To all my struggling English majors who thought they had it all figured out, I too was there. I was there for those late nights of reading Hamlet, Poe, Servantes, and Coleridge. I was there through all the all-nighters writing essays and papers. I was there for multiple trips to the coffee shop and the library. I was there as we counted down the semesters till graduation. I was there for all those times we thought we had it figured out. I was there as we crossed the staged with our heads held high, full of hope and optimism.

I was also there three months later filling out application after application hoping for an opportunity. I was there jumping with joy at every call for a possible job. I was also there the night before the interview tearing apart the closet in search for the perfect outfit. I was there the morning of with knots in my stomach unable to eat. I was there as you checked the mail day after day waiting for that letter.

I am here to tell you not to lose hope when you least expect it, it will come when you're at the end of that road. Don't give up. From a struggling English graduate from a small town, I give you hope.

— Cinthia Rico is a staff writer for the Times-Journal. She can be reached at cinthia.rico@times-journal.com.

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