I Am My Anchor

Erica Harris

Revelle College, Bioengineering: Biotechnology

Poetry

The first week of my arrival in San Diego, I attended my college’s orientation. I got to meet not just other UCSD students, but other transfer students. However, I could not find others who do not fit in society’s idea that it takes 2 years to graduate with an associate degree and a total of 4 years to graduate with a Bachelor’s degree. Being in a much larger environment at UCSD compared to my community college, it’s very easy to feel so small, so insignificant.


Every day is a battle with my anxiety and depression. One is constantly pushing me to do more, saying I’m not doing enough, that I’m not good enough, while the other tells me it’s hopeless and that I should just stop and give up. When I focus too much on the day-to-day grind, I just feel like Sisyphus with the ever-growing tasks on my to-do lists: everything I must do, should do, could do. It feels like I’m trapped. There’s a weight on my chest and everything I need to do is swirling around. I can’t see what I need to do. It’s like I’m stuck in the middle of a hurricane, but I’m not safe. I’m on a makeshift raft and the waves are coming at me, saying I don’t belong here at UCSD, I shouldn’t have moved 2,000+ miles away from my family, that I shouldn’t even be here today. Then the waves overtake me.


And I let it happen. I let the storm slowly drain what life force I have left. At my previous college, friends and professors sent me off saying to enjoy my time as a college student. Here in the quarter system at UCSD, I don’t feel like I have any time to rest, or even take a short break. I don’t understand how I can, even when only taking 12 or 16 units. I spend all my time attending lectures, discussions, office hours, SI Sessions, studying, and working. I don’t even have time to take care of myself, what did they mean to “have fun”? Last quarter I spent over 10 hours a week studying for one of my classes, not including the time I spent in all of the above activities. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get above a 70 on the exams. This quarter, I just sluggishly move my mouse from one zoom meeting to the next, praying that the quarter ends soon. It’s these times that I wonder what I’m working so hard for. When I’m at my lowest, something inside me glows, and slowly but suddenly, I feel a spark light in my chest. Thoughts of the ones I love flash into my mind. I remember that I have a cat who wouldn’t understand if I was gone. A partner who wouldn’t understand what pushed me so far. An autistic brother who wouldn’t know why his sister won’t visit anymore. And a girl who would be oh so devastated to know I’ve actually given up: me. The spark then turns into a flame as my heart and mind begin to anchor as the love I feel for others brings me back to focus. I fight against the water and break the surface. I find my raft and tied it to it is an anchor, keeping it in place. It’s safe, and so am I.


At the end of my orientation, the other students and I were asked to get into a large circle as they started to hand out graduation tassels. Before we could say anything, one of the leaders spoke. He told us that since we’re here at UCSD as transfer students, they believe we can make it all the way to the graduation stage. I think about the 3 years it took for me to get my associate degrees. And how it’ll take 3 more before I graduate with a bachelor’s degree. My face flushed and I attempted to make myself smaller out of embarrassment.


That’s when the orientation leader recited the graduation speech. As he read it, I looked down at the tassel in my hand. That’s when I saw the symbol of an anchor, and my world suddenly shifted. An anchor, the name of a song by the artist Skillet, that steadies me in rough times. This symbol that keeps me safe, was right here in my hand. Right here because I was here in Revelle College at UCSD. I felt a wave of calmness as waves of understanding told me that I belonged here. I truly belong here. I strongly believe that everything happens for a reason, and this symbol was proof of that. Me, a girl who moved away from Georgia, away from what made sense, to carve my own path and make UCSD a reality, graduating with 3 associate degrees and going to graduate with a major in bioengineering and a minor in business.


When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I like to drink Barley tea because my Japanese mother used to make it for me, so I used it to stain my art piece of three haikus. Having faced many storms, I feel weathered and tired, just like this poem. But no matter what problem I may encounter, I always have an anchor to hold me down, which is represented by the strong backing and support of the canvas. There’s no giving up.

Disclaimer: Many storytellers here shared vulnerable experiences, which might be triggering to some. Please see below for resources.