When I first came to Seattle in fourth grade, I had a difficult time adjusting to the constant rain. I tried to go outside as little as possible, but from the car to the door, the rain felt like little pinches of pain, torturing all parts of me. My glasses lost their function, my backpack turned damp and cold. It was probably a subconscious decision, but I had a habit of staring at the pavement as I walked. My dad noticed this and told me, “The rain isn’t going to hit you any less because you’re looking down.”

I remember what he said so clearly because I like to think that he was talking about more than just the weather.

He meant that I should confidently face challenges: chin UP! He gave me the courage to learn English, adjust to an environment very different from Seoul, and eventually tackle other difficulties with the same tenacity. My friends constantly tell me that I’m bold, intense, and confident, but they don’t know that these characteristics weren’t what I was born with but rather what I cultivated through practice. In class, I’m not afraid to ask questions, even if they sound rudimentary to others. At the end of a lecture, I always approach the guest speaker, introduce myself, and pick his or her brain. Last summer, I didn’t hesitate to apply for a competitive internship.

This isn’t to say that I don’t feelings vulnerable. Like everyone else, I feel self-conscious if people point and snicker; I know one day I will be rejected from a job or internship. But I have learned to separate the things I can and can’t control. Just like I can’t control the rain, I can’t control others’ opinions of me and I can’t force an employer to hire me. I always have to remind myself this truth because I’m naturally ambitious and I habitually create high, and sometimes unrealistic goals, for myself.

  This fall I stepped into my Quantum Physics class thinking, “I’m going to ace every test and beat everyone!” I failed the last test. Afterwards, I ran to the bathroom and bawled my eyes out. A day later, I learned that nearly half the class had also failed. The difficulty of that quiz was not something I could control. What I could control were my post-“F” actions. I Skyped people in my class and, with a dozen of us together, we deduced where we went wrong: it turns out there’s a million ways to err. I then solicited my teacher’s help and she gladly spent a solid two hours with me. Because I was proactive, I gained deeper understanding of the material.

I know that as I continue my education, challenges like this will become more and more frequent. But all I can do is look straight ahead and run as fast as I can. Because a little rain doesn’t make the road any less worth traveling.