Chapter 4 of Should I Stay or Should I Go? explores the intense journey of scholarships and interviews, blending ambition, strategy, and resilience. Efraín Ochoa navigates high-stakes decisions, from a coveted Chevening offer to UCLA negotiations, showcasing how persistence and timing shape success—all with rich storytelling and GRE-worthy vocabulary.

Disclaimer

• All characters and events in this chapter —even those based on real people—are entirely fictional.
• The following chapters contain coarse language and situations and due to its content it should not be read by anyone.

Chapter 4  “Scholarships and Interviews”

While working on my essays, I found myself reminiscing about my cousin’s experience studying in the UK. He had earned the prestigious Chevening scholarship, a feat that left me both inspired and determined to follow in his footsteps.

His stories of London’s academic rigor and cultural vibrancy fueled my ambition. I sought his advice and reached out to friends who had undergone similar journeys. They painted vivid pictures of grueling interviews and the nerve-wracking IELTS exam—a linguistic gauntlet that measured one’s mastery of English.

Undeterred, I dove headfirst into preparation, convinced that I, too, could claim this elusive prize.

I meticulously compiled my application and submitted it at the British Council offices in Polanco. The act felt momentous, as if I had placed my fate in the hands of unseen forces. All that remained was to wait—an excruciating exercise in patience.

Months later, an unexpected phone call shattered the quiet anticipation.

“You’ve been selected for an interview,” the voice on the other end declared.

I arrived at the designated room to find three stern-faced individuals awaiting me. Their questions probed my aspirations, peeling back the layers of my carefully curated goals. I spoke candidly about my future, hinting at a desire to one day start my own business.

Though unsure whether Mexico was where I ultimately belonged, I shared dreams of launching ventures in marketing or experiential entertainment.

As one interview concluded, another loomed on the horizon. UCLA had summoned me to their admissions office for a formal meeting.

Seated across from a finance-savvy alumnus, I quickly realized this was more than a casual chat. His gaze dissected me, searching for cracks in the persona I had crafted in my essays.

His questions were meticulous —each one an attempt to unravel the authenticity of my application.

I responded thoughtfully, sensing the fragile balance between candor and self-promotion. As our conversation unfolded, I felt a bridge forming, a tenuous thread of mutual understanding.

Yet beneath the polite exchanges, I could feel the weight of judgment. Every word, every gesture seemed perused.

By the interview’s end, relief swept over me. I had crossed the threshold, yet knew that the journey ahead remained uncertain.

Shortly after, NYU placed me on their waitlist.

Following Steve’s advice, I packed a bag and flew to New York City, determined to tilt the odds in my favor. I roamed the campus, soaking in the electric atmosphere, hoping to glean insights that might sway the admissions committee.

Amid my visit, the British Council called with news—good, yet bittersweet. I had been awarded the Chevening scholarship.

There was, however, a caveat.

Economic constraints meant the scholarship would cover tuition but not living or travel expenses.

The timing was fortuitous. I found myself standing in NYU’s admissions office when the call came, caught between elation and pragmatic concern.

The scholarship became a bargaining chip, a card I could play in negotiations with UCLA.

I drafted an email, succinct yet direct, informing UCLA’s admissions department of my new offer. The response was swift.

A day later, I opened an email offering me a scholarship to UCLA.

Euphoria coursed through me—a validation of perseverance and strategic maneuvering.

Yet, my choice wasn’t solely academic.

Proximity to home played a defining role. My father’s health lingered at the back of my mind. The thought of being far from my family during difficult times felt untenable.

With a grateful heart, I wrote to the British Council, declining their offer in favor of UCLA. I crafted a similarly appreciative email to NYU, freeing up my spot on their waitlist.

The decision felt right.

To thank Steve, I forwent the traditional gift—a UCLA Anderson T-shirt—and instead secured tickets to an upcoming Madonna concert, knowing palpably that it would mean far more to him.