here is the article:
“Chasing my B.F.A, Receiving a B.F.U:
A young man’s disgust with acronyms and financial ‘aid.’”
by Anonymous
Tisch School of the Arts! The top Undergraduate Drama program in the United States! Located in New York City at New York University, one of the highest rank universities in the nation! Sounds like a dream doesn’t it? Want to hear something exciting? I got in. A 4.1 G.P.A, a 2160 on the S.A.T.’s, countless hours involved in my high school drama department as well as various other extra-curriculars to keep my collegiate options open including the Eagle Scout rank in the Boy Scouts of America. Being a young man brought up by college graduates, my mother with B.A. from U.S.C.D. and my dad ending up with his Masters degree, I always knew college was in my future. My parents are very intelligent and did well in school. I followed suit. I applied to a number of schools and had no doubt I’d get in somewhere. This proved true and I was proud to throw on the purple sweatshirt emblazed with “New York University.” I loved the idea of a program that provided conservatory style training for my acting career that ran parallel to earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from a top university. My life was going according to plan and I was, needless to say, overjoyed. That’s when reality set in. My mother receives disability and is unable to work, my dad doesn’t make enough to compensate. Suddenly, the phrase I had heard over the years “Not now honey, money is a bit tight.” Started to sink in and began to strike a little deeper now that I was trading in dreams of a Gameboy for dreams of my future.
I felt derailed. I had worked so hard to get to this place only to find that it didn’t matter. If my parents don’t make enough, it’s a no go. The price tag was set at about $58,000 a year and after financial aid, my parents were still expected to take out a $36,000 loan for my freshman year. They literally couldn’t afford to put their life in jeopardy for a year of my schooling. We were all heartbroken. However, my parents realized I was putting all the pieces together and decided to give it a try. They were denied the infamous PLUS loan three times until my mother was able to explain the situation to someone at Sallie Mae and we were finally granted the loan. Tears of joy filled the faces of all members of my family as my parents and I embarked on a journey to screw our respective credit even further.
My parents made it clear that I understood they could only promise me this first year. I appreciated their honesty and was just happy to be able to continue on. Everything was even more amazing then I’d expected. Welcome week ceremonies and activities, kids from all over the country and the world, parties, incredible classes, the whole nine. That first semester was unlike anything I had ever dreamed of.
Then things changed. At the start of Spring Semester, I found myself back to square one; my father had been laid off. The recession became all the more real to me. With my classes ready to be dropped, I scrambled to find a solution. I eventually found it in the form of a loan from my generous uncle. I had dodged the bullet once again although I remained ignorant that soon I’d be forced to bite it. Looking back I should’ve paid more attention to and taken stock in the status of my peers. All of my new friends were children of doctors and lawyers and the like. They had a giant wardrobe, frequently went shopping, out for drinks etc, etc, etc. I eventually became more learned in the concept of allowances and that mommy and daddy were the ones paying for this extravagance. I ignored the fact that I didn’t fit the mold, enamored with my Oliver Twist triumph.
Fast forward through summer and on to my so-called sophomore year. My sophomore year has yet to occur. While my contemporaries went on the following year, I stayed at home in Oceanside, California on a Financial Leave of Absence. I was working at a local Mexican food chain to hopefully make my way back to school or at the very least the City. I eventually moved back to Manhattan that spring truthfully only on the back of my Best friend and freshman roommate’s family’s generosity. If not for them, the train would have stopped there and you would only find me now if a ‘hankerin’ for a fish taco ever struck. Bitterness aside, I was back in the city and felt like I was making progress. My plan was to get a job in the restaurant field (having previously worked as a cater waiter to survive my first year there,) pay as much rent as possible and eat, as well as show up bright, early and frequently to the NYU offices to get additional aid. I didn’t realize at this point, however, that I was groping for a lead vest instead of the life preserver I had expected.
I resort to numbness now when I hear the all-too-familiar phrases “My hands are tied,” “There simply are no more funds,” “All you can do is keep appealing,” etc. My eyes always dart from flat screen to flat screen quickly and quite easily adding up my potential funding as I leave the N.Y.U. buildings to call my parents with the next hopeless update.
