My 1L Year at Law School

Ever since I watched an Animal Planet documentary where a veterinarian was performing surgery, my ambition of being a doctor of any type was quickly quashed. Fortunately, I was not in hiatus for long. In third grade, my energy and focus then shifted towards a juris doctor degree. My parents told me I have always been like that; I’ll spend some time on a decision and once it’s made, I see it to the end. My decision to attend law school was no exception.

I was far from the ideal student and had no indication that I would adapt to the perplexing culture that is law school. I received a B.S. in psychology with a Spanish minor instead of history, political science, or English; I never interned for the prosecutor’s office or government agency (in fact, never had an actual job); I’ve always attended public schools; I never worn heels, pumps, or a suit. I spent my time tutoring, volunteering, and swimming, read manga until nineteen, never read Wall Street or the New York Times before twenty, and was not endowed with affluent parents. The list continues, but my point has been established. While there are those who may fit the description above, this was my initial impression of an average law student. I have discovered during law school that my impression was not far off from the truth. The few outliers I met were even more radical than I could have imagined. Or they were foreigners. The few friends I made, god bless them, are able to tolerate me and are daily sources of inspiration.

Wearing my blue shirt with a geeky math joke on it, shredded denim jeans, Converse high tops, and my blazing red-tipped hair, I braced myself for my first day of law school. The following year, I discovered my hair was the highlight of many clandestine discussions among my peers. Going into my first class, I had no expectations because I could not even begin to fathom what was going to occur. All I could do and did was pack my brown bag, ready my school supplies, and charge my laptop. In a class of eighty plus students, about seventy percent of the class all pulled out Apple Macs. One by one, the bitten apple logo lit up and chimed as if though in a musical symphony. It was an intriguing spectacle to behold. Unlike Cher from Clueless, I knew a little better than to bring a tiny notepad, but barely. And no, I have yet to purchase a neon orange Mac or a bright pink suit. I carried on swimmingly with my sleek, black Toshiba laptop.

I heard and learned more than just the legalese in classes but also the jargon in our law school culture. I began to hear war stories about the fate-determining OCI, the dark dungeon that is OCPD, and the Herculean task of write-on. I quickly caught on that the legal profession is far too important to spell out words, so abbreviations dominate the profession. In the lobby, where student organizations promote and advertise their events, I encountered this strange phenomenon called “Bar Review.” Now, being diligent on my path to achieving a JD, I had researched what it took to become an esteemed esquire, a venerated barrister, an admired attorney of the legal profession and had heard of the state bar. However, I have never heard of bar review, and I was no native to the area. I thought it was marvelous that they began our arduous training after school and so early in the game. Of course, I immediately signed up without inquiring.

After classes, I packed my laptop, charger, books, an energy drink, pens and papers, all into my backpack, hobbling to Dupont Circle like Atlas. But alas, I noticed something amiss as soon as I arrived at the door. I heard rowdy noises, bright lights emitting from the windows, people of all ages, and the familiar aroma of beer and desperation. Discombobulated as usual, I thought nothing more except maybe it was being held upstairs in a quieter room. I enter meekly and awkwardly, trying not to capture the attention of the merrymakers and sought out for like-minded people within the tumultuous storm of drunks, scoundrels, and barmaids. It took me fifteen minutes in the bar when the little light bulb lit up over my head. An epiphany washed over me when I realized there was no quieter room, there was no one with books or pencils, and there was no study group. Defeated, humiliated, but mostly amused, I sat down at the bar and ordered a large, cold one while I contemplated the universe, politics, and John Lennon with the locals.

Since then, I have grown wiser (not really) and warier about unfamiliar terms. If I learn nothing else from law school, at least I will have learned to ask questions and read the fine print first.

I continued my shenanigans through law school and intend for them to continue in the future. I signed up to write for law revue instead of participating in law review. During write-on, I traipsed in the Navajo Nation performing pro bono legal services, claiming that I slept in teepees and hunted buffalos to any naïve fool who made the mistake of believing me. I floundered fabulously during the Mock Trial Spring Qualifying Tournament and dressed up as a skeleton for Halloween in class to attract the attention of the professor-who-must-not-be-named. For Valentine’s Day, I brewed up hot chocolate and sweets for my peers to do battle against the ferocious, raging, ½-inch “Snow-pocalypse” and orchestrated class superlatives for the end-of-the-year festival.

All the tomfooleries and various whatnots allow me to remain the person I have always been. In fact, these shenanigans contribute to my personal successes and maintain whatever little sanity I have left. (To be candid, I never believed I had much sanity in the first place.) This is what diversity is. It’s more than the fact that I am an Asian American female. This is what separates me from the rest. One of my mentors advised me to not let law school changed me. At first, I did not realize the depth and veracity of her advice. I thought I have always been the same and have no plans of changing. But inadvertently, law school has a way of getting in your skin and mind and soul. I found my barely existent tolerance for ignorant, biased cretins ever lower; I have far less patience than I am accustomed to; my reasoning have become more straightforward and less innovative; I find less pleasure in life in general; and I found it difficult to relate to the layman with my issues. All these activities and events my peers scoff at as a waste of time allows me to stay focused and gives me something other than law school. I have had a prosperous internship every semester in law school. The summer of my 2L year, I received three paid internship offers and two unpaid ones. I will probably be able to secure a career sooner than my counterparts, one that I will change the world and leave my mark on history.