Here’s something I never thought I’d be proud to say: I quit a thing. More than that, I quit something I really, really wanted to succeed in.

This summer, I took an intensive language course that was supposed to gear me for a future academic career in language study. Ten units. Four hours of class a day, five days a week.

I decided against the summer job waiting for me back home. I decided against the ever-holy and beloved summer internship of spreadsheets and data entry. This class was going to be my everything. I was ready to dedicate my summer to intense study.

I didn’t heed the advice of my friend — who had undergone the same summer class for the same reasons the summer prior — to avoid the experience altogether. I didn’t listen to any of the course reviews. I wasn’t interested in being told I couldn’t do something, because I’ve been told I can’t do something too many times to ever take it seriously.

I fluff my way through my academic career by way of my naked, unbending will. I did it in high school. I’ve done it here. I was intent on succeeding. I assumed that would be enough.

I hate self-reflexive commentary about UC Berkeley’s academic culture more than anyone, but I can’t help but reinforce what we all already know: UC Berkeley puts your intellectual mettle on blast. That’s not something I say lightly.

UC Berkeley wants to kill you. UC Berkeley wants to pull you in, chew you up, draw and quarter you and toss you out on Telegraph Avenue like the roadkill you are.

I was so deeply unprepared for what I was getting into. I could handle the long class time. I couldn’t handle the grueling study hours.

Nothing came naturally to me. I had to put in so much time reviewing material, and then re-reviewing the material I forgot when I learned new concepts. I pulled regular all-nighters to barely keep below the unnaturally high pace of the class.

I was drowning every day.

I failed pretty much every test. More importantly, I wasn’t really learning the material. For every long night of study I put in, I lost everything I didn’t get a chance to review. It was too much. It was too much for me, specifically.

One of my classmates — a student from a different institution studying in UC Berkeley for the summer for this particular program — complained about the tone and culture of the class to me one day after a particularly stressful week. I was taken aback. I had been so focused on my own failure that I genuinely hadn’t noticed how bad the class culture really was.

I’ve been trained to swallow Berkeley’s academic culture in every class setting. The dehumanizing pace and tone of classes at this institution should not be acceptable.

It took somebody outside to point out the Berkeley intensity of class culture for me to remember its existence. I’m so conditioned to accept it.

When I finally mustered the courage to tell my professor flat out that this wasn’t working for me, his response hit me over the head like a brick:

“Yeah. I’m not really sure why anybody takes this course. It’s too much. I wouldn’t do this.”

A vote of confidence, to be sure.

I quit my class that very day. I’ll be taking it no pass, in all likelihood. It’s not a huge stain on my record. But it’s a blight, nonetheless.

Fuck Berkeley standards. Fuck my own internalized overachiever chip on my shoulder. Fuck that constant feeling that I’m not good enough for this institution.

Why should I feel like I wasted this summer for trying at something and failing?

My professor badgered me throughout the course about my performance in comparison to my other, more successful classmates. Why are you failing? Do you see your friend acing these tests? Do you see your friend outperforming you? Why aren’t you better like everybody else?

I call bullshit. They swam laps around my dog paddle. That’s OK. Their success and my failure don’t invalidate one another. I know that my seven classmates finished out the class with their respective grades and levels of performance.

For them, this summer was about learning the concepts. For me, this summer was about learning how to fail.

There’s the lesson this school’s inadvertently trying to teach us:

Fail.

Fuck up.

Take a wrong turn.

Waste your time.

Here’s to all the life I lived in between the long hours of this class. Here’s to the attempt. I may try to incorporate this class’ knowledge base into my academic career. I may not get the chance with the rigor of my course load. I’ll do what I can. Picking up the pieces is secondary for me in the face of what I gained this summer.

Not everybody has the luxury to give up and move on in the space of this university. Not everybody fails at this school in the first place.

I’m sort of happy I did, though.

“Off the Beat” columns are written by Daily Cal staff members until the fall semester’s regular opinion columnists have been selected.

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