When I read Cara Tabachnick’s article, “U.S. student applications to colleges in Europe, U.K. and Asia jump amid rising costs and political turmoil,” I felt both inspired and unsettled. Inspired, because young people are daring to take control of their futures in ways that challenge traditional expectations. Unsettled, because the fact that so many students feel the need to leave America in search of affordable, peaceful education reveals just how broken our higher education system has become.
Tabachnick opens with the story of Genevieve Smith, a 19-year-old student from California who chose to study in the Netherlands after “rising costs and political turmoil in the U.S.” (Tabachnick). I imagined her at her desk late at night, surrounded by open tabs of foreign universities, the blue-white glow of the laptop reflecting off half-empty coffee cups. The image of a teenager scrolling through unfamiliar application portals just to escape financial strain highlights the quiet desperation behind many students’ choices. At an age when we’re told to “dream big,” those dreams are weighed down by tuition numbers, loan calculators, and a lingering fear that the American system may not value us as much as we value it.
Three quotes in the article captured this tension. Smith explained, “I feel as though going overseas, I can make a bigger difference.” This flipped the narrative for me: she wasn’t running away from the U.S., she was running toward opportunity. Jyslodet Davis added, “I feel like education should be free and accessible,” a statement that exposes a moral contradiction in a country that promises equality yet saddles young people with debt before their lives even begin. Tabachnick also notes that “campuses across the country have been rocked by protests,” a reminder that higher education in the U.S. is constantly entangled with politics. For decades, student movements, from civil rights sit-ins to antiwar demonstrations that shaped American history. The difference now is that students are not leaving out of apathy but out of frustration and necessity.
Looking at the broader context, Tabachnick points out that universities have been “embroiled in litigation” with the Trump administration and that “thousands of international student visas have been canceled.” Politics, immigration, and education collide in ways that directly affect students’ daily lives. Their decisions to study abroad become quiet political acts, silent protests made not with signs or megaphones, but with passport photos and international applications.
The statistics reinforce this shift. According to the Institute of International Education, the number of U.S. students studying abroad rose from about 50,000 in 2019 to more than 90,000 in 2024, nearly doubling in five years (Tabachnick). These aren’t just numbers, they represent tens of thousands of students losing faith in a system meant to nurture them. They represent families sitting at kitchen tables comparing tuition charts, students reading news about campus tensions, and young people feeling trapped in a cycle of rising costs and political chaos.
My reflections emerged from both personal experience and social awareness. As a college student navigating rising costs and uncertainty, I felt deeply connected to the students in Tabachnick’s article. Growing up, I was taught that college was the key to success, but the financial burden often makes that key feel out of reach. I also considered privilege. Davis was able to study abroad with “a grant for military families, savings and some scholarships” (Tabachnick). Even leaving an imperfect system requires resources, not everyone has the option to escape. That realization made me question whether I myself would ever have the chance to take such a risk.
Historically and socially, the timing of this trend matters. Tuition continues to climb. Political polarization shapes classroom conversations. Post-pandemic instability still lingers. These pressures are not isolated, they form the backdrop of every decision students make about their futures. Studying abroad becomes more than an academic choice; it becomes a cultural statement, an assertion of autonomy, and in some ways, an act of survival.
From a literary perspective, I aimed to blend emotional honesty with critical analysis. Writers like Joan Didion and George Orwell use personal reflection to illuminate broader social truths, and I tried to follow that approach. While writing, I listened to lo-fi and ambient tracks to maintain a reflective tone, letting a slow, steady rhythm guide the pacing of the piece. My goal was to create an essay that is thoughtful rather than cynical, an invitation for readers to consider these questions alongside me, not just observe them from afar.
Ultimately, the stories in Tabachnick’s article and my own questions converge on a single point: What would American education look like if we stripped away profit and prestige and centered purpose instead? What if students were treated not as customers but as citizens whose potential deserves investment? If this transformation doesn’t happen soon, how many more Genevieves and Jyslodets will leave, not because they want to, but because they feel they must?
This essay is more than a reflection on a trend. It is an exploration of hope, responsibility, and the changing meaning of education in a world where borders feel more open than opportunity at home. Behind every student application sent abroad is someone choosing optimism over habit, courage over comfort. Reading Tabachnick’s article made me rethink what it means to belong to a country, and whether education, at its best, should transcend borders entirely. Today, learning is not confined to classrooms; it is shaped by economics, culture, and conviction. In this shifting landscape, students are no longer passive recipients of knowledge, they are active architects of their own futures.
Works Cited
Tabachnick, Cara. “U.S. Student Applications to Colleges in Europe, U.K. and Asia Jump amid Rising Costs and Political Turmoil.” CBS News, CBS Interactive, 20 Sept. 2025, www.cbsnews.com/amp/news/college-applications-europe-uk-asia-jump-amid-rising-costs-political-turmoil/.
When I wrote my reflection on Cara Tabachnick’s article, I was responding not just to the text itself but to a growing feeling I’ve had about education in America. As a college student navigating rising costs and uncertainty about the future, I connected deeply with the students in Tabachnick’s story who chose to study abroad. Biographically, this piece came from my own experience of questioning whether higher education in the U.S. still feels worth the sacrifice. I grew up hearing that college was the key to success, but the financial burden often makes that dream feel out of reach. That tension between hope and doubt shaped both my tone and my choice of quotes in the reflection.
Historically, I was aware that Tabachnick’s article wasn’t written in isolation, it came out during a time of intense political division and economic strain in the U.S. The years following the pandemic saw tuition continuing to rise, protests on campuses, and debates about the value of college degrees. Writing my reflection, I wanted to connect these broader national trends to the personal stories in the article. The mention of “litigation with the Trump administration” and “canceled visas” reminded me that education has never been separate from politics. I saw this as a moment in American history when young people are quietly redefining what opportunity looks like.
Socially, the piece also reflects a shift in how students view identity and belonging. Many of my peers are reconsidering what it means to be “successful” in a globalized world. I wanted to capture that awareness, that studying abroad isn’t just a financial decision but a cultural statement. For some, it’s an escape from instability; for others, it’s a way of reclaiming control. The social pressure to conform to the traditional path of attending an American university inspired me to question what true freedom in education really means.
From a literary standpoint, my biggest goal was to balance emotional honesty with analysis. I was inspired by reflective nonfiction writers who blend personal narrative with social critique, such as Joan Didion and George Orwell. I tried to emulate their clarity and rhythm, particularly through first-person perspective and rhetorical questioning. I focused on tone and pacing, letting each paragraph build from a personal response to a broader insight. The challenge was not to sound overly cynical; instead, I aimed for empathy and curiosity. I wanted readers to feel that they were thinking through these questions with me, not just reading my conclusions.
Artistically, I drew influence from journalism, music, and conversations around me. The article itself has a quiet, serious rhythm that reminded me of acoustic music, subtle but emotionally charged. I listened to lo-fi and instrumental tracks while writing, which helped me maintain that reflective tone. The piece, in the end, became more than a response to an article, it became a mirror of how I see education, responsibility, and hope. Looking ahead, I’d like to expand this reflection into a larger essay exploring how young people are reshaping what it means to learn and live meaningfully in an unpredictable world.
Nham Tran is a student at Houston Community College majoring in Computer Science.