On January 22nd, the last day of the first semester, I got the D. A 69.9% in my English class. Most of you might see it as just another grade or another letter of the English alphabet, but my parents certainly don‘t. See, to Asian parents, an A is an A, but a B is an F, a C is an F-, and a D is a slap in the face so hard, you’ll wake back up in Asia. To Asian parents, anything less than an A is only assuring you a future at the local McDonald’s with a mop and a gray jumpsuit with a nametag that says ‘janitor‘.

        My English teacher didn’t round my grade up, but I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her because it wasn’t her fault that I got that grade, it wasn’t her fault that I got a D, it wasn’t her fault that my parents are so ashamed, they can’t even tell me they love me, it wasn’t her fault that I am nothing more than a failure.

As much as it kills me to see that grade, all I can do now is accept it. Even though that grade might just be the only tarnish on my transcript, even though that grade might be the reason I don’t get into my dream school, even though that grade might be the reason I don‘t become the author I hope to be, I can’t do anything, but accept it.

My whole life has been centered around reaching for the stars, that way, if I fall, I’d land on the clouds. I’ve striven my whole life for the stars by choosing hard classes and being in extracurriculars, I just wished someone warned me of how freaking hard it was gonna be. The hardest part about “reaching for the stars,” is that you’ll end up faltering in at least one class to the point where your teacher begins to question why you enrolled because it seems as if you’re not even trying. Well I do try, but maybe trying to maintain an A in seven classes; trying to do well in volleyball; attempting to defy beliefs in Debate; and being part of the school musical, might just be a bit hard. Maybe I did poorly on that English test because I had to study for my history test, or my pre-calc test, or one of the other 5 million tests that my teachers demonically schedule on the same day. Maybe it was because of that, that I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I feel like shit. But nothing makes me feel more like shit than knowing that to my English teacher, I’m nothing more than the grades that I get on my test; that I’m just 11/20; that I’m nothing more than just a 55% failure, a sorry excuse for half of a human being.

It’s a sad truth, but it’s a fact that there are others who experience the same thing I do. So for all of you who understand what I’m talking about, I can give you a million lies on how your world will be just dandy, how your life will turn out sweeter than candy, how everything will just be perfect, but at the end of the day, those are nothing but lies. At the end of the day, you’ll still feel like crap. Days will come when you’ll feel terrible cause it seems as if the world is coming down on you. Days will come when it seems as if you’ve hit rock bottom, but hey. Hitting rock bottom, might jut be the thing you needed. ‘Cause rock bottom might just be the foundation on which you build the amazing future you’re destined for. So don’t you dare let anyone limit your future to the crimson colored ink stain on your paper. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you that you’re not worth the life you dream to have. Because you are. We are. Because we are worth more than a collection of simple numbers. We are not defined by the grades that we do or don’t get. We are worth more than a collection of simple numbers. We are more substance than just numbers. So don’t you dare let anyone cut your dreams short, I sure as hell won’t. And years from now, on January 22nd, when I am living my dream as a New York Time‘s Best Selling Author, I will personally deliver my book to my English teacher now. And on the cover, in red pen, it’ll read “11/20,” the grade I got telling me that I’m nothing more than a failure, on my novel, a reminder that I didn’t let anyone define my own future.