I kind of feel like Dad and my older sister are totally controlling what I write for my college essay, and I’m just the mouthpiece for it. I just type what they tell me to write about and portray myself as, but they don’t ever think that what I write is good. I’ve been wondering… I might as well get them to write it for me, if they think nothing is good. To be honest, I’ve been looking at what I wrote on my own before they gave me “advice,” and it’s a lot more interesting than the stale drafts I’ve been churning out. But maybe my own writing doesn’t package me correctly or portray me as someone appealing to colleges. Everything they want me to write about is made up. They never happened. And I never thought like that.

These days, I’ve had no motivation to write. It’s like pulling teeth. And everything I write is like dry, stale bread. No matter what you do with it, it’s still hopeless. I’ve been working on and off since July and I have about 25 pages of discarded material. But according to them, I have nothing. Because what I write doesn’t paint an image of me as someone an admissions officer will want. And maybe I’m throwing away all my accomplishments of the past years if I don’t write an essay that will get me into college. My parents think that I’m just a naturally s***** writer, but that’s not it. As soon as I open up the word file, I feel sick. My mind just goes blank and I stare at the screen, trying to eek out more words like the toothpaste at the bottom of the tube.

Just now, my dad took my phone and turned off all my internet in an effort to get me to write something “presentable.” Maybe I was too sick of this, or maybe I was just so lazy. Maybe it was to spite him in a feeble act of rebellion. I sat and stared at the screen, pretending to type. I hate what I write. I hate myself for complaining. I hate that I’m still obeying them, when this rant is about precisely why I shouldn’t. I hate that I’m so afraid of failure. I hate that everyone around me has defined success in such narrow terms.

Anyways, I’m one of those entitled kids who’s supposed to sell his soul to get into an Ivy League school. I have the privilege to be upset about my college essay (or lack thereof), of all things. I’ll probably look back at this and laugh at how whiny I was. My internet is still off. I want to tell my friends about what’s happening, but they would tell me to stop listening to my Dad and sister, and I can’t. I’m too weak, and I’m too Chinese. This was my act of non-productivity and of non-defiance. I only need a few more, and I’d have a 58th college essay. Still nothing.

Update: I think what I write is absolute s***.

Update: Dad thinks I’m really immature. I probably am. He says I’m lucky that he and sis are in a good enough mood to help me so much. This is really naive of me, but shouldn’t my own family just be willing to help me in general? Of course, this is exactly the kind of viewpoint Dad cites as proof of my immaturity.