This semester, I decided to take a leave of absence due to personal reasons, most of which are caused by the pandemic. I actually never saw myself in this position. I was slightly unreceptive to the thought of taking a leave, mainly because of the Filipino mentality that stigmatizes delayed college students. Not to mention, I have been outside Korea for a year already, and taking a break would further detach me from my friends in KAIST. But I realized that with my current situation, I had no other option left, and it was only at the last minute before the semester started that I finally applied for a leave of absence. I convinced myself to make productive use of this time to search for internships or review my previous coursework.

Almost three months have passed, and I can’t really say that I succeeded in my plans of productivity. I find myself lying on my bed most of the time, watching YouTube videos or Netflix movies. I spend an hour or two every day brushing up my inactive Korean skills and I continue to write articles for The KAIST Herald, but I haven’t done anything academically productive. I did come across part-time jobs and internship opportunities online, but I chose to capitalize on the time to relax. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t concerned about the future; I sometimes worry that resting too much would affect my future prospects negatively. Throughout my life, all I did was excel in my classes, do extracurriculars, and squeeze in some side hustles to build my resume. Being in a position where I am free to do nothing still feels uncomfortable, even though it’s admittedly refreshing.

Taking a leave of absence made me a spectator of my own life. I see my friends at KAIST barely making it through the semester, and it mirrored how insanely I push myself to study. With a fast-paced curriculum, one semester comes and goes so quickly in KAIST; even I am sometimes surprised that I manage to survive. This is considering that I come from KSA, where the overwhelming education system first broke me, then toughened my heart to face all sorts of pressure. I remember never having shed a tear even when I was totally weary. That apathy towards struggle made me navigate each semester blankly, emptying my growing stack of requirements and preparing for my exams just for the sake of studying.

Last year, however, was the final straw that broke my academic resilience. It was emotionally and mentally exhausting to have to manage all my responsibilities abroad, away from everything important to me. My already flawed study habits worsened in the pandemic, affecting my productivity and capability to learn. My heart felt so heavy every morning, and every passing day was difficult to bear. I was holding on to the tiny hope for normalcy, but I was otherwise only pushing through because I couldn’t imagine taking a break. My academic plans were constantly being halted, and I realized that if even these fibers of my education are on the brink of ruin, then forcing myself to graduate on time is not worth sacrificing my health. With this realization, trying to be productive at this time just to cover for my academic losses would only  reinstate myself back in this cycle of stress and anxiety. 

Instead, I gave myself time to not only rest, but also to reflect on what I truly want in the future. I realized that as I was robotically going through my studies, I was only headed towards the safe path to “success”. Growing up, my idea of success was someone with impressive academic credentials and a steady-income corporate job. The pandemic shattered that illusion, seeing how even employees in very stable companies got laid off, and how academic achievers are not as successful as they appear to be. Now, I want my life to be more than safe, to be free from the restraints that define what it means to be happy and successful, and to become bigger than the dreams expected by people around me. I always thought that in life, practicality is better than passion, but now I want to strive for both. 

Unproductivity, after all, has its own benefits, and this sort of luxury may rarely come when I graduate and become busier in life. In this particular age when we anxiously work ourselves to the bone for our future, we forget that every second of our youth is passing by. Sometimes just taking a step back helps recalibrate our priorities and appreciate the things that are being buried in our worries.