Commentary: You don’t need to be Elle Woods

Azquet Gomez Merlo (she/they) is a third-year international student majoring in anthropology and art history. They are passionate about the possibility of connecting and relating to one another through writing, memory and experiences.

Picture this: A campus bathed in golden light, where the ivy-clad walls of the buildings capture the chatter of eager students while “Perfect Day” by Hoku plays in the background, echoing as a promise to whoever watches.

It’s a scene straight out of a Hollywood movie… literally from Legally Blonde.

This montage lived rent-free in my mind during my first month at UBC. I imagined this captured the essence of the university experience: A time of exploration and self-discovery — where my potential, determination and needs meet to create the future I’ve been dreaming of since my parents told me being a dragon was not an achievable dream.

My first class was in Buchanan B. As I entered the room, I was certain this was my Elle Woods moment, only my soundtrack was “Arráncame’’ by Marissa Mur.

I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation. A nervousness weighed on my tongue every time I wanted to speak. I needed to translate my ideas in my head before speaking. At times, it felt like I was reading subtitles, adding a surreal level of unreality to everything I was going through.

The idea of being able to become anything I wanted was quickly confronted by an olive oil bottle. Not long after arriving in Canada, I went grocery shopping — and at the end of my trip, I spent over $140, or 2,100 pesos.

This was roughly equivalent to the same amount of money my family spent for two weeks’ worth of groceries at home. I had spent the same amount of money on groceries for one person as my parents spent for four people.

The pressure to find a job felt bigger and bigger as I walked to my dorm. Before, when I would hear a nagging murmur telling me I was not living up to my potential, or that I was wasting my time, I could always brush it off. It had only been one month, there was still time for me to acclimate into this new life.

A murmur became a scream in just one receipt. I couldn’t ask my parents for more money; they were already covering the hefty international student tuition. Before I knew it I was thrown into a whole different system. I didn’t have time to settle, adapt to the language or even understand the cultural barriers. There was rent, groceries, health insurance, medication for my ADHD and depression — which I still don’t have after a year and a half on a waiting list — and whatever else came up.

I felt estranged from everything surrounding me. I began scouring job postings, attending career fairs and reaching out to potential employers in search of opportunities to earn some extra money.

The expectations my parents placed on me were immense. With the financial burden of international fees looming, there was a strong emphasis on academic success as a means of justifying the investment made in my education abroad. My success is not just an option, but an obligation to justify my dreams. Especially when my parents deemed art history and anthropology as two of the easiest majors. There was no excuse for me not to excel in my academic life. This meant that in the middle of lectures, assignments and exams, I also faced the task of preparing for professional life.

By November, I had polished my resume, learned about writing cover letters and the restrictions of working on a student visa and was always scrolling through Indeed. I read articles like “10 Ways to Get Hired,” “How to Write the Perfect Cover Letter” and “How to Deal with Eye Contact as an Introvert.” They often made me feel more anxious and overwhelmed. I became extremely aware of my accent, afraid of not being understood, but I also realized people sometimes concentrated on me being an international student. They often asked questions like “Where are you from?” or “Why study here?” Daily interactions felt like I was being interviewed and somehow needed to validate my reason for being here.

At the same time, I kept wondering whether I would be able to find a job that fit my schedule and allowed me to focus on my studies. Would my grades be impacted by the job I got?

The journey to employment isn’t just about securing a job — it’s also about navigating an intricate landscape of expectations and realities. However, as the rejections piled up, I couldn’t shake feelings of disappointment and guilt. It felt like I was letting my parents down and wasting their money by not securing a job directly related to my field of study. The pressure to fulfill their expectations, and my insecurity about my English, weighed heavily on me. Near the end of the second term, I had a group of friends and I started to notice subtle jokes about financial struggles, about not being able to afford food, skipping meals because we were “broke” and questions of how to pay rent. The simple act of buying groceries felt like a luxury. The statistics of food insecurity at UBC now had faces.

I can’t remember exactly when I stopped applying to jobs related to my major, but I couldn’t deal with more rejection. I was questioning my worth and place at this university. Everything I thought to be true about myself was shaken. I no longer had my best friend living less than 10 minutes away from me, nor my sister to tell me that everything was going to be okay. I was devoid of a sense of homeliness. What was wrong with me? Why weren’t people in my field hiring me? What was I doing wrong? Did I truly deserve to be here? What were my parents paying for? The pressure to secure internships and co-op programs felt suffocating, with the narrative of success being measured by immediate employability only amplifying these feelings.

It seemed as though the definition of achievement had been narrowed down to securing a job directly related to my field of study, even if it was only my first year at university. However, during the second term of 2024, I was selected for a five-week anthropological field school in Togiak, Alaska, alongside 11 other students. Not only was I excited to participate and learn during this experience, but I was wholeheartedly grateful to have been allowed to participate.

I re-watched Legally Blonde on my way back from Alaska. This time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Sure, Elle Woods’s journey to Harvard Law School was portrayed with humour, charm and Woods’s own struggles — but what about rent, groceries or the moments she learns how to live as an adult?

University life isn’t just about academic achievement and self-actualization; it’s about navigating financial responsibilities, managing living expenses, academic responsibilities, social connections and sometimes having to make sacrifices to make ends meet.

In the middle of uncertainty, I clung to hope for any job I could get, with my guilt and feelings of unworthiness following. I tried to remember I would get invaluable experience and it would help me grow no matter what. I told myself I was not disappointing my parents for working in something that was not related to my major.

It doesn’t matter how many times I repeat this to myself — I often forget. I will not say the guilt is completely gone or that I don’t feel afraid of not making it in my field. Self-doubt is still there, but I am no longer expecting it to go away; I am still trying despite my self-doubt.

There are challenges inherent in university life we don’t talk about that often. The setbacks and moments of agonizing self-doubt and feeling like an impostor are some of those. Growing up is scary, overwhelming, ecstatic and disappointing all at the same time. It’s learning that maybe you should not buy that little $20 toy you saw at Indigo.

When we are thrown into the job market, we’re learning what it means to be an adult, and how to simply be a human in a world where people become commodities. You are not alone. It’s hard to find a job — to write 50 cover letters only to receive rejection letters.

Life is a more complex story than trying your best and getting an internship, graduating top of your class and winning a murder case as a first-year law student. While Elle Woods’s determination, resilience and authenticity is remarkable, Legally Blonde is just a movie. It is completely okay to struggle, to find yourself stuck and completely unaware of how to get where you want. Your life doesn’t follow a fictional plot line. You don’t need to be Elle Woods.

Share this article copied!