Almost a year ago, I was certain I would be attending Clemson University. I had already received provisional acceptance the summer before, but it didn’t seem real until that Tigertown-bound envelope came. My certainty about going to Clemson is why I only documented my acceptance at Clemson and not my Wofford and Converse acceptance letters.
Deciding on a college was ultimately a waste of my time. My parents forced me to go to Wofford College. Spartanburg is a college town with decent colleges, but I didn’t want to stay here. I still don’t want to be here for any longer than I have to be here.
Wofford certainly isn’t Clemson lite. It’s a small liberal arts college instead of a large research university. A really small liberal arts college. I graduated high school with roughly 700 people. Wofford’s goal was to get 400 freshman to come there. They barely exceeded that number.
I’m still bitter about losing that coming of age moment of deciding where to go to college. It wasn’t a financially-motivated decision in any way. Wofford College was my parents’ way of making me stay in Spartanburg since Converse is too weird.
This blog post isn’t about my hate of Wofford because I don’t hate it. I don’t love it the way the majority of my peers seem to. You can be resentful and not let it cloud your view. As much as I like the people I’ve encountered and the classes I’ve had, I still have no definite answer to the question ‘Will I graduate from Wofford College?’ I’m not even sure if I will go to Clemson if I transfer. All I can say is it’s not as bad as I was expecting a college I did not choose to be.