What Was Supposedly Lost

Dear busily-studying, and all the more stressed Readers,

As you all (including myself) are adamantly waiting for Thanksgiving break and Winter break, which will subsequently follow assuming that we will be able to save our grade point averages from their fall over the infinitely steep cliff of doom, I’d like to begin this blog post by thanking you for your consistent support for my some-thousand worded posts and ridiculous ideas that inspire me to keep writing (when I can) considering my heightened and therefore, occupied schedule. And so, without further ado, I’d like to begin my blog post with these assumingly poetic words:

This is the tale of a dreamer.

This is a tale of a dream.

Both are inevitably separated.

Only to be united again.

 

“You…suck.”

Her words hit my face like a crater; hard enough to shatter me into a million pieces, cruel enough to make me feel as irrelevant and useless as floating dust. I was saddened, discouraged, and of course, heartbroken, as if a  plethora of preceding synonyms did not suffice for me to express how my confidence, my future, and my life was ultimately set to end. It was over now. At the age of ten years old, my dream was gone. It dissipated into thin air. Poof.

At the very serious and crucial age of ten years old, as I struggled to wipe away the tears that would reveal my defeat,  I had come to the saddening conclusion that I surely was not meant for the greatness that I had aspired to achieve. I was told- no, I was spat in the face, and told with a sneer and mocking tone, that I was never cut out to be, and could never sport a snazzy snapback, and the ultimately unbeatable, immortal, and” un-mess-able ” persona that most people vie to be when looking at those who are prevalent in mainstream pop culture.  At this milestone in my life, it had (literally) hit me that I could never be Jay-Z or Eminem. Because at this particular milestone in my life, I was sadly convinced that I could never be, and was clearly never destined to be a rapper. Not because I was a female, not because I  was a brown child of a rather smaller and not-so-intimidating physique who was better off holding slides to put under a microscope instead of a microphone. But rather because I was simply told that I didn’t have what it would take.

And so, with my head drooping low, I made my way on my journey through my sad and boring life and was still in search of my medium to greatness. Unless I wasn’t meant for that, either. For years, I searched for solace with the empty space made my in my heart that was in need of wholeness. I found some comfort in journaling, mainly to report fights with siblings, feelings regarding my distaste for my parent’s preference that I could only have ice cream once I finished dinner and not before as I would have wanted. A part of me still wished to write poetry. But I dismissed the thought, and even had to stop my pen, knowing that the words I wrote could never be read aloud and would only stay confined to their two-dimensional form on paper. And that wasn’t what I wanted.

And so, life stayed that way. And soon the dream was almost forgotten, metaphorically speaking, tightly shut in a box and shoved in the back corner of the attic, never heard of again. And practically non-existent. The pain was patched up, and while the wound still hurt, it was now merely a scar that was seen, but numb from being forgotten for so long.

I thought I would never feel the same feelings again. I thought I would go on without knowing what it was like to convey my ideas to the masses, until four years later, when I would find my dream again, but in a better and perhaps more suitable form.

Amidst the pressure to put as many AP and fancy honors classes on my plate during the start of high school, I found myself in an Honors English class that was seemingly uneventful Fall of the year 2009. Clearly motivated only to get the well desired A, more than ready to move onto college where I planned on pursue medicine at the time, I certainly expected nothing short of boring and dry literary texts coming my way. Instead, I found myself more surprised.

As we studied poetry, I found myself assigned to read works by Shakespeare and other elderly men who were far from deceased. That day, however, my teacher had decided to show us a video of Russell Brand’s show, Brave New Voices, a show that allows mainly urban youth to display their talents through the use of something called spoken word. I was instantly mesmerized by the performer’s command of language, her ability to use beat and rhythm (yes, there is such thing as using beat and rhythm in spoken word poetry), while displaying her intelligence which made her all the more convincible and in my mind, pretty fierce. While I still struggle to find the original video to this day, I did however, find other artists that inspired me as I began to discover this new hobby that I had taken to liking.

Spoken word, though it does not require music, is music of its own. It’s the performer who sets the tone; it’s the performer who decides how they want to convey their poem. There’s no technique. There’s no right or wrong. It’s just you, your microphone, and your words. And that is all. After simply watching videos for years, I finally began to write poems of my own. I competed in the Spring of 2013, and though I only placed fifth place in state, knowing that I had performed was an accomplishment. And it wasn’t until then that I started to feel my wounds being healed. And it wasn’t until then that the words of discouragement that were said to me years ago were nothing but wrong. Nothing but hate towards a dream that I had, that was now fulfilled.

