GMAT (or LSAT, BBAT, WTF, QFTYTF, etc...)

The future is overrated.

[insert obligatory saccharine Oprah-ism]

That said, as much as my present is working out pretty well, I'm pressured to constantly think of the future. Marriage. Graduate school. Osteoperosis. While much of the obligation comes from extended family and family friends (it's as if my third cousin's neighbor's fiancé stays awake all night because I don't yet own a suburu and live in Hunkydory, Long Island), much of the pressure is derived from an ingrained sense of survival. It's cultural, perhaps even genetic; a unique fearful mindset passed down from generation to generation.

I'm still unsure as to what I want to do with the rest of my life (apparently the aforementioned third cousin's neighbor's fiancé has a general timeline and itemization of practical and attainable goals). I've started perusing different graduate opportunities, skimming exam books and informational leaflets to ascertain even a perfunctory understanding of my future.

I was once holding this GMAT book on the subway, en route to work. I was trudging through the harried and fatigued crowd converging on the E train platform, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. With great difficulty, I turned to find an Indian man sweating profusely in a tan suit, and staring directly at the book in my hands. "GMAT, eh?" I responded with a blank stare. It was about 8 in the morning, I was wearing my knee brace and sneakers, and my purse was damp from my leaking lentils. He endeavored once more. "Business?"

My parents raised me to be polite, especially to unsuspecting Indian men on public transportation. "Yes," I replied, with a desperate nod towards the escalator. Already agitated commuters threw their hands up in despair as they stumbled upon two Indian roadblocks discussing advanced education.

He continued. "Good. GMAT is very good." I smiled and attempted to merge back into the herd, but he stopped me. "So, what are you thinking? What do you want to do?"

For a several seconds, I thought I was obligated to relay the deluge of fears and anxieties and hopes and dreams and pain hidden in the recesses of my heart. Some older balding man holding the New Yorker bumped into me, and I was immediately cognizant of my reality: a strange Indian man was interrogating me about my life choices. I blinked. "No clue," I said, as I turned and walked right into a woman in stilettos who almost fell into the tracks.

I told my mother the story when I came home. I expected her to understand my exasperation, or at least lecture me about talking to strangers, but instead, her face contorted with emotion. "Aww, beta, people care about you so much."

I've now resorted to flipping coins to determine my next step.