“Your papers may now be opened to begin.”
“Bismillah,” I whispered with a deep breath, unfolding the question paper. As with any exam, I perused the questions, skimming through the initial and subsequent queries. A sense of desolation washed over me. I rummaged through my mind for a structured approach to answering, recalling any lectures or seminars that might guide me, but to no avail. Those classes were dreadfully dull, inundated with technical jargon and intricate, step-by-step procedures that failed to resonate with me. Finance was an alternative, yet my naive selection of taxation, enticed solely by its exemptions, held no appeal at this moment—I had no aspiration to become a Chartered Accountant. I attempted to infuse creativity into my responses, but the subject matter remained incredibly dry and rigid. ‘Principles of Personal Taxation’ scarcely allowed for creative liberties; adherence to strict rules was paramount. I, however, detested rules.
The clock commenced its relentless ticking, yet I remained seated, bewildered in an examination where both speed and method were critical. A swift scan around the room revealed my classmates, heads bent over their desks, frantically penning their answers. I returned my gaze to my empty paper. My heart wasn’t in it; an internal conflict ensued. For someone inclined towards holistic thinking, the minutiae were torturous. My mind thrived on visual representations, abstract pattern recognition, and understanding systemic functionality as a whole. I relished playing with ideas, setting them against each other to discern the strongest among them. Alas, I felt akin to a horse wearing blinkers. The blame rested with me—I had chosen a module designed for the meticulous, akin to my conscientious classmates. For me, details equated to anguish.
Taking my pen, I began sketching. ‘Why am I pursuing this degree?’ I pondered. Memories surfaced from the pre-university phase when I grappled with deciding my life’s trajectory. Everyone I knew was fixated on attaining an undergraduate degree as a ladder to career progression. Postgraduate studies were scarcely discussed; the predominant focus was industry careers. I couldn’t fathom why people pursued a university devoid of a fervent thirst for education. To me, the university was an institution nurturing critical thinking, logic, and eloquence—an arena for intellectual discourse and self-expression. A space to arm oneself with intellect, honing one’s thoughts and broadening horizons within their field. I envisioned university as a sanctuary for scholars, not just a path for corporate endeavours.
My relationship with academia was paradoxical—I experienced occasional brilliance juxtaposed with frequent inadequacy. I remained unsure if the life of a scholar suited me. Perhaps I was excessively absorbed in Robert Kiyosaki’s ‘Rich Dad, Poor Dad’ or Tony Robbins’ teachings, envisioning my path as an entrepreneur working for myself. My foray into self-improvement led me to discover my temperament inclined towards creativity and divergent thinking, clarifying why details posed a challenge; my mind functioned divergently compared to others. Traditional fields placed me at a significant disadvantage, whereas in creative realms like entrepreneurship, I held an advantage. I extensively explored various options—leaving college, enrolling in university, securing an apprenticeship, landing an entry-level job, or initiating my own business. Disillusioned with the rigidity of being a student and wary of accumulating debt, I leaned away from university. Influenced by entrepreneurial literature and TV shows like ‘The Apprentice’ and ‘Dragon’s Den,’ my aspiration was entrepreneurship. My plan: procure a manageable part-time job while establishing my business during spare moments.
However, familial expectations urged me towards university—considered the secure and customary path. My father and brother held degrees, attributing university education to respectability, career success, and marriage prospects. They harboured concerns that without a degree, my career options would dwindle, consigning me to menial positions. I argued that university debts outweighed its benefits. The counterargument rested on deductions from my future income, assuring that debt would eventually be nullified if repayment faltered. If university wasn’t pursued, I’d possess no fallback or validation of my worth. Reluctantly, to appease my family, I enrolled in university, selecting a Bachelor of Science in Economics and Accounting—a choice aimed at fostering entrepreneurship through a broad spectrum of economic, financial, and accounting education.
At the time, I toyed with the idea of a professorial career—fostering my research skills, and nurturing my reading and writing prowess to become a public intellectual, a thought leader in a domain. However, achieving this necessitated excelling in undergraduate studies to access postgraduate opportunities. I also grappled with the prospect of ‘wasting’ the final two years of my course without attaining a certification for my CV. Yet, I rationalised that my academic pursuit was to enrich myself as an individual. My internship, diverse networks, and extensive knowledge in economics, econometrics, accounting, and taxation outweighed the significance of a mere certificate—it was the knowledge and opportunities I sought.
An hour elapsed with no progress made. I surrendered. My sole recourse was to sketch on the exam paper. A survey of the room revealed the absence of my friend prone to pre-exam panic attacks. Before me, the astute scholar; to my side, the one with whom I collaborated on coursework. Behind me, my steadfast support. ‘Don’t do anything reckless,’ I cautioned myself. I continued sketching, while the rest of the room seemed in command of their tasks. Defeated, I submitted a blank paper and exited the exam room, having drawn nothing but sketches.
As I departed, thoughts of my future or my outward image held little sway. I knew this path didn’t captivate me. Uncertain about my future, I felt compelled to alter my trajectory. I contemplated my classmates’ probable perception—a two-year commitment forsaken. My family, concerned about my academic success and securing a lucrative job, failed to acknowledge my well-being. The notion of retaking the exam didn’t immediately cross my mind. At that moment, I fervently believed that pursuing a path I disliked or disengaged from wasn’t an option. Later, the matter would undoubtedly resurface, demanding resolution. Yet, for the moment, the discomfort prompted by the exam spurred a rebellious urge against conformity. Though expected to excel academically and secure a high-paying job, my inner self rebelled against the notion of a conventional life.
Post-exam, I aspired to immerse myself in a creative pursuit—entrepreneurship or art. I craved to channel my creativity for societal benefit. It wasn’t within my nature to adhere dutifully to routine or predetermined procedures. I sought liberation by working for myself, sans a controlling authority. I aimed to effect positive societal change through my work. My battle with academia persisted—a relationship oscillating between affection and disdain. It imparted valuable skills, equipping one to alter the world through reading and writing, enabling research, and honing grammar, logic, and rhetoric—the essential tools for success. Nevertheless, the contemporary academic system seemed a departure from its original intent. University, once a bastion of intellectual freedom, now appeared synonymous with prestige, safe havens, and a hiatus from reality.