To be honest, right from the beginning, my dream school was Columbia University.

This is where the polite smiles, gentle scoffs, and pitying looks would usually come into play when talking with people about my college decisions. Columbia University is an Ivy League, located in Manhattan, that is very popular with writing majors. For me, I had a dream of following Allen Ginsberg's steps--yet at least finishing my years there. I wanted to sit on the steps in front of the library to study or read, envisioned myself walking from one stone building to the next, proudly sporting Columbia apparel before the eyes of my family--and students from school. I wanted the renown that comes with going to an Ivy League, paired with the renown of going to a school in New York City. To this day, I wish I had given my mom the chance to tell others that her daughter was going to an Ivy League school, so when they learned I was going for writing, they knew I at least had a chance.

The day I got my rejection letter, I didn't want to leave the bed. I wanted to melt under my blanket and possibly decompose there, and never leave the place I had come to despise.

Honestly, Pratt Institute wasn't even in my list of Top Fives.

I had applied to Pratt on a whim after getting emails from them. It was a school in the city, even though it was Brooklyn, and I was basically applying to as many schools in New York that held writing majors, no matter their repertoire.

And to be even more honest, I had already chosen a school and had sent in the housing deposit. An art school in Chicago, that I chose on a last whim because I didn't get any other acceptances in New York and I would have rather have gone to a school in another big city known for art than stay where I lived the last 18 years. It wasn't till weeks after settling myself into this compromise that I got my acceptance package from Pratt--along with a financial aid package I couldn't refuse.

I was going to Brooklyn.

I didn't do anything that students are told to do. I didn't read up on it till after I accepted their offer, and then, because I had already spent my trip to New York City earlier that month on checking out Columbia, I didn't go for a visit. Heck, I didn't even realize that Pratt Institute was in Brooklyn till after I had gone through the registering process. The first time I saw campus was in August, when I arrived to move in. I basically accepted for the money.

And though I shouldn't be saying this because you should go visit a school you're considering, and you probably definitely should know exactly where in the county/city/region your school is, my ignorance didn't hinder my college experience what-so-ever. If anything, I got extremely lucky in the choice I made.

Though there is still a piece of me that wishes I was at Columbia, and though there is a piece of me that may still apply to Columbia as a transfer on a whim later this year, I hold no grudge, or dislike for the place I will be calling home for 7/8 months out of a year.

Not everything is perfect, and I'm sure there is absolutely no college that you'll be able to look at and truthfully say has no flaws. There's a lot the administration could work on (for example, calling people back. Or just answering their phones in general). And yeah, I'll be the first to tell you that the food needs a bit of work. But, for now, I'm happy with the decision I had to make.

Across my first year, I did learn new things about myself which were surprising, and which I would probably only learn while going to a school like Pratt. For example, I probably actually don't belong at a primarily art school. Many of the students have personalities that I wasn't ready to come face-to-face with, and honestly, a lot of them are very weird. I guess that just adds to the atmosphere on campus. Not to mention I have to take at least one class in a visual art and though it's not as bad as a math class--I'm obviously not a visual arts major for a reason.

In the realm of things I just learned from college in general: things are expensive and roommates are too much. (I feel like a roommate discussion is for a whole 'nother article alone).

But over the school year, while people dropped out, considered other schools, and just disappeared out of thin air, I realized: I could definitely have it worse.

I'm happily returning to Pratt Institute's Brooklyn campus next year. I'm not bitter and forcing myself through; I'm going to go back with a smile.

I'm dedicated to writing. There is no other hobby or art that I've taken part in that I have ever wanted to drag out like I do writing. Photography was fun, but I just like the aesthetics. Drawing was fun, when I thought I was good. Writing is a piece of me that is so important, and though I don't have to go to school to become a published writer, going to school I'm able to polish the skill that I already have. At Pratt, I don't have to fill my schedule with unnecessary classes like Math (I had to take AT LEAST one science, and I got biology, I definitely won that one), and things that will not help me, in any way, later on in my career. Sure, I miss the ability to take history classes that actually delve deep into certain events, but a majority of my classes are writing. Why pay $50,000 a year to do anything other than what I meant to do?

Pratt Institute will favor you if you're dedicated and willing to try.

The teachers know the ropes. Every teacher I had was doing something in the writing field whether it was actually getting poetry/writing published, writing educational papers/articles, writing/working for a newspaper/magazine, or editing. They were eager to help out individuals, giving them ideas for their writing and their style. Some of them told us of writing competitions, of papers publishing. Some urged us to keep up a contact, to get to know them better, one even offering coffee openly to us. They were nice, and some of the most engaging teachers I'd ever had. My professors gave us writing that stretched our minds, introduced us to genres outside of our realm, and helped us find a place--or at least move out of our comfort zone.

And that's important, being pushed out of comfort zones. Many people complained about it. They hated being forced to write poetry when they didn't, writing realistically when they wrote science fiction. But why come to school if you're not ready to be challenged? To learn more about yourself. For example, I hated poetry. I hated doing it in high school and hate to drag myself through every poetry project because I didn't think I was doing it right. My first year of college was nothing but poetry studios, and in stepping out of my comfort zone with fiction (what I swore I wanted to write), I learned to embrace poetry. In doing this, I now no longer know what genre I wish to write, but that's what the last three years of school are for.

The campus itself is beautiful. Sculptures litter the green grass so well kept that you soon enough start disliking the gardening crew because there is no reason they should be cutting grass outside your window this early on a Saturday. Inspiration lies at every corner whether it be another student's work, or the trees changing colors in the fall and spring, or the red brick of aging buildings. Not only that, the buildings are close enough that getting to a class with only minutes to spare is easy. Even better, my dorm building was smack-dab in the middle of the action, letting me get to classes with two minutes left on the clock. As a college student who likes to procrastinate, and sleep in whenever possible, it's a beauty.

What really matters to me is doing what I love. That's what this is all about. I'm going back to Pratt happily because I have never written as much as I did this year during school. Sure, in high school we wrote a lot of essays--but that's not what I came to school to write. I had to write essays, of course, but very few. And the few I did write, the professors helped out immensely. I would have given up every day of high school homework for the homework I have now. Because of that, I never complain. My life could be worse than having to write a short story over the weekend, or even overnight. I could be stuck with piles of math homework compared to the handful of poems I have to compose. I'd take a nine page paper on a subject that I got to choose, a subject that I love, over having to write a 20 page paper on politics or something equally draining. The workload is all I've ever asked for.

The best part? It's in New York City. With Pratt Institute being in Brooklyn, I get to see and experience a community many never get to see because they don't branch out of Manhattan. If I had gone to a school in Manhattan, I'd probably still think Brooklyn was as rough as I was led to believe so long ago (though I do live in a very gentrified area of Brooklyn, and have only traveled so far). I get to experience art at Pratt, while at the same time, experiencing the culture and excitement of living in New York City where things are happening all over.

I'm living a dream. I can't say that I wouldn't change anything because that'd be lying. It will probably take me the next four years to get over the rejection of Columbia, but for now, I'm happy with where I landed after the fact.

Go ahead, complain about Pratt; I see everyone doing it. But, it could be worse. And honestly, I'm perfectly happy where I am.

I'll see you again in August, Pratt!