I don't do high socks.

I just don't.

Maybe I am trying to fit myself into a mold, one that I feel is right, one that would make my parents proud.
My parent proud.

I see the brochures, the pamphlets, the minimum requirements, all of the things that I need to do before I am granted entrance into another world.

I see it and I buckle under the fear that I am not as qualified as I like to think.
That all of the things that I have been building up for the past 4 years were for naught.

Was I using Legos while everyone else was using bricks?
Have the things that I have invested in been not as lucrative and therefore not as meaningful?

Is it futile to even think about looking for a do-over?

I don't know.

I don't know what I want to do with my life.

I don't know if I want to be a scientist.
I don't know if I want to be a writer.
I don't know if I want to be a minister.
I don't know if I want to be a sister.
A lover.
A friend.

But there are a few things that I do know, and I guess that that is all that I have to work with right now.

And I know that I do not do high socks.