Failure and fear

I've returned home. After 285 days abroad, I'm home.

I had never been so excited in a plane before, counting the hours until I was home, peeking over my two row companions (old men) to look out the window as we landed, with every piece of ground I saw sending a thrill down my spine. Oh my goodness, I thought. San Francisco. Home, home, home, home, home. I'll see my family.

There are many things I want to write about. I want to write about my general experience, being in other countries. I want to write about the weird feeling I get upon returning again--this round more profound. But what I will write about here is, well, in the grand scheme of things, it's pretty small. Tomorrow it will be everything.

You see, I have failed a course. I have failed a course. I have never failed a course in my life. My college GPA before going to Hong Kong was practically 4.0. I ruled in college. I was confident. My parents trust me to do well academically. Oh, they trust me.

Well, I failed. FAILED. I got an F.

I am so scared to tell them, you have no idea. They don't really care that much about my great personal growth, the friends I made, the places I went. I went to Hong Kong to study, and look what happened.

F.
F.
F.
F.

I kind of didn't want to come home after finding that out, borrowing my friend's computer in Goyang, Korea. I had been so excited to come home, and at that point, I wanted to stay away forever.

I've got to beat them to the chase. I've got to say something tomorrow.

It's terrifying.
Oh God, it's terrifying.