Gemotions

I stared at the screen, my face burning. My essay, which described my experiences as a first-generation college student, was now a public artifact. The university seemed to have framed it as a feel-good story. But it was *my* story.

I felt a surge of rage, a white-hot anger that threatened to erupt. I felt humiliated. The essay was about the struggle. The hardship. The isolation. It felt like they were trivializing it, sanitizing it for public consumption.

My hands shook as I reached for the mouse, my intention to close the window immediately. I felt as though the university had taken my personal experience and sold it.