Nostalgia can leave you drowning in sea of regret

Sunday, June 9, 1996

Nostalgia flooded me that night. After another late night
scouring the grim prospects of the want ads, my mind sought refuge
in the past. But instead of finding solace, I only found regret.
Setting the paper aside, I reflected upon my years at UCLA. I
couldn’t help but see all of the wrong turns, failures and mistakes
I had made along the way.

I recalled the voice of my mother telling me, "Make the most of
your college years, Kelly. They are the best years of your life." I
wondered if I had experienced everything that collegiate life had
to offer.

Then I asked myself what I could have done differently to create
the perfect college experience that would have landed me a
satisfying and secure job … something I was desperately
lacking.

Perhaps I could have been more involved in campus activities? I
probably could have chosen a more fulfilling major. I definitely
should have studied more for my exams.

If these were the best years of my life, what was there to look
forward to in the future?

I remember my goal freshman year had been to make my mark at
UCLA. Instead I was the recipient of many noticeable marks. No, not
awards nor the recognition that I had hoped for, but bruises and
scars; results of my battles within the system, battles I had lost.
Four years later, armed with more experience and education, I still
felt that I was fighting a losing battle, only this time it was
with myself.

I’ve heard people say that hindsight is perfect; however, they
never mentioned how cruel it could be. It was like trying on
bathing suits before a full-length, three-way mirror that immerses
you in an unforgiving blaze of fluorescent light. The naked truth
can sometimes be horrifying …

One by one, every past action is laid bare, exposed to my
exacting scrutiny. My mother’s words come flooding back, engulfing
me. Adrift and without direction, I search the horizon for signs of
life, of hope. Out of nowhere, a tiny arrow of self-doubt punctures
my life raft, leaving me floundering in a sea of resignation. Waves
of regret pound upon me, pushing me down, filling me with bitter
despair. Gasping, drowning, flailing under the weight of my own
self-criticisms, my mother’s words deluging my ears …

With a jolt I awoke, breathless. Every detail of my nightmare
vividly tattooed upon my brain. Gingerly, I made my way to the
bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, I was horrified to see the
dreaded want ads glaring at me from half of my sleep-drawn face.
Frantically I tried to scrub the print from my cheek, but it was
too late. Reality had already sunken in.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I turned away from my
reflection, grabbed the want ads, and sauntered in the direction of
the kitchen for a bowl of Cheerios. Setting aside my reflections on
the past, I poured over the want ads, in search of a promising
future, a future free of reflections.

Kelly Critchlow is a copy editor for The Bruin. She will
graduate with a degree in Spanish literature after five long,
confusing years.