I graduated from college eleven months, two weeks and six days ago. I was in a relationship then, my parents flew in from Europe, and my commencement and birthday supposedly marked the beginning of my life as a young professional. My boyfriend at that time – let’s call him Mike for simplicity – was a few years older than me, pursuing a graduate degree, in the process of figuring out his life.
Mike and I both had international backgrounds, were driven and independent, had big ideas and goals. Without him, I most certainly would not have applied to Harvard Business School. He shared his love for food and wine with me, and encouraged me to get my motorcycle. I like to think that our relationship was a mutually beneficial one, and I have no hard feelings anymore.
Four weeks after graduation, Mike and I had our final fight. We had a few drinks at my neighbor’s party, began to argue. Thanks to the amount of alcohol consumed and my characteristic impertinent persistence, he finally admitted to having cheated on me with his ex girlfriend. The relationship ended then and there, on the 4th of July.
Now I am looking back, a year later, and wondering what surprises the summer will have in store for me this year. Much has happened over the last twelve months. If I had the option, I would not want to have a relationship with Mike again. I have no desire to go back, even though I am grateful for what we had. I don’t know if this past year has taught me anything or made me more mature. I like to think so, but have nothing to show for evidence other than a crazy unilateral romance (which really indicates that I am still an immature teenager rather than a young adult) and a number of warped experiences that I’ll put down in writing in due time.
What I do know is that in fifteen months from today I will begin my first semester at HBS. It’s something I’ve come to very much look forward to, and I am excited to find out what life is going to throw at me in between now and then.
