It Took Me Ten Years To Get My College Degree

It took me ten years to complete my bachelor’s degree. 

When I moved to the U.S., it only took me four years, from 2016 to 2020, to complete my associate’s degree and my Bachelor of Fine Arts. But it took me almost ten years to get here, from my high school graduation in December 2009 to my college graduation (without commencement) in 2020. The long-winded path included working, exploring different career options, getting married, and moving to another country to chase a dream. 

When I graduated from high school in Costa Rica, I started working. My parents had recently separated, and I had to support myself and help my family. Although I was interested in a creative career path, it seemed out of reach. Concerned about cost and financial safety, I looked the other way. 

It took jumping hoops and taking risks but in 2016 I moved to the U.S. and decisively began my new college journey. It wasn’t easy. I was blessed with having a family and a place to stay in the U.S. while I found a job, but college was up to me. As a first-generation college student and a Latina woman who completed her education abroad, I didn’t have a school counselor or parents who could walk me through college or financial aid applications. I didn’t have a college fund or savings — not even ACT scores that could help me get scholarships.

 My education from Costa Rica wasn’t seen as equivalent to a U.S. high school diploma. So, I took the GRE and enrolled in a community college. I worked full-time at a hospital and took online and night classes. I graduated with a 4.0 GPA and went on to complete my BFA at Stephens College, where I was fortunate to receive scholarships but still had to assume student loan debt. Despite the challenges I faced, I was blessed, perseverant, resourceful — and honestly, privileged. Being a U.S. citizen and having a good command of the English language opened doors that many international and immigrant students wouldn’t be able to pull open. 

When I graduated in 2020, I was experiencing so much grief and confusion that I hardly let myself feel happy. Amidst a global pandemic and racial injustices coming to light, my graduation felt insignificant. It took months for me to accept that graduating was a big deal for me and that it was okay for me to feel proud of what I had accomplished and share my cap and gown photos. 

If there is anything that 2020 has taught us is that with privilege comes responsibility. Being college-educated is a privilege. Many people think of a college degree as a given, but it isn’t. Latinas hold only 7.4 percent of the degrees earned by women (Center for American Progress), and compared with 47.1 percent of White adults, only 22 percent of Latino adults earned some form of a college degree in 2016 (Education Trust). Access to education is recognized as a human right. Yet, among the U.S. class of 2020, the average student loan debt is $32,731 (Forbes). Is education a right when it’s only accessible for those who can assume student loan debt or who have scholarships, money, or access to resources? What about the students who don’t qualify for scholarships or loans because of their legal status? What about the students who have to work to support their families? What about low-income or rural students who might not have access to educational resources through their families and communities?

Now, I can say that I am proud of being a college graduate. I am proud of my sister, Catalina, who also graduated in May 2020. I am honored that we are among the 22 percent of Latinx adults who earn a degree in the U.S. But it isn’t enough. I have come to understand and respect that college isn’t for everyone. But I want everyone who wants to attend college to have the opportunities I had — and even more. I want Latinx women and women of color to be able to get a degree without going through the ten-year waiting period that I went through. 

I am using my privilege as a college-educated woman to think critically, to vote critically. I am thankful for the opportunities that I had, but I am questioning whether those opportunities are available to everyone who needs them. Willingly and knowingly or not, I am chasing the American dream. And when I say America, I mean the continent. I mean that this dream is not about “I” but about “we”.

Story: Aurola Wedman Alfaro @aurola.wedman

Photography: William Viquez-Mora @willviquez