The Enigma that is Clarity
Unlike the definition of the word, I think that one of the most confusing words within the English lexicon is ‘clarity’, especially when it’s attached to the greater concept of life. I know that confusion almost always comes with the territory of being a teenager, like an unwanted buy-one-get-one-free deal, but I can’t help but feel as if I’ve been graced with an even heavier curtain of fog than is the usual.
What’s meant to happen will happen, and when the time is right, clarity will naturally come to me. I cannot count how many times I’ve heard these words repeated, in various orders and in languages, in the past several years. Several months away from my eighteenth birthday, I still cannot understand, or bring myself to agree with these words. What time is the right time, and what kind of things are immovably set to happen, simply because they’re meant to happen?
I can already imagine myself in ten, twenty, or maybe thirty years, reading this and laughing at my greenness. Maybe then I’ll be wiser, and I’ll have the answers to these questions, but right now, I am still worlds away from this clarity.
The two biggest decisions I’ve made so far in my life so far are which universities to apply to, and which university to attend. Neither of them were guided by the magical, directional pixie dust that is clarity, which my family and friends and attest to with conviction. I wasn’t clear on what I wanted to major in, or what kind of school I wanted to attend, or even what continent I wanted to be on, and as a result I submitted thirty-three university applications to schools in three countries and two continents. The range of majors I’d chosen across the schools I applied to was so wide that when I received my second acceptance letter, one that didn’t mention my chosen major, I didn’t remember what I would be studying there.
When I was accepted to my dream school, I was ecstatic and subsequently refused to apply for scholarships for any following schools, because I was set on attending my dream school, which turned out to be two hundred thousand dollars over-budget, and so I was set afloat once more. Eventually, I chose a highly-ranked public school in the US three hours away from my house, paid the deposit, and promptly withdrew my acceptance less than three weeks later when I was accepted to another school so far away that I’d need to embark upon a flying metal canister for thirteen hours to reach it.
Did I make the right decisions? I wish I knew, but alas, clarity has yet to reach me. I’ll be flying to China alone, for the first time, to a city I’ve never been to and where I know exactly one person that I’ve met once, in six weeks, and I'll be there for the next four years. If my emotions surrounding university were to be sorted by numeric amounts, perplexity and uncertainty would undoubtedly lord above all others, except maybe excitement to be finally free. My father maintains his position that when the time comes, everything will become clear, but as of now, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going, much less if I’m going in the right direction.
I have no way of knowing when clarity will decide to bestow me with the honour of its presence, or if it ever will, but a chaotic university application cycle and weeks of fluctuating choices later, I’ve learned, just little, how to forge ahead without it. It may be for better or it may be for worse, but for now, I think I’ll enjoy the blessing of being young enough to afford mistakes, detours, and childish confusion.
