Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • The final round of the UWC recruitment process was the day exactly one year ago.

    The atmosphere was tense; in the air you could feel both the disturbance and the concentration. I was waiting for about half an hour now. All of a sudden, an ominous silhouette emerged from the other end of the hallway and invited me inside in a friendly voice.

    The interrogation with all the inquiries about my personality, my pastimes and my aspirations, intertwined with the most stochastic questions whose only purpose was to fluster me and to test my resistance to stress, was simply strenuous. Having left that room, I knew I failed. I didn’t know how to answer some of the questions; I wasn’t convincing enough. I didn’t stand any chance. I felt disenchanted and dejected. My mother, though, bravely cheering for my success, was incredibly curious how I did. I told her I did badly and I that I didn’t want to talk about that anymore. I failed, I thought, nothing to share, just leave me alone, just let me wallow in self-pity. But she saw other kids were sharing their stories with their parents. She saw they were describing their interviews even if they didn’t come completely unscathed from them. And she felt offended. The tension was rising until an argument was inevitable. She felt I was ungrateful and I disrespected her. I ignored her, although she tried to offer me her help and support. She genuinely worried about me. Me, in turn, I couldn’t stand her being so overbearing and so annoyingly intrusive. If I didn’t want to share, she shouldn’t have forced me. I needed some space for myself. That was like an open wound to me.

    The conflict billowed into a full-scale argument. Shouting and threats combined with crying and disappointment and moments of silence wouldn’t stop for hours. I knew that although we both wanted the same on the most fundamental level – I hoped I would get to UWC, so did my mother, she wanted us to communicate with each other, so did I, – at that moment the difference in our needs created a barrier which wouldn’t let us reach an understanding.

Better browser, please.

To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.