An Open Letter to UC Berkeley
Hey there Berkeley,
Melanie here. I would take more time to introduce myself, but you already know everything about me. You know that I grew up in Connecticut and then moved to New York. You know that my GPA is a sparkly 3.8. You know that I love writing like fat kids love cake. You even know how much money I made last year. And you say nothing.
I gave you all this personal and private information - and more. I wrote you essays when I should have been studying. I filled out your supplements when the sun was shining and Dolores Park was calling my name. I've told all my friends about you already. Even my parents know about you. And, yet, you give me nothing.
Oh, sure, there were the impersonal form emails. Those few pleasantly mass-produced reminders. And of course the dream I harbor of being a student under your fine tutelage, but none of this is specific to me. Thousands of potential transfer students received those form emails. Those reminders have been seen by more eyes than that Paris Hilton hamburger commercial. And that dog that sleepwalks into walls. COMBINED. And almost every student at CCSF, ever, has had the dream of walking through your doors as a full-fledged student. I say 'almost' because some of them are just not smart enough to see you the way I do. Plus, they are kind of lazy.
How do you think this makes me feel? All I want is a little reciprocity. A little requited love. All my professors think we are made to be together. And most of my friends, too. And I know that some people think you are out-of-my-league, but you know what, I don't care what they say, because I know that you and I would make beautiful music together. But not real music. Like, figurative music. That was a metaphor and I used it because I am smart. You could definitely use me - and I don't say that to just anyone.
That's all for now. I just wanted to open the lines of communication. Again. Some people think I deserve better, but let's prove them wrong. Write to me. Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me. Hold me in your educationally esteemed arms and let me put you on my resume for the rest of my life.
Even if you just need to tell me to give it up, that you are not interested in a girl like me. Sure, I might cry. I might eat a gallon of ice cream. But that's OK because I live right near the best ice cream store in the world. And I have, like, a million friends on Facebook and in real life, so I'll be good. Just please say something, anything. I'm dying over here.
The ball's in your court.
Sincerely yours (if you want me),
Melanie Duve
PS And if you break up with me it's totally fine because SF State has been writing me love letters for months.
PPS I'm just playing, you know I love you.
PPPS But really. Other people want to tap this resource.
Melanie here. I would take more time to introduce myself, but you already know everything about me. You know that I grew up in Connecticut and then moved to New York. You know that my GPA is a sparkly 3.8. You know that I love writing like fat kids love cake. You even know how much money I made last year. And you say nothing.
I gave you all this personal and private information - and more. I wrote you essays when I should have been studying. I filled out your supplements when the sun was shining and Dolores Park was calling my name. I've told all my friends about you already. Even my parents know about you. And, yet, you give me nothing.
Oh, sure, there were the impersonal form emails. Those few pleasantly mass-produced reminders. And of course the dream I harbor of being a student under your fine tutelage, but none of this is specific to me. Thousands of potential transfer students received those form emails. Those reminders have been seen by more eyes than that Paris Hilton hamburger commercial. And that dog that sleepwalks into walls. COMBINED. And almost every student at CCSF, ever, has had the dream of walking through your doors as a full-fledged student. I say 'almost' because some of them are just not smart enough to see you the way I do. Plus, they are kind of lazy.
How do you think this makes me feel? All I want is a little reciprocity. A little requited love. All my professors think we are made to be together. And most of my friends, too. And I know that some people think you are out-of-my-league, but you know what, I don't care what they say, because I know that you and I would make beautiful music together. But not real music. Like, figurative music. That was a metaphor and I used it because I am smart. You could definitely use me - and I don't say that to just anyone.
That's all for now. I just wanted to open the lines of communication. Again. Some people think I deserve better, but let's prove them wrong. Write to me. Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me. Hold me in your educationally esteemed arms and let me put you on my resume for the rest of my life.
Even if you just need to tell me to give it up, that you are not interested in a girl like me. Sure, I might cry. I might eat a gallon of ice cream. But that's OK because I live right near the best ice cream store in the world. And I have, like, a million friends on Facebook and in real life, so I'll be good. Just please say something, anything. I'm dying over here.
The ball's in your court.
Sincerely yours (if you want me),
Melanie Duve
PS And if you break up with me it's totally fine because SF State has been writing me love letters for months.
PPS I'm just playing, you know I love you.
PPPS But really. Other people want to tap this resource.
Labels: admission, berkeley, college, love letter
posted by Melanie Kameko at
7:03 PM
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