The backpack I never opened.
The backpack I never opened.
I remember begging my mom not to make me go to school almost every morning. I remember being bullied. And after years of being prey, I got tired of it. I went to the gym, took creatine, and eventually became a bully myself.
I remember the anxiety, the stress, and the authoritarian environment we were forced to learn in. It shaped not just my school days but my life at home. “Homework” felt like an invasion. I subconsciously stopped opening my backpack altogether, sometimes not even bringing it inside.
But at the same time, I was that 4-year-old kid playing on an IBM in the living room. My dad was at work, my mom had no idea what the machine even was, and I just dove right in. It wasn’t scary, and it wasn’t complicated. It was a toy.
Almost nothing in school stuck. I remember more about AOL, dial-up internet, and RuneScape than I do from twelve years of compulsory education.
By the time I graduated high school, my mind was almost completely closed to traditional learning. I relied more on Wikipedia and YouTube, SparkNotes and Chegg, than on anything taught in class. I was bored to death by advanced math that didn’t stick and that I’d never use. If it hadn’t been for a few teachers who genuinely cared, I might not have finished at all.
After high school, I did two years of full-time and some part-time college. But I gravitated toward work, an entry level job, where I could see immediate results. I bought my own car, paid my own phone bill, and constantly tinkered with computers. I bounced between jobs so often my resume could be mistaken for a dictionary. I quit without notice, took breaks, and searched for something that felt right.
Eventually, the combination of minimum-wage jobs, failing classes, and living at home pushed me into depression. Two years went by, and I genuinely thought about driving my car off Niagara Falls. I told myself: do everything you’ve ever wanted first… then come back to the waterfall.
One of those dreams was living alone in a new place. So I packed my car and drove to Austin, Texas. My dad co-signed a tiny $425 apartment for me. It was a dump, but it was mine. I had my own room and three roommates I never met.
I drove around the city looking for work. I walked into a Best Western Plus, and the second I flashed my license, the manager told me to come back Friday with khakis. That was it. I was a shuttle driver. For the first time in my life, I felt free. I was genuinely happy.
Two weeks later, at a New Year’s party, I met Marrick. She studied international tourism in the Philippines and always dreamed of working in the U.S. We dated for a couple months before she told me she had to leave. Her visa was expiring. A week later, I drove her to the courthouse, and we got married.
I won’t pretend I didn’t have doubts. But I knew I could, at the very least, change someone’s life before I ever thought about driving off a cliff. Fast-forward, and I can’t imagine life without her. In 2026, we’ll hit seven years married.
Looking back, even at just 28, I wonder why it all felt so miserable and so hard. Youth really is wasted on the young. It breaks my heart to realize how close 19-year-old me came to not being here. And it breaks my heart to see kids today bring weapons to school. I get it more than I’d like to admit: when someone feels like they have nothing to lose, anything becomes possible.
The world needs more people who question what doesn’t make sense and challenge what doesn’t feel right. The world needs more people willing to collaborate, support each other, and build something together.
Our current system, especially our educational system, doesn’t encourage any of that.
I don’t pretend to know the perfect solution. But I know, without a doubt, what isn’t working.
I remember begging my mom not to make me go to school almost every morning. I remember being bullied. And after years of being prey, I got tired of it. I went to the gym, took creatine, and eventually became a bully myself.
I remember the anxiety, the stress, and the authoritarian environment we were forced to learn in. It shaped not just my school days but my life at home. “Homework” felt like an invasion. I subconsciously stopped opening my backpack altogether, sometimes not even bringing it inside.
But at the same time, I was that 4-year-old kid playing on an IBM in the living room. My dad was at work, my mom had no idea what the machine even was, and I just dove right in. It wasn’t scary, and it wasn’t complicated. It was a toy.
Almost nothing in school stuck. I remember more about AOL, dial-up internet, and RuneScape than I do from twelve years of compulsory education.
By the time I graduated high school, my mind was almost completely closed to traditional learning. I relied more on Wikipedia and YouTube, SparkNotes and Chegg, than on anything taught in class. I was bored to death by advanced math that didn’t stick and that I’d never use. If it hadn’t been for a few teachers who genuinely cared, I might not have finished at all.
After high school, I did two years of full-time and some part-time college. But I gravitated toward work, an entry level job, where I could see immediate results. I bought my own car, paid my own phone bill, and constantly tinkered with computers. I bounced between jobs so often my resume could be mistaken for a dictionary. I quit without notice, took breaks, and searched for something that felt right.
Eventually, the combination of minimum-wage jobs, failing classes, and living at home pushed me into depression. Two years went by, and I genuinely thought about driving my car off Niagara Falls. I told myself: do everything you’ve ever wanted first… then come back to the waterfall.
