I take a deep breath after ringing my neighbor’s doorbell. The weight of my book bag pulls on my shoulders, filled with a rather odd assortment of produce this time around: a carrot, a potato, and half an onion. The shape of the leather bag in my hands feels abnormally unwieldy. How many others have gone through this mental battle with themselves, wanting to flee the scene before the process has even started, I ask myself. My trajectory leading up to this moment feels like a whirlwind, considering this is my fourth week on the job. Back track to mid-December. My hours in catering are pretty much zero, I’m working a few hours as an intern for a startup which gives me hope for the future, but it’s certainly not going to allow me to put anything in savings. I’m recalling the last conversation with my parents, tears streaming down my face as I try to explain why taking out a loan to cover my living expenses is in the best interest of my mental health. The monetary str...