Illustration by Reine Defranco/The Gazelle

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” —  My Mother’s Aunt’s Neighbor, 2002

Call me precocious, peculiar or Paul the Octopus, but I always knew the answer to that question. At the age of five, I knew exactly what I wanted my life to look like. I was going to become a writer, illustrate my own books and live in a teal mansion on my private island. I would have two children. The older one — whom I’d like a little bit better — would go to college, get a 3.92 GPA and become a journalist. The younger one — the rebel — would have a brief banjo-playing stint, but then I would gently guide him towards something sensible like hotel management.

At that point, if someone had handed me an NYU Abu Dhabi Major Declaration Form, and if I could spell big words, I would have filled it out in no time. But nobody did, and they didn’t pay too much attention to my premonitions either. I could have explained my plans for hours using Venn diagrams and inferential statistics, but all they’d hear was princess or butterfly or dentist. If only they knew.

“What do you intend to major in?” — Academic Mentor, Summer 2015

It was not until 13 years later that somebody was finally willing to listen to my plans. A lot had changed in that time, of course; I’d learned approximately one or two big words, and I’d decided that my mansion would be cerulean, not teal. But that didn’t deter me from using calculus to explain my plans to my mentor over Skype. So you want to double-major? she asked, just as I was concluding my story about my brooding but kind younger son. “Essentially, yes.”

If you ever tried telling a liberal arts-educated adult that you’re considering completing two majors, they probably thought you decided to become a magician for children’s parties. First they’ll ask if you’re sure, and then they’ll beg you to keep an open mind, to reconsider. “Yes, yes,” I told my mentor, nodding my head vehemently and flashing a thumbs up. “Sure thing. Will do.”

But in my mind I was thinking: I don’t know any single majors who have private islands. At the time, this was a convincing argument, since I’d failed to realize that I did not actually know any double majors who had a private island either. Anyway, I was not really interested in more than two subjects, so I’d probably end up double-majoring by default.

“What courses are you taking this fall?” — Someone I Met During Marhaba Week, 2015

There are two types of people at NYUAD: the Decided and the Undecided. I belonged to the Decided. I’m ashamed to admit that I did feel a bit superior to people who were undecided about their major. To be more specific, my reaction to them was something along the lines of, LOL n00b.

During Marhaba, whenever someone asked me what courses I wanted to take, I was prepared. Out of concern for my social life, I had a summarized version of my future plans ready to go. The Undecided, on the other hand, would have to stumble through the conversation — Um… I like history … I like physics too … and I think Peace is awesome, so… yeah.

What I didn’t know, then, was that I would soon become one of them.

“What courses are you taking this Spring?” — Someone I Occasionally Bump Into, 2016

It started when I took four core courses in the fall semester. At the time, I thought, never mind, this means I can spend lots of subsequent semesters pursuing two majors. By spring, however, I realized that I was wrong. Thanks to the interdisciplinary Core Curriculum, I found that there were lots of things I was interested in. Too many things. In fact, I was interested in everything.

I wanted to major in everything. The arts. The sciences. Even engineering.

I wish I’d seen the warning signs. The fundamental problem is that I get uninhibitedly excited the minute I understand something, even if I understand it only vaguely. I almost declared a major in philosophy the day I learnt how to pronounce Descartes. Just the other week, I managed to multiply 17 by 12 in my head, and I am now considering a concentration in mathematics.

“What do you intend to major in?” — Global Education Officer, 2016

As the season of study away information sessions drew closer, I realized that this was the worst time to be confused. The Undecided, towards whom I once felt great pity, were getting much closer to their decisions, while I was floating away into a major abyss. I needed to pick a major and stick with it.

But thank goodness for concentrations. I can’t major in everything, so I decided to concentrate in everything instead. My list of intended concentrations now tallies at six and will surely continue to grow as I take more classes. And yet, I can’t register the fact that taking six concentrations is equivalent to doing two majors. It can’t be that hard to concentrate, I say, as I switch from Facebook to BuzzFeed to a 3000-word essay at breakneck speed, with the attention span of a two-year-old.

And thank goodness for Global Education Officers, too. To assist with the study away decision-making process, we were asked to create a sample schedule for the classes we planned to take over the next four years. I dutifully did, and handed it to my Global Education Officer. He looked at it closely.

“This is good, but what’s all this?” He said as he pointed to the words I’d written in-between class blocks.

“Overload courses and summer courses,” I responded sagely.

He looked up at me. “But you’ve listed 93.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” — Me, 2016

Every time I take a new class, I nod somberly and declare that I have found my true calling. Five-year-old me would call me a stupid-head if she knew. Sometimes, I decide to be rational about it. I ask myself what I would do with a double major in civil engineering and literature and a concentration in peace studies, other than, perhaps, make peace with the fact that I double-majored in civil engineering and literature. Then, the liberal arts sentiment kicks in: “But I love these subjects so much!”

I don’t know who to blame. My parents, perhaps. Why did they give me this newfangled liberal arts education? Why didn’t they just decide to make me a doctor, or an engineer, or a children’s party magician? Why are they letting me choose? Don’t they know how irresponsible I am? Deep inside, though, I love it. While it’s great to have a plan, being flexible sometimes can be nice too. Yes, I do despise making decisions, but I love having choices.

My plans haven’t changed completely, though. I still love the subjects that I chose originally. I still want to write — probably without the illustrations. My older child will still likely be a journalist, and my younger one will still be a rebel and eventually, a hotel manager.

And I’ll still live in a cerulean mansion on a private island. But if I ever decide to paint it teal, or azure, or just plain blue, that would be perfectly okay too.