I could have gone to Oxford
And now I can’t talk about it.
In 2009 I rejected an offer to study PPE at the University of Oxford. One of the most competitive degrees at one of the world’s top schools.
This newsletter tells half of that story, and unpacks why I don’t talk about it—even though I’m usually dying to.
The offer you can’t refuse
In 2009 I was a Thai government scholarship student in my final year of A-Levels (the UK’s equivalent of high school). My college was in Oxford (the town), and it was a rite of passage for Thai scholars there to apply to the university for their undergraduate degree.
I was 19 years old. My idea of a life well-lived was success at every endeavour, so of course I applied. I didn’t know what to study, so my hubris chose the most difficult degree I could have applied for: Philosophy, Politics, and Economics.
I don’t remember which first-year A-Levels results I submitted, but I had to sit a special test, the TSA Oxford, for my application. I scored 94.8 on critical thinking. Which was the highest anyone got that year.
Be it my first-year results, my TSA score, or the fact I applied to an easy college—19-year-old me had enough sense not to choose a top course and a top college—whatever it was, an envelope arrived from Oxford that was too heavy for a rejection letter. I knew it contained the offer even before I opened it.
As was customary in those days (now that’s a phrase that makes you feel old), the offer was “conditional.” I’d be offered a place to read PPE at Oxford if I met the stipulated condition: AAA in my final A-Levels results. If I didn’t score those three A’s, I would lose my spot.
Heavy envelopes continued to arrive. By the end I’d received conditional offers from all five universities I’d applied for. I now had to choose two: a first choice, then a back-up with less stringent conditions in case I screw up my finals—and reject the rest.
I accepted UCL (AAA) as my first choice, Warwick (AAB) as my back-up—and rejected Oxford.
But can’t I talk about this?
Why I chose UCL over Oxford is a whole other post. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t because I was wise beyond my years.) Today I want to unpack why hardly anyone who entered my life post-Oxford glory knows about it. Why my proudest academic achievement remains a secret I reluctantly keep.
Because I didn’t actually go, there is no mention of Oxford on my CV or social media. There is no way for someone to discover this information unless I bring it up.
Oh hey, by the way, I got an offer to read PPE at Oxford! Yeah, that Oxford.
Oh, you went to Oxford? I almost went too!
Did you know I rejected an offer from Oxford so I could go to UCL? Yeah, mental!
You see why I never bring it up.
But I should be able to.
As a society, we judge people—harshly—for boasting. Self-absorbed, proud, immodest. Not rubbing other people’s face in our success is a code we collectively adhere to.
But where is the line that separates sharing a part of us we’re genuinely proud of, and talking needlessly about our achievements? Does that line even exist?
Each time I make a new friend, I’m dying to tell them my Oxford story. Because it’s cool and yes, I want to impress. But also because my decision to reject that offer was a pivotal moment in my life. I am incredibly proud of it—and of getting the offer in the first place.
These are parts of me I wish known by people I care about. Yet I don’t ever feel I can bring it up because of society’s censure for “boasting.”
Which the dictionary, by the way, defines as “speaking too proudly or happily about what you have done or what you own.” A bad word.
But what’s wrong with speaking proudly or happily about what we’ve done, what we own? Why does anyone but me get to decide how much is the appropriate level of pride and happiness to exhibit, and how much is too much?
If I’ve secured an offer to study at one of the world’s most prestigious universities, shouldn’t I be at liberty to speak about it whenever, wherever? Why do I have to wait for someone to ask the question no one will ever ask: Where did you almost go to study?
If someone has toiled for decades to buy the house of their dreams, shouldn’t they be at liberty to talk about it as much as they want? About every finish, every fireplace, every room they still can’t find the right furniture for—without their friends ever rolling their eyes: Not the house again.
When did sharing something dear to us become a thing to be judged for?
Why can’t we agree to let everyone speak, proudly and happily, about all the things they wish us to know, and instead of finding them boastful—just be happy for them?
What do you think?
If I—out of the blue—told you I got into Oxford, would you think I was boasting?
Or would you just be happy for me? Tell me the first thought that crossed your mind. Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone who you suspect is holding back a part of themselves you’d love to congratulate.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Ooof this is a good one! I believe it's a good possibility that the FIRST thing someone thinks has more to do with how what you're sharing about yourself makes them feel about themselves in comparison to what you've shared. In which case it's not actually about WHAT you're sharing at all, or your "right" to share it as much as it is our conditioning to attempt to shame others for "making" us feel a certain way. Which of course is ridiculous. Nobody can "make" anybody anything, and yet we go along perpetuating that myth by adhering to beliefs that endorse it, such as labeling someone who shares something like your Oxford story as a "bragger". And there was a time I may have done that myself! 😬Simply because I'd been trained into it. My retrained brain understands that your stories are about you. EXCLUSIVELY. And when my brain is freed from believing otherwise, I can fully enjoy any story that others are generous enough to gift us with and pull inspiration from them. THESE are the people we write for. Those who don't receive it in that capacity weren't meant to. I thank you for the much needed reminder and as far as Oxford- they'd have been lucky to get you.
I'd would only feel intrigued into hearing the rest of the story! And Oxford Schmoxford. Any old riff raff can get in there...😂