To my delight， I was notified of my acceptance into Harvard College on Dec. 15， 2011， three days before my birthday. That night， after all of the celebratory texts and hugs， I sat in my room and began to cry uncontrollably.
I felt trapped between the two worlds in front of me. One held seemingly unlimited opportunity—full scholarship， career advancement， travel possibilities. But what would I sacrifice in exchange？ My mother and I have never been on firm financial ground， and that was not going to magically change. It suddenly hit me why I was so troubled by her hesitant look： it was the same look she gave me the first time we were evicted from our home. What would happen to her if I left？ When she was laid off from her job a few weeks later， my fears multiplied.
“Your acceptance into Harvard is one of the shining accomplishments of my life，” she said，“and I’ll be damned if I see you give it away.”
I did not.
Earlier this year， I read an article about the failure of elite colleges to attract poor students： a Stanford study had found that only 34 percent of top students in the lowest income level had attended one of the country’s 238 most selective colleges. I do not believe that increasing financial aid packages and creating glossy brochures alone will reverse this trend. The true forces that are keeping us away from elite colleges are cultural： the fear of entering an alien environment， the guilt of leaving loved ones alone to deal with increasing economic pressure， the impulse to work to support oneself and one’s family. I began to think，“Who am I， anyway， to think I belong at Harvard， the alma mater of the Bushes， the Kennedys and the Romneys？ Maybe I should have stayed in Mississippi where I belonged.”
Then there were the existential questions： why it all matters， the recurring evaluations of my dreams and underlying motivations， even considerations of the problematic socioeconomic structure I was trapped in.