Until my next predictably overdue post, feel free to check out a spoken word performance by one of my favorite artists.

-AZ

Dear, Freshman: “The Study Cycle”

Far, far, away in a land called Fantasyland, there exists a such a population of students who exhibit the so-called “ideal” student. What/How so, you care to ask with puzzlement? Why, they are the ones you see in college catalogues, of course. The ones laughing (as if studying for an exam is a laughing matter. Perhaps Hell week doesn’t seem to exist on that certain campus) having no reluctance to showcase their beyond-crystal-like and infinitely shiny pearly whites, all while they comfortably study for their exams on the quad and enjoy a picnic with their study group consisting of trendily dressed individuals looking beyond all levels of attractive, people that in all honesty, look like they belong on the red carpet, or the runways of New York Fashion Week, and definitely not a college campus. Sigh. If only this didn’t just exist in our parallel and unreal (emphasis on the part where I say unreal) universe.

Having just taken an abundance of exam (and being able to relate to the past few days you’ve experienced that those only familiar with STLCOP will know as “Hell Week”), I decided to take the time to present to you, the phenomena I like to call “The Study Cycle” which consists of a few phases that as they progress, show the degradation of a normal student’s mind and body function while the exam(s) for [insert class] are only coming nearer by the minute.

THE STUDY CYCLE:

1. Eternal Bliss Is Gone

Did someone say “deadline?” or did they say “exam” instead? Or were you too busy scrolling on Pinterest to notice that the words were first  uttered by your professor not yesterday, not last week, but almost a month ago. Congratulations, you’re officially and if I must add, royally toast for what is in store. I mean this in the sweetest way possible, but may the world of procrastination (if it ever does, in which it rarely is) be ever in your favor.

2. Opened the Books Only To Close Them

So you finally had a mini-mental-intervention with yourself and convinced yourself that you will, by no means, go back to your procrastination-esque ways and will do anything in your power to ensure that you are fully prepared and on schedule to finish your paper and study for your exam(s) on time. And everything goes fine, and is as per your schedule, until you walk to the library, find a place to study, open up your notes, take out your laptop, and actually study. That is, until so-and-so comes by to talk to you about who-knows-what for who-knows-how-long. And by the time you’re done talking, AKA when so-and-so decides he/she wants to bug someone else/leave the library/actually wants to study, your attention span is completely lost. And just when you’ve gained your motivation back, a text from another so-and-so comes with a link to a funny video, which leads you to YouTube, and from there, all hope is indefinitely lost. And before you know it, the library is already about to close and you have no choice but to try to battle your consciousness and convince yourself that you indeed, did try your hardest to study today.

3. Feeling The Consequences

As a series of unfortunate events have unfolded from the moment you realized what you had on your plate, your situation has gotten only worse. It appears that the events at the library have not ceased, but have continued all the way until the night before your exam/paper is due. In coming to accept what has happened and hoping to make the best out of your rather suckish situation, you’ve decided to do a couple of things

a) purchase not one, but rather two or three Starbucks espresso shots in an assortment of flavors. You might as well be spontaneous tonight considering how long it’s going to be.

b) investing in a full can of Monster in case (a) doesn’t work and only makes you even sleepier because caffeine doesn’t exactly work on everyone

c) isolating yourself like a bear in the face of winter. Socializing will only be the death of you, this evening. Study groups are clearly not your thing especially when you have the attention span of a millisecond.

d) keep a box of Kleenex (or two) next to you in case you realize that you have no way of understanding what is going on in class, let alone, what’s going to be covered on the exam and will have no choice but to possibly accept defeat and throw your GPA into its grave. But whatever sparkle of optimism left within your soul somehow convinces you that there is still a chance. That there is surely a way.

Until the day of the exam, when your eyes are practically bloodshot from the lack of sleep, when your eyes are puffy from your emotional episode when your tears could not be held back as you looked at your notes in despair, still unable to figure out how all of this information will be relevant in the pharmacy one day.

But then you take the exam, and just taking it is an accomplishment. Until you get your score back…

 

Until my next blog post,

-AZ

A Letter To My First Love

To My First Love,

To the one who stole my heart like it was the last slice of grandma’s annual strawberry cheesecake on Thanksgiving. To the one whom this letter is all about. To the one who makes my world a better place when there was nothing but sorrow, or in this case, the one who made my world a better place while there was nothing but sorrow. The one whose presence was enough to give me a high that an infinite amount of drugs could never surpass, let alone, provide. To the one whose presence makes my heart jump to the moon while butterflies make their way to my stomach and make me feel nothing short of giddy and full of joy. To the one whose very mentioning makes me blush as if a thousand cherries were thrown at my face at full speed.  To the one who makes me laugh and cry until my lacrimal glands can produce no more tears. To the one who is unable to tell a good joke but is still able to make me smile beyond an infinite domain. To the one whom I told the three most beloved words very, very, long time ago.

