Protecting my peace 

To be honest, I’ve never had a real “dream school” I wanted to attend. Like many students across the Bay Area, I just wanted to be at a “good” school — a school prestigious enough to silence the doubt I felt from others and eventually, from myself.

Why were those my intentions, you may ask? I simply didn’t know any better. My parents, who grew up in Taiwan and attended university there, didn’t understand the American college system, let alone what it means to attend a “good” university. After seeing my cousins graduate from Brown, Johns Hopkins and Northwestern University, my definition of success essentially rested on attending a top-20 university.

And I worked hard toward that goal — a straight-A student, juggling extracurriculars and on-campus activities, internships, scholarship applications and keeping myself in line for supposed success. But even throughout high school, I always reminded myself that college wasn’t my ultimate end goal, that even if I didn’t get into an Ivy League school or a top private university, I would never let myself spiral into self-pity or doubt. I promised myself I would never let myself, or others, define my life by an institution — never become someone hollowed out by the competitive, cutthroat nature of Bay Area high school culture.

Then came the first semester of senior year. I was consistently waking up at 4:45 a.m. to rewrite college essays, attending back-to-back meetings for my community service commitments and going home to tackle hours of advanced placement coursework. I barely let myself get sick. 

I barely let myself breathe.

To preface, I applied to around 20 schools, including California State Universities, UCs, a couple of private universities and all eight Ivy League universities. 

So when I got an unexpected acceptance from UC Berkeley in February — coincidentally on my way to the Daily Journal to intern — I thought it was the first step to something more. 

A sign that it could only go up from here. 

And it did: UC Santa Barbara. UC Davis. UC Irvine. UC San Diego. Northwestern University for the Medill School of Journalism, Media, and Integrated Marketing Communications. But soon, every burst of confetti on my acceptance letters felt less and less like a celebration. I took for granted the opportunities I received early on — opportunities that many institutions across the nation simply can’t match.

So when Ivy Day rolled around, the day all eight Ivy League institutions simultaneously release their regular decision admission notifications, I had expected an indication of that same success. At least one letter from an Ivy League institution that would validate those early-morning study sessions and late-night grinds. But as I sat in my room, opening each decision letter one after the other with my parents on FaceTime, I could feel myself begin to spiral. 

“I am genuinely sorry to inform you that we cannot offer you admission for Fall 2026.”

“I understand that this message comes as a disappointment.”

“The increasing number of applicants to the university means that we cannot offer admission to every qualified applicant.”

It’s funny because, at that moment, my biggest concern was how other people would react to the rejections I received. Earlier that day, I recall classmates and peers wishing me good luck, and even after all the decisions were released, those same individuals were texting me and asking for updates. I was so afraid of being perceived as a failure by the very people I probably won’t see in the next year or so once I’m off to college. 

I was so afraid that I forgot to think about myself, my future and my life. 

So if you’re a parent, a student or anyone affected by college admissions here in America, I offer you this: Stop measuring your worth by where you get in, and start paying attention to how you’re living. 

Protect your peace. 

You will be OK. 

Because four years from now, no one will care how many confetti animations you collected on decision day. What will matter is what you built, who you became and how you treated yourself along the way.

As someone who just committed to UC Berkeley (go Golden Bears!), I’m so proud to call Cal my new home for the next four years. Why? Because you don’t need an Ivy League acceptance to prove that your hard work meant something. 

It already did.

Iny Li is a senior at Burlingame High School. Student News appears in the weekend edition. You can email Student News at news@smdailyjournal.com.