could solve a few equations. However, I always came alive when it was time for literature class in high school. I felt powerful when I wrote down verses and made up those stories in my head. These stories gave me an opportunity to leave reality and swim in my own pool of unending possibility. I started writing and publishing my stories anonymously on the college blog. Everyone loved my work and I began to get ghostwriting gigs - ranging from the art students who needed help with school projects to guys who needed help with writing a heartfelt note for their girlfriends.

Few weeks to my final exams, I saw an ad on the college blog, the biggest writing competition in the country. I lazily submitted an entry and forgot about it. Just a day before my final exams began, I got an email. I made it to the final round of the competition but I had to appear physically for the final part of this competition. I had to choose: my final exams or what I love doing. I chose what I loved doing. 

I spent a week there, writing stories under time pressure and “unfair” word limits. I won the competition, but at the expense of my exams. The calls from home were full of anger, disappointment. They talked to me like I was an ungrateful child, like I had no regard for the effort put towards my education. In the midst of the unfolding drama, I got a call. The biggest blog in the country took note of my performance in the competition and offered to work with me. I accepted the offer without thinking twice. 

Fast-forward a few years and I just won the Times Award for my immense impact in Writing and Storytelling. I have countless awards and nominations to my name, with my books receiving positive reviews from high-profile literature critics. I still remember all those years ago, standing in front of the gate, plagued by uncertainty and unanswered questions. I have all the answers, I grasped those opportunities and carved out my own path.