I love you. And I always will. There will always be a place for you in my heart and in my memories that I will forever cherish till I am no more.

As far as I know, I will be seeing you soon, when I come back to Chicago. But seeing you again will only bring back memories of when I saw you for the first time, when you and I first met a long time ago. We met many times before then, but I can’t exactly remember when, but until that moment, our acquaintance was merely occasional.  I was young (and 4) and therefore, immature, incognito of the feelings that I’d have for you over time. Unaware that after the day we met, how you’d get me through all the times that were good and moments of adversity. How you were there for  me when I brutally scraped my knee after falling to my humiliating doom on the sidewalk on the first day of kindergarten. It was you who I turned to  make me forget about my embarrassment.  You were there for me after I broke down after  I froze up during my solo in the school play, when I only had one line that seemed to have slipped from my mind while fear was all I could think of. You were there for me on Halloween when Johnny Q told me I was ugly in the fifth grade. I called out to you for help right after I got my Bio exam back last year. Little did I know that it was you I loved from the very beginning. It was you whom I sought wholeness; it was you, and only you.

While you provided nothing but comfort and glad tidings over the years, I always knew that things would never work between us. In fact, when you were always a listener and comforter, never much of a talker. And from the looks of it, the situation was never bound to change. Because one fateful day, practically Jerry Springer style if I must add, I had shockingly came to realize  that I wasn’t the only person you cared about so deeply and compassionately. As tears as streamed down my cheeks, while all I had was a box of Kleenex was with me, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that despite how much I expected you to only be my source of encouragement, happiness, and comfort, you had ultimately played me and deceived me. I only blamed you for making me overweight, for making me self conscious and insecure and reliant on you. Not only that, but I was heartbroken and vowed to never love again. To never trust anyone else with my feelings. To never let anyone find their way to the core of my soul.

I realized that among the anguish that I had blamed you for causing, it was time to let you go once and for all. I decided that our communication must cease if I was to move on with my life. I will admit, there were times I relapsed and came to you like a tiny, innocent, starving puppy who had lost its way home. There were times I said sorry to you and made you come back to me amidst my desperation to fill in the empty piece of my heart. But this summer, June 15, I decided that this off and on relationship we had could continue no longer. I had come to the conclusion that for the time being, we couldn’t be friends. I would be a stranger to you and you would be a stranger to me. That was the rule.

Naturally, you weren’t too bothered by it. The process of getting over you affected me beyond all belief. I was devastated; I was having withdrawals just hours after I made the promise to myself to cut you out of my life. I promised myself that I would avoid you for 122 days.  After having many mental interventions with my consciousness, I decided that after 122 days, I would keep you at a fairly large distance in my life. I couldn’t go my whole life ignoring you. But our relationship would remain completely casual and occasional.

I saw you at family parties. I even saw you at the store. Coincidentally, you were everywhere I went. And despite that, I turned the other cheek knowing that it was only for my own good. When you happened to be at my cousin’s wedding, I went the other way. People wondered why I was avoiding you. But all I said was that things were complicated and I was making a change in my life even though most didn’t believe in me knowing that we were inseparable.

But let’s be honest; the amount of calories you came with was not what I needed. I decided to ditch you when I was down and decided to befriend the beloved treadmill at the gym instead. I don’t blame you entirely for all the hardships I’ve had in life, for all the muffin tops or love handles our relationship produced. I mainly blame my stupidity in coming to you when all I was in need of was my strength. And in all honesty, the less I see you, the happier I am. The more I realize that I am in control of my life, and don’t need anyone, or in your case, anything, to hold onto when life knocks the wind out of me.

Letting go of you for the last 108 days (yes, I’ve been keeping count) has been the most blessed experience for me. I feel empowered. I feel stronger than I have ever felt before. I feel like a whole new person because keeping you out of my life at a considerable distance has made it better rather than worse as I initially thought in the beginning of my journey.

