Life is a Wilderness, Not a Track: Reflections on College Admissions

This time last year, I was a confused student with an embarrassing score. I had to make choices: What major? CS (Computer Science), BME (Biomedical Engineering), or DS (Data Science)? Which university? Should I plan to switch majors once I get there?

These days, the roles have reversed, and I have become the “instructor.” During my conversations with new high school graduates, I realized how naive I was last year—and how naive they are now. We are always attracted to promises like “guarantee for a graduate entry qualification” (保研资格) and dazzled by titles like “pilot classes” (试验班), “leader classes” (领军人才班), or “academician classes” (院士班). We fall for the gimmicks admission officers use. Few of us can stand back and take a critical, objective view of the hype.

More pathetically, almost none of us have a clear overview of the university: what is actually taught, or what its current situation is. We speculate about university life through the lens of a high school student. We think university physics is just a “Pro Max” version of high school physics. We assume people who are good at math now are naturally suited for Mathematical Sciences. We believe a student who studied Physics and Chemistry (理科生，物化双选) is well-prepared for university engineering courses. We imagine microelectronic engineering means manufacturing cool chips and directly contributing to technological advances. These views are one-sided, simplistic, which can be misleading.

Tragically, few are able to flee from this curse. Some may realize it after Gaokao, but by then, there is only a month left. Even more terrifying is the gradual loss of meaning.

In high school, we reduce our lives to a well-defined route: Good Chinese, Good English, Excellent Math. Move forward, succeed in entering Tsinghua University, Peking University, or another top school, and then you can grab the best resources in China. Seemingly, you can then effortlessly do good research on AI and get a Ph.D. Thus, our current goal is always studying and the Gaokao. Those who work hard are always praised; we admire the eager beaver. You pluck up the courage to confess your love, but are rejected “because of studying.” On the other hand, the Gaokao occupies you completely. You blame your lack of exploration on the Gaokao. You think the quarrels with your partner stem from the Gaokao. Your entire worldview is defined by the Gaokao.

But life is a wilderness, not a track. The high school student’s view is one-dimensional, making their perspectives on universities and majors inherently shallow. Upgrading from a one-dimensional to a multi-dimensional perspective is always tortuous. The void and confusion almost consume us.

This is why I appreciate my Chinese teacher, Ximing Wang (王希明), so much. He used to say, “Chinese is a subject that teaches people happiness.” (语文是教人幸福的学科。) When I was in high school, we read many books under his recommendation and encouragement. Most of us treated these readings merely as material for essays or philosophical fodder for debates. Sometimes we used them to analyze society, but we still did so from within the ivory tower, with a limited sense of the real world. At the time, I didn’t truly understand what Teacher Wang meant by “meaning” or “happiness,” nor did I grasp the implication of “Sisyphus is happy.” or “Waiting for Godot.” Back then, I could recite the classic snippets of those paragraphs perfectly. But now, even though I have forgotten the original texts, I am gradually beginning to comprehend those underlying truths. The reading I accumulated in my mind now brings me peace and belief.

But in classes, we do read many classical works and talk about the relationship between humans and AI.