It had been over ten years since I'd sat an official English test. That alone was enough to make me nervous.
I decided on the PTE — faster results, simple enough. My first mock test was a disaster. Listening and writing especially. OMG, I'm so screwed. Then Jin got sick and I couldn't open a single study resource for a whole week. Eventually my husband pushed me to just book it, so I did — two days out.
On the day, we left early for the test centre. We were nearly at Gangnam Station when my spine went cold.
"No waaaaay. I forgot my passport."
I stayed very quiet while my husband — trying to protect what was left of my mental state — turned the car around without a word and drove home. I grabbed the passport, headed back to Gangnam Station, and spent the whole ride trying to memorise templates.
I'd read reviews about terrible keyboards and noise at test centres, but after months of studying at home with three kids running around, the place felt like a monastery. Pure silence.
Results came the same day: overall 69, barely clearing each 65. I was genuinely thrilled just to have saved the test fee.
Never, ever forget your passport.
Then came the phone call.
A professor rang — international call — to tell me that Massey University doesn't accept PTE. I hung up and immediately booked an IELTS test for five days later.
The gap between my Reading and Listening versus my Speaking and Writing was enormous. I spent days drilling Writing, then Speaking, then walked into the test whispering to myself: You can retake individual sections if you need to. Just do it.
The Speaking test that morning didn't go well. I clearly ran out of things to say, and the examiner smiled and encouraged me like an absolute angel. I finished the other sections in the afternoon and went home completely hollowed out.
Results came that Monday. Overall 7.0 — barely meeting requirements again. The band gap between sections still worried me, but the admission came through. One enormous hurdle, cleared. (Anyway, $600 for two tests?! Call the authorities!).
I still think about something my mum said once — that she'd wished she could have supported me through further study. When she said it, I was almost frightened by the weight of it. I waved it off: "Mum, I've done my studying. I never want to study again."
Nothing has changed. Even now, with a Master's admission in hand, I still feel nothing resembling enthusiasm for academic life. But I suppose that's just how life goes sometimes — it doesn't ask whether you're in the mood.
Cheers for every unexpected life path 🤞