No matter what you are or choose to be, whether it’s Hershey’s, Three Musketeers, Snickers, and Milky Way to name a few, I will always have a place for you in my heart. And despite how you made me feel, it will always be a struggle to not come to you when I’m in need. But knowing how much sweeter life is without being dependent on you has been the most rewarding thing of all time. And I will always know that while it’s not bad to see you every once in a while, it’s better that we simply stay as distant friends, as you do your own thing and I do mine.

Yours Truly,

Afreen

Until my next blog post,

-AZ

 

 

“So Where Have You Been?”

“So have you been blogging lately?”

“Where have you been?”

“Do you not blog anymore?”

“You still have a blog right? I feel like it got deleted or something. Just saying.”

“Are you that busy nowadays?”

“May I please have the address of the rock you’ve been living under for the last millennium, please? I never see you”

“Do you even exist anymore…?”

 

These are only a few of the many questions I have been receiving upon my arrival back to the good ‘ole STL. Despite the offence I had taken to the last question as well as the fact that WordPress.com recently congratulated me on my one year “Bloggerversary” (I just made up that word…), I’d like to confirm that I indeed exist as a human being, and not some supernatural or otherwise beyond-this-world-force that others would be subject to believe considering the fact that I have taken it upon myself to blog on this dark and dreary skied Wednesday of September which has already snuck upon us in the wake of the new school year. In truth, I must admit, I have been rather busier than usual since the school year. I can already imagine that those who were formerly second years or are in the same shoes as myself are doing nothing but rolling their eyes and sighing in dismay because they have no choice but to reluctantly agree as they can relate to my situation. Considering the fact that I have hit an unfortunate Writers Block and don’t exactly find any good reason to rant about it again as I did in a previous blog post, I thought I’d go cliché this time and get my blogging powers back by ranting about something better: the life of a second year, from the perspective of yours truly. And so, without further ado, I’d like to give you the following list:

 

The Perks And Not-So-Perks Of Being A Second Year….

1. It’s quite lonely.

This year, I had decided once again that I couldn’t part with my beloved Res Hall and thought I’d go for round two. Needless to say, many of my classmates didn’t exactly feel the same way as myself and proceeded to live a more legitimately adult life by getting an apartment off campus. While the suites provide me with an introvert-esque escape when I do not feel like interacting with the rest of humanity, lucky for me, I was fortunate enough to have a floor with fellow second years and suitemates that keep my sanity in check. (S/O to Kristin, Ayesha, and Betsy, by the way!)

2. Organic Chemistry Has Taken My Soul

Just thinking about the wrath of Organic Chemistry is enough to make you think you’ve been casted on a redo of Les Miserables. OR really just any movie that makes you grab at least ten boxes of Kleenexes for the next few weeks. OR in this case, the rest of the year. You see, Organic chemistry is analogous to the devil being in possession of your soul. It’s an enslavement that leaves you feeling lifeless, as if a million dementors (*Harry Potter Reference*)  literally did suck your your happiness, locked it up in a box, and decided they would keep it for the rest of the year. See you in May, my dear soul. Until the school year do us part then, I guess I have no choice but to wither away in my cave. *Escapes back under introvert rock as she completes class activities and daily quizzes due by midnight*

3. My Bed Is My Best Friend.

Although nothing will ultimately beat home, nothing will ever compare to the feeling one gets when has the opportunity to catch some Zee’s and get whisked off to dreamland where neither pharmacy school nor Organic Chemistry exists. Sigh. To be there eternally….

4. I’m just busier, I guess.

It’s indescribable. It’s not the workload, nor the stress. It’s just being a second year that has made my schedule all the more busier; it has been the reason my Friday Nights are not as enjoyable. It’s just being a second year that has made my planner all the more filled with due dates and more due dates; it’s the reason I long for trips to dreamland whenever I have the chance.

5. Regardless…

of my Writer’s Block I will continue to strive to provide you with entertaining blog posts that will hopefully take away your academic sorrow. I will make my utmost effort to blog twice a week despite the workload and other duties that call.

