On getting marks back:

The online system at my university released marks at midnight about 40 minutes ago, and I'm quite pleased to report that I did not "fail" any of my courses.

Of course, I had no real fear of actual failing, but of not doing well though to be honest, that has kind of replaced the concept of failing in my head. Just like how Aggregate Demand shifts with a change in expectation, my expectations have also shifted upwards so a "failure" would be any nominal mark beneath an 80.

It's weird how tight of a grasp number marks-grades- have on my life. It was there when I was younger- I remember bursting into tears in my first grade classroom because I forgot how to spell "fish" and thus earned less than perfect- and it's most definitely here now. I try to not let it bother me, but it extends beyond my mental facilities into my body: I get the shakes, feel the burning heat at my eyes and feel my legs go to jello when I see a 72.

Which isn't that bad, I know.

There are a few environmental factors that have contributed to my obsession with marks. My parents, for one. They haven't expressed outright displeasure or pleasure at my grades for a few years, but there are subtle hints in their language.

"Well, I guess if you can't get good grades, you could always just transfer back home and go to school here."
"My colleague's son used to get 90s in Computer Science and now works at Google... he got offers from IBM and Microsoft too."
"If you can't keep your coop average, you won't be able to get into coop. You'll never get a job!"

Et cetera.

But they're your parents. They'll always nag.

I think the other part of it is I've let these numbers define me too well. I've been the "good student" archetype my entire life (class participant, teacher's pet, never a bad grade), and there were times when I wasn't too sure where that part of me began and where it ended. The lines have cleared as I've gotten older, thank god, and I've discovered my own self, but there's still that lingering wisp of "A+ Amy" (I've never been called that, I just like alliteration) at the back of mind, haunting me. Just like how an idea, a memory that consume you, so can past selves.

But I think the biggest reason why marks hold such a definite hold on me is because they provide stability. As terrible as it is, there's something near comforting to me that you can be defined by something so nominal and visible, and to the same standards as everyone else (for better or for worse), and measured. High numbers tell me that I did something right-- that I was right. Low numbers tell me that I did something bad-- that I was bad. Essentially, these numbers can measure your worth. 

Woah, you say, Hold up. There's no way that grades are all you are. You are not the 80 on the page.

And it's true. You're much more than that. I'm much more than that. We're all much more than that. 

But how do you measure that? Is there a scale that measures our worth, our self-confidence, our ethics? I was raised in a tangible household, meaning the best facts are the ones you can prove and the ones that you can see and touch. Numbers are "touchable", numbers are provable, and they're standardized-- they're measurable.

It's difficult to lose sight of the tangible parts of your life, while the other parts of you, the ones that dictate what kind of person you are, how kind you are, how funny, are so subjective, so intangible.

This is something I've been dealing with for my entire young life (and no doubt for many years to come), and I know that it's not just me-- thousands, millions, billions of students driving themselves dead to try to reach impossibly high figures, lines on a page. How do we teach our young generation to turn away from placing these numerals on a pedestal and to valuing their hearts and minds? How do I teach myself?

A.