I would now be, like all of my friends and former classmates, a junior excited to be an Upperclassman; all the more close to my future and living out my dreams. What I’ve come to realize about this particular institution is that its so-called outstanding reputation and ‘prestige’ is upheld and carried on the backs of its students rather than staff and faculty. Excuse me, Greenbacks. If I can’t present the green, I can’t be a Violet. My ‘artistic review,’ which consisted of an audition and interview, as well as my application, apparently meant nothing. My talent means nothing. My passion means nothing. My intelligence means nothing. Ironically, for a university that prides itself on such intrinsic values (of education, the power of knowledge, talent and passion) only accepts pieces of paper that are truly worthless. President John Sexton, who creates the budget, kicks off every year with a speech of his undying care for his students and their future. He urges each and every new pupil to give him a hug if they see him in the street or an NYU building. A friend of mine actually spilled her belongings curbside trying to make the move from dorm to dorm her freshman year. Who was there but good ol’ J. Sex himself (as he’s affectionately referred to) to help her pick up her belongings and so generously provide the comfort of his self-touted warm embrace. Nowadays, if it were me, I’d be sure to check my wallet.
Why have needs-blind admission at N.Y.U? Why admit these poor kids thinking they have succeeded only to have the rug ripped out from under them if their purse is too light to keep them strapped down? This year we had some glimmer of hope when my Expected Family Contribution went down this past year to under $2,000. Although the government and every other university in the country expected my family to contribute this much, N.Y.U. had a different solution. They decided since my parents had less money and were struggling even more, that it made sense that they should just take out a bigger PLUS loan. Jumping from $36,000 to $42,000. Great ‘aid,’ huh?
This whole debacle also prompted me to ask another question: Why should I be denied an education based on my parents’ financial standing? The answer I received from the representative of the Office of Student Affairs was that I could apply to become an ‘independent.’ “Great!” I said until I realized I had cut her off in her response. If I was 24 or 25 years old, if I made at least 10,000 a year, if I had documentation to prove my parents had refused to pay for my education and that there had been some sort of legal falling out. If, if, if…” Fine. My parents decided they were willing to look like **assholes** on paper for my future, I decided I was willing to work my **ass** off, and maybe I could wait a few years or find a loophole. But how foolish of me to not wait for the catch.
“Just because you have declared Financial Independence does not mean you will get additional scholarship aid.”
A private loan was suggested but even my more well off friend, who kept me afloat and free from starvation in NY when I came back to badger N.Y.U, is currently having a hard time securing one for himself. Furthermore, my credit is already screwed. Being someone of my economic stature requires getting a credit card to survive the city freshman year and, needless to say, Chase bank won’t be begging me to reapply.
So maybe N.Y.U. is out of the question; perhaps another school. USCD would still require a twenty grand loan a year considering they offered me no aid when I was accepted. This is particularly frightening as a California resident whose parents are both alumni. At this point, I’m thinking conservatory and community college.
I am disgusted, discouraged, and frankly disappointed. Why is college reverting back to a privilege of the elite? Why does financial aid exist if it can hardly aid anyone? Why is my life being ruled by three-letter acronyms? All these questions have proven unproductive it would seem. Perhaps I should focus on a new one that apparently has more potential to move me forward. Would you like fries with that?
...
That is why I pray, today, for the willingness to be true to my authentic self and act in faith. Living in my fears doesn't work. The wording of the previous phrase seems a little off to me. It doesn't quite accurately represent the way it works for me. When Im living in fear I'm not in it so much as I'm trapped under it. Fear, for me, is like a nebulous swirling dark cloud that looms overhead. I am crouching beneath, distracting myself with useless and meaningless bullshit. When I choose to stand up and take a deep breath it starts to unravel. I Say to myself, "Ok. What are we really looking at here?" And usually that first step alone allows for a second deep breath. It's always something I can stare down and put one foot in front of the other and change my behavior. Each time the result is better than hiding. But, its still a bit of a rollercoaster. Every so often I find my posture growing lax and soon I will succumb to my inner Golem if I don't keep it up.
Fear is more terrifying than the thing I "fear." This is because Fear is not real. Fear is a feeling; a hiding. The things I fear, don't wield guns or knives or clubs, or have big teeth or claws, etc. 99% of the time, the things I fear don't even have the power to hurt me if I don't let them. Also, the THEORY is the thing I fear. As if I know how things will turn out. PUHLEEASE! My disease yells, "BUT DON"T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???!!!" I'm not God and I'm done pretending to be. This is all a daily reminder to cultivate my garden. I like to think that in the center of my garden (which is filled with friendships, family relationships, business relationships, seeds of possible romance, etc.) Sits my little Bonsai tree. I must take delicate car of it daily. Clipping it. Spritzing it. etc. It sounds funny but I love this analogy.