Until my next post,

-AZ

 

 

 

 

Gilgamesh and The Spartans: Why WE Are Heroes, Too

 

Dear Readers,

I have come back to my homely blogosphere after many weeks of being labeled MIA to deliver glad tidings to you all, after many weeks of disappearing into the abyss of the unknown. Today, dear Readers, I have come to you with my hands bearing a sweet gift; I come to you to deliver a message from the Higher Power, a revelation that I had just merely 72 hours ago while my mind ached with pain as I suffered from Writers Block illness, while my fingers were too weak to type even a letter on my Fujitsu as I travelled home via the Amtrak for the Labor Day weekend. Today, I have come to convey a very important fact to you all as the idea of a ninth month school year finally kicks into your brain, as you prepare to say goodbye to the cold weather that is doomed upon us. And before we know it, finals week will soon head on over. And that’s when all anxiety and nightmares are unleashed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Anyhow, as the title suggests, it has been revealed to me during my virtual hibernation that our species Homosapian-Eutectus is not merely equivalent to a miniscule human as we had always assumed about ourselves. In fact, we must give ourselves more credit and pride knowing that we are indeed more gifted than that. We have the potential mental capacity to rule the world; the potential to be recognized as heroes. That’s right, heroes.

You see, the years we spend here is not merely a journey as we struggle and strive to earn a Pharm D. Rather, it is a quest in which we must battle the obstacles that not only come our way that inevitably exist to put us down; obstacles in the form of ferocious beasts and enemies that we formally know as exams and even worse: final exams. It is only when we battle these demons and dragons that we earn the respectable title and the bragging points that consequently follow;  it is when we ultimately end one chapter of our lives and hopefully move onto the next. This quest that each of us have chosen to take on (surely one of many that we will take on in a lifetime), when finally achieved, will not only mark a milestone, but an epic as we take on the title of a true hero; a warrior who fought till the last beast was conquered and put to rest in its place. Because who said that the only heroes were Odysseus from Homer’s The Oddysey, who said that it was only characters from The Lord Of The Rings, Star Wars, and Gilgamesh himself who could be given the title of a hero and/or a warrior?

If you do not cease to disbelieve me, here’s a few points about mythical heroes and epics. And here’s why we fit the description completely… (as taken from my Cultural Notes)

Patterns Of Ancient Western Myths (STLCOP Style)

1. Gods and Heroes die and come back to life.

2. Destruction of the world and then the world is reborn.

There is nothing godly about being a STLCOP student. It is notable that while we possess the strength, the courage, and the power of will to take on the curriculum, we are indeed still under the rule of our “Godly” superiors (hint: the person whom your grade depends on, the person who will affect your GPA forever and beyond) who ultimately use their power to grant us our title. But one thing is for certain, coming and leaving STLCOP is like the cycle of life. Weeks before heading onto a long weekend, we exhaust our brains enough to resemble apocalyptic zombies. It is only when we go home or take a break, even, and come home to continue on our quest that we are recharged and reborn, ready to conquer that Pharm D. once and for all.

3. The world was created by supernatural forces.

Many, many years ago around the time that the Epic of Gilgamesh was finally discovered, a group of supernatural beings came together and decided that the academic world was in need of an institution with both prestige and pride. This institution, these supernatural forces thought, would bear both a curse and a blessing. Simply having one over the other wouldn’t do, they noted as they took a rather gigantic pot and stirred both sugar and spice together, made brick walls and built a building that they would proudly call STLCOP. This building would be a blessing to the world, an opportunity for students to get their Pharm D. right out of high school, a great place to add to one’s resume, a great place to mention at a family reunion when you want to impress your relatives whom you haven’t seen in ages, or when you want to put down that one cousin that got into every Ivy League school simply because she was able to discover the existence of unicorns on Pluto. However, every good in the world comes with a price, and that price was that students would have to exchange their soul for the next couple of years if a Pharm D. is what they indeed wished for. It is only when they would graduate that they would be able to live again, when they would find something human in themselves, when they would finally be free.

And so, dear Readers, I must leave you with this. Look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you are indeed a hero. Look at your strength, your courage, and your optimism (whatever is left of it that is). Look into the empty part of your heart that once contained your soul which you will soon see again on graduation day. Look at the loans you will have to pay off, the pile of work that sits on your desk, and your phone that doesn’t hesitate to send you a million alerts from Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook. Turn your phone off. Sit on your desk, and get to work because the study break is over.

 

Until my next post,

-AZ

Introducing “Dear Freshman”: A Fall Blog Post Series Coming Soon Near You

Dear Readers,

As if I haven’t started my summer blog posts with this beginning line enough, I hope that every one of you who decided to click on this blog post have had an amazing summer and are excited to return to campus this Fall. In case some of us had magically fallen off the face of the earth and drifted to another planet by accident and just found ourselves back to Earth from the generosity of friendly aliens, it is my responsibility to announce that there have been a few changes to STLCOP that everyone should hypothetically be aware of by now.

