“Why do you have to go to college if all you want to do is write?  Like can’t you just be a writer?”  She smiled as she heard this question yet again, but on the inside she grimaced.

“I don’t know,” she thought. “Why do you have to go to college if all you want to be is a scientist?  Like can’t you just do experiments, isn’t that what science is all about anyways?”  Though she longed to say this she couldn’t.  She merely smiled and went with the patented, “well I want to learn to be a better writer.  I care about understanding the art and doing it well.”

“Oh, yeah sure,” they looked at her with an expression that clearly showed they did not understand.  She knew she could not make them understand.  All she could do was smile, nod, and carry on.  She also did not understand.  Why did people always ask her this?  Why was she the one that always heard, “oh, writing?  What exactly to you want to do with that?”

“I want to do the same thing everyone else does: learn and work,” she’d think to herself.  Nevertheless she let the condescension come and all she would say is, “I’ll take any job that let’s me work with literature.”  Someday, when she found her courage, she would look them in the eyes and say, “I want to do what everyone else has the chance to do.  I want to study my field, learn my field, and then get a job in my field.”  Then she would just walk away.


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