The Opposite of Regret and Other Thoughts of a Law School Dropout
<p>Somewhere deep among our pile of family albums, there’s a photo of six-year-old me sitting as straight as a six-year-old can on a little wooden chair.</p>
<p>It was one of those dress-up-as-your-future-job day photo-ops. I’m in a <em>barong</em> and black slacks. On my lap is a law book held upright by my right hand. The book is as tall as my torso.</p>
<p>I didn’t smile in front of cameras as a kid. I was too shy to show my teeth, so I bit my lower lip. The photo is a funny reminder of that. I’m looking straight at the camera, signature lip-bite, stoic and stiff.</p>
<p>I remember the feeling of having been <em>placed </em>in this position. But then again, I was six years old. At that point, wherever I was, chances are, I was placed there.</p>
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