The first time I walked onto the UC Berkeley campus, I was a shy thirteen-year-old boy. As an incoming high school freshman, college was nowhere near my radar of interest. My older brother was about to begin his college career at Cal, and I had no idea what Berkeley truly was, much less what it took to attend such a prestigious institution. However, I quickly fell in love with everything that the electric and wild city had to offer. I knew that no matter what, I would do anything I could do to end up at Berkeley.

My main focal point throughout high school was to take advantage of every opportunity that came my way in order to build a robust and impressive resume to increase my chances of being admitted to Cal. As college application season approached during my senior year, I immediately felt a competitive pressure. As harsh as it sounds, I was vying against every other high school senior in California for a seat at UC Berkeley, hoping that at least one admissions officer would see my potential through my academics and achievements and give my application that elusive "YES" response. Once I submitted my application, all I had to do was wait for the next four months.

Then came March 25. Admissions decisions weren't set to be released for another four days. I wasn't expecting anything, so I woke up, grabbed my phone, and casually checked my email. "Congratulations! I am delighted to offer you admission to the University of California, Berkeley for fall 2018." The moment I read those words, everything fell into place. I had been accepted to my dream school, high school graduation was quickly approaching, and all of my hard work had seemingly paid off. I knew that I was going to Cal, no question about it -- that is, until Stanford decided they wanted me on their campus five days later.

Some students have their sights set on attending the Baby Ivy, a pristine hub for entrepreneurs and startups. Others, like myself, apply just to throw ourselves in the ring and see what happens. I knew that I would never make it past the four percent acceptance rate, but apparently, every effort I had made to increase my chances of being accepted to UC Berkeley had been enough for Stanford as well.

I found myself caught in between two of the most competitive schools in the world, which also happened to be rival institutions. What had seemed like a concrete decision days earlier was now wavering under the pressure of others. Some people told me to follow my heart, while others speculated that I would be an idiot to give up the opportunity to study at Stanford. In the next month, I visited both schools twice. Stanford was idyllic and pampered. The boys were attractive, the girls were preppy, and they all seemed like they had been Valedictorians and two-sport athletes in high school. The faculty was overly-friendly, and the architecture and design, although gorgeous, felt like it belonged in a museum with a "Do Not Touch" sign plastered at each corner. I could not have felt more out of place. I walked around clad in my ripped jeans, pierced ears, heavy flannel, and a ragged pair of Vans, an obvious contrast to the students driving around in their Bentleys with their 4.0s. The school was isolated from the city, a "country club" in the midst of a wide valley, where literally very few students are able to attend. As prestigious as the university was, I was truly appreciative that I was admitted, but I wasn't entirely sure if it was for me.

After visiting Stanford, I wandered onto Berkeley's campus for the first time in four years as an admitted student. The city was chaotic. The traffic was insane, the sounds of horns and brakes screeching on every street. Sproul Plaza was lively with a club fair, students shoving flyers at me every step I took. I was surrounded by music and dancing from various cultures, people snapping photos under Sather Gate, and an excitement as students climbed the stairs of the Campanile for the first time to catch sight of a panoramic view of the Bay. Groups of students protested, a homeless man stood on a box screaming about the cataclysm that was going to destroy our lives as we knew it, and I ventured into every cheap-eats place and coffee shop that I found, making every excuse I could think of to buy another Oreo Boba. There were no signs of how to get anywhere, and the streets were filled with vendors selling everything from homemade jewelry and tie-dye clothing to abstract paintings of Frida Kahlo. The student life was diverse -- every race, gender, sexuality, interest, passion, and voice represented on campus. People walked around dressed in Cal gear, an obvious pride to being part of a flagship institution that is renowned for its innovation and societal contributions. Students had hair dyed every color with their pierced bodies, tattoos, skateboards, and boomboxes. The atmosphere was extremely accepting, and the school admitted students with strong opinions and bright minds, a place where I felt that I could live for the next four years and never get bored. The academics were intense, the opportunities were incomparable, and the community was vibrant and liberal -- so I chose Berkeley.