To correct any future mistakes, this year, we will not have first years, but rather freshman. Yup, it’s back to the bottom to those who once called themselves seniors in high school. Therefore, STLCOP has announced that it will have a seven year program instead of one that is six years long. A change like this will not only affect the freshman but also those of us who are higher up the STLCOP hierarchy.

Given this drastic change, I am more than thrilled to announce that in honor of my pre-Fall Writer’s Block and my new-found title as a second year, I’ve decided to dedicate a few blog posts here and there to those who will be new to the STLCOP world and will therefore be clueless about what they will expect.

By doing this, I do not want to toot my horn and consider myself to be one to have a PhD in college life. After all, it was only a few months ago that I, along with two hundred other something students were still considered “first years.” Because of this, I still consider myself fairly new to campus, and therefore, am still adjusting to STLCOP life and have accustomed myself to utilize the hashtag #STLCOPprobs at any chance I get. However, I still believe that throughout the 2013-2014 school year, I have come to possess at least some worldly knowledge about college life which I am obliged to share to those who are adamant in making their first year nothing short of successful, and let’s be honest-fun.

Anyhow, out of empathy to the little ones who will be joining us this Fall and beyond, I’d like to lovingly name these blog posts “Dear Freshman.” Here on this blog, I hope to pass on and share my knowledge about the do’s and do not’s of campus, the perks and the not-so-perks of STLCOP, itself. The first year of college is full of many eventful firsts which I hope to convey in these following posts not out of any criticism or harshness, by any means, but by means that will allow me to still make my point with a pinch of humor.

I ask that every one who reads these posts feel free to comment, like, and even share them. I am more than welcome to any sort of feedback (both good and bad) and would love to hear anyone else’s thoughts.

Until my next blog post,

-AZ

In My Professional Opinion

We’ve all been in this place before. Awaiting our fate as we merely hang onto life at the edge of the cliff, seeing our doom many feet or even miles below. Somehow wondering with our emotions all over the place-anxious, confused, nervous, even more anxious, sometimes even sad because right now all you want more than anything else is to curl up on your couch with a comfy fleece blanket and rewatch all the episodes of Friends rather than be where you are right now, but taking on this feat is indeed, a must. Today, you are on an adventure in the world of professionalism. In Charles Darwin’s terms, you are proving that you are the fittest and definitely can survive. Because today, on a weekend or weekday at hours that are completely inconvenient for you (maybe even way too early for you to usually get up), you are at a job interview. *Insert a dramatic violin tune*

We all know that the world we live in is nothing short of competitive. Social Darwinism is not merely a theory, but a fact. Having experienced interviews for varying job positions in the last few years of my life as well as recently, there have always been rules (both important and some that I find tedious) that must be followed if one is to prove themselves fittest and therefore, the best for a job. In other words, when you sit across that table, you are on a mission to convince the person in the big chair across from you that you’re not only a good potential worker, but worthy of signing a check for every pay day.

Therefore, doing so may or may not take drastic measures. Besides going out of your way to pin up stray ends of hair and polish yourself to professional perfection, it’s also been important to have your way with your words. Translation: say what your potential boss wants to hear, not what you really and truly want. Furthermore, do not by all means follow your id, but rather your superego.

What You Have To Say Versus What You Want To Say:

1. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Id: My name is [insert name] and I need a job because there’s no other reason I’d be here right now.

Superego: My name is [ insert name] and [insert your achievements, even all the certificates you have  received for simply participating. Mention all your aspirations (at least the ones that will impress them) in life and why you are nothing short of amazing and therefore, employable.]

2. “Why do you want to work here?”

Id: I saw that your company was hiring and my bank account isn’t getting any bigger. Need I say more? (refer to question number one)

Superego: I definitely want to gain a lot of experience and I feel that working here will allow me to do that. [ Insert your lifelong dreams and aspirations and how this job will lead you to getting a Nobel Peace Prize. And maybe even an Oscar.]

3. “What separates you from other candidates? In other words, why should I hire you?”

Id: You should hire me because I’ve managed to look somewhat presentable and therefore, need a job more than anything else. Need I say more?

Superego: [insert what makes you special and therefore the best for the job.]

4. “Tell me about your strengths.”

Id: Didn’t I already just tell you why I should be hired?

Superego: [insert your strengths and abilities. Mention past experiences you've had.]

5. What are your weaknesses?

Id: I have none. I’m practically a superhero, dude.

Superego: My current weaknesses would include {…} but I’ve definitely been improving on it…etc.

6. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Id: Am I hired?

Superego: [Ask any questions you may have about the job/company etc.]

 

-AZ