One of those dreams was living alone in a new place. So I packed my car and drove to Austin, Texas. My dad co-signed a tiny $425 apartment for me. It was a dump, but it was mine. I had my own room and three roommates I never met.
I drove around the city looking for work. I walked into a Best Western Plus, and the second I flashed my license, the manager told me to come back Friday with khakis. That was it. I was a shuttle driver. For the first time in my life, I felt free. I was genuinely happy.
Two weeks later, at a New Year’s party, I met Marrick. She studied international tourism in the Philippines and always dreamed of working in the U.S. We dated for a couple months before she told me she had to leave. Her visa was expiring. A week later, I drove her to the courthouse, and we got married.
I won’t pretend I didn’t have doubts. But I knew I could, at the very least, change someone’s life before I ever thought about driving off a cliff. Fast-forward, and I can’t imagine life without her. In 2026, we’ll hit seven years married.
Looking back, even at just 28, I wonder why it all felt so miserable and so hard. Youth really is wasted on the young. It breaks my heart to realize how close 19-year-old me came to not being here. And it breaks my heart to see kids today bring weapons to school. I get it more than I’d like to admit: when someone feels like they have nothing to lose, anything becomes possible.
The world needs more people who question what doesn’t make sense and challenge what doesn’t feel right. The world needs more people willing to collaborate, support each other, and build something together.
Our current system, especially our educational system, doesn’t encourage any of that.
I don’t pretend to know the perfect solution. But I know, without a doubt, what isn’t working.
I remember begging my mom not to make me go to school almost every morning. I remember being bullied. And after years of being prey, I got tired of it. I went to the gym, took creatine, and eventually became a bully myself.
I remember the anxiety, the stress, and the authoritarian environment we were forced to learn in. It shaped not just my school days but my life at home. “Homework” felt like an invasion. I subconsciously stopped opening my backpack altogether, sometimes not even bringing it inside.
But at the same time, I was that 4-year-old kid playing on an IBM in the living room. My dad was at work, my mom had no idea what the machine even was, and I just dove right in. It wasn’t scary, and it wasn’t complicated. It was a toy.
Almost nothing in school stuck. I remember more about AOL, dial-up internet, and RuneScape than I do from twelve years of compulsory education.
By the time I graduated high school, my mind was almost completely closed to traditional learning. I relied more on Wikipedia and YouTube, SparkNotes and Chegg, than on anything taught in class. I was bored to death by advanced math that didn’t stick and that I’d never use. If it hadn’t been for a few teachers who genuinely cared, I might not have finished at all.
After high school, I did two years of full-time and some part-time college. But I gravitated toward work, an entry level job, where I could see immediate results. I bought my own car, paid my own phone bill, and constantly tinkered with computers. I bounced between jobs so often my resume could be mistaken for a dictionary. I quit without notice, took breaks, and searched for something that felt right.
Eventually, the combination of minimum-wage jobs, failing classes, and living at home pushed me into depression. Two years went by, and I genuinely thought about driving my car off Niagara Falls. I told myself: do everything you’ve ever wanted first… then come back to the waterfall.
One of those dreams was living alone in a new place. So I packed my car and drove to Austin, Texas. My dad co-signed a tiny $425 apartment for me. It was a dump, but it was mine. I had my own room and three roommates I never met.
I drove around the city looking for work. I walked into a Best Western Plus, and the second I flashed my license, the manager told me to come back Friday with khakis. That was it. I was a shuttle driver. For the first time in my life, I felt free. I was genuinely happy.
Two weeks later, at a New Year’s party, I met Marrick. She studied international tourism in the Philippines and always dreamed of working in the U.S. We dated for a couple months before she told me she had to leave. Her visa was expiring. A week later, I drove her to the courthouse, and we got married.
I won’t pretend I didn’t have doubts. But I knew I could, at the very least, change someone’s life before I ever thought about driving off a cliff. Fast-forward, and I can’t imagine life without her. In 2026, we’ll hit seven years married.
Looking back, even at just 28, I wonder why it all felt so miserable and so hard. Youth really is wasted on the young. It breaks my heart to realize how close 19-year-old me came to not being here. And it breaks my heart to see kids today bring weapons to school. I get it more than I’d like to admit: when someone feels like they have nothing to lose, anything becomes possible.
The world needs more people who question what doesn’t make sense and challenge what doesn’t feel right. The world needs more people willing to collaborate, support each other, and build something together.
Our current system, especially our educational system, doesn’t encourage any of that.
I don’t pretend to know the perfect solution. But I know, without a doubt, what isn’t working.