I don’t recognize the face in the mirror anymore.

My eye bags have never looked darker — sleeping is a luxury that is hard to come by. My eyes are shot with red, prominent veins — the consequence of using my phone to distract myself from my thoughts. Every time I try to look at myself, I feel ill.  

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I lost my grandma a little over a week ago. I remember the exact time and date — Aug. 9, at 2:43 p.m. I had just finished my calculus final and was about to call my parents to let them know. That is until I got the text from my dad saying, “Mom has just passed.”

I knew my grandma had been sick for months now. But I thought we had more time. 

This summer had been more difficult than usual; I was juggling summer classes, friendships and leadership opportunities at the hospital I volunteered at all while trying to believe that my grandma would recover. 

I had visited her at the hospital and at home, during the rare times she had been discharged. It was hard keeping a smile on my face, but for her, I tried. I felt like I had all the time in the world; even though I had a busy schedule, I could still make time for her. As a result, I pushed my visits to later dates, thinking it would be fine.

I had foolishly forgotten that time is a luxury item — it can’t be bought, bartered or traded for. And yet, I had squandered it.

I also learned that my relationship was living on borrowed time. On July 28, 2:30 p.m., I was dumped unceremoniously by my now ex-boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you. You didnt [sic] do anything wrong, this is all on me.”

I felt like I was going insane — starting a new school year is already stressful enough, but to start it off with the death of my grandma and the loss of a valuable relationship only added to my growing list of worries. How would I cope with hours of homework, meeting with teachers or finding friends when all I can think of are two people I can’t see anymore?

Perhaps I am being dramatic. I know I’m not the only one who has lost a family member or has gotten broken up with — according to a 2023 article published by Eastern Washington University, 60% of college students experience losses by the end of their college career. According to data from the 2023-2024 academic year, USC had 47,000 total students enrolled in classes. 60% of 47,000 is 28,200 students. Statistically speaking, I am not alone.

Yet, it is hard not to feel alone as I am surrounded by smiling and seemingly happy students; it is the first week of school, and the excitement is palpable in the air. All I feel is dread.

I have responsibilities that come before my feelings. I am a pre-med student, I am a rising junior, I have to start studying for my MCAT, I have to shadow more doctors, I have to start getting more involved in my lab. Yet, I am entering this year feeling so utterly alone and afraid; I don’t know if I can handle my obligations while keeping my emotions in check.

I have no time for weakness, no time for emotion; I have no choice but to excel. 

I know in the end, I will be ok — I have lived 20 years without my ex-boyfriend, and I will live (hopefully) another 20 years without him. My grandma would want me to keep on pursuing my dreams of becoming a physician, to become the first in my family to enter medical school.

I know USC has options for students like me; I know that USC Student Health offers counseling for students who may need it. I used their services last year, and there is no shame in saying that I will use them again.

To those who are in similar positions: know that this, too, shall pass. None of us are truly alone. While we may not know each other, we are united by similar experiences. I know that my grief, my rage and my uncertainty will wash over me like ocean waves until I am the only one remaining. If I can survive the storm, anyone can.