Around this time four years ago, I had no idea where I was going to college.

Just weeks until the end of my high school career, a counselor pulled me into her office, as she had noticed my lack of college applications. I fully intended to go to college, and I don’t know what held me back from seriously looking for one to attend.

My counselor suggested Columbia, as, thankfully, their deadline hadn’t yet passed—I still had a good two weeks to get the application in.

Some people frown on Columbia’s generous admissions policy, and I agree with them, to a certain extent.

Many people at this college probably applied last-minute knowing they were guaranteed entry.

It’s clear who the students are who don’t want to be here—they hardly put in any effort and only frustrate those who are trying to accomplish something.

On the other hand, however, it gives a chance for people like me, who, for whatever reason, panicked during their senior year of high school and had to make a quick decision.

Mother’s Day 2005 consisted of me asking my mom for a $500 check—I was applying to college. An “art” school in downtown Chicago wasn’t exactly my parents’ first choice for me, but I think they were thrilled I was making an effort. With no idea what I was getting myself into, I applied, was accepted and registered for classes all in a matter of months.

Four years later, I’m still here. And looking back, I don’t think I would have had it any other way. I knew I always had the opportunity to transfer and attend a “real college” somewhere in the cornfields of the Midwest where I could have (but absolutely would not have) joined a sorority and practiced my keg stand on a weekly basis. At Columbia, though, I think I’ve obtained a much more valuable skill set.

Journalism may not be the path I follow after graduation, (it won out over fiction writing, as it sounded a bit more realistic), but it certainly helped in many aspects of my life.

For one thing, I probably wouldn’t have a convenient job on campus (thanks, Chronicle). Also, I wouldn’t have met the faculty in the Journalism Department, all of whom I greatly respect and appreciate. Thanks to all of you who helped encourage me to be a better writer.

In addition to the professional skills I learned through my journalism degree, I was fortunate to see the other side of what Columbia has to offer—the artistic side.

At the suggestion of friends way back freshman year, I declared a photography minor. It just happened to be something I was interested in as a hobby and wanted to learn more about, but I don’t know where I would be without it.

I have met so many amazingly talented and passionate people through the Photography Department, and it is incredibly inspiring.

I have utter respect for all the friends I made who would rather buy film than food, who fill their apartments with chemicals simply because the school’s darkrooms close at 10 p.m., and who have supported my work even though I am just a “minor.” Thanks to all of you.

But really, I never expected anyone to read this column except those that have to for editing purposes at The Chronicle, and my parents.

Yes, it’s sappy, but I’m going for it, because they’re the only ones who really deserve to be mentioned by name here. I know they probably would have rather seen me at the University of Illinois, but I can’t thank them enough for supporting me throughout these four years.

Without their encouragement, I wouldn’t be here—I’d probably be at a frat party somewhere, instead.