Summary

“The Chronicle of Academic Delay”

Born into a family of physicians in the northern provinces, he was destined from childhood to walk the path of medicine. In his household, it was not the pursuit of medical excellence that mattered, but the prestige of entering a renowned university. Thus, upon gaining admission to a medical school in the capital, he found myself intoxicated by newfound freedom, neglecting my studies and unwittingly stepping into a turning point he had not foreseen. Yet, in the depths of academic failure, he encountered unexpected companionship and quiet revelations. Through these, his values began to shift, slowly but surely. What awaited him beyond that turning point—.

The Chronicle of Academic Delay

Looking back, perhaps my fate,that repeat a year in medical school had already been sealed in my early childhood.

I was born in Hokkaido, the son of a physician. In Hokkaido, there’s a deeply rooted belief that a doctor’s son must become a doctor himself. My family was no exception. By the time when I was old enough to understand the world, I was already aiming for medical school.

If you heard this, you might assume my family was strict about education and would never tolerate failure. But that wasn’t the case. What mattered most in my household was the university entrance exam. Getting into a prestigious medical school was everything; grades after admission were of little concern.

Let me give two examples. Suppose there’s a local,town doctor who graduated from the University of Tokyo’s medical school(which is best doctor school in japan), and another who came from a third-rate university(we often call such university "F-rank" or "BF",which means "border-free") but made groundbreaking contributions to medicine. In my family, the former would be considered superior. Even someone who transferred into the University of Tokyo’s medical school from another department(such as science department,which is classfied high rank department) is, in our eyes, just a LOSER who couldn’t pass the entrance exam directly.

But I digress. That’s the kind of environment I grew up in. In fact, my father also repeated a year in medical school, and his story was often joked about at home. There was always a sense in our household that it was okay to repeat a year in university.

Time passed, and I got into a medical school in Tokyo(not Tokyo medical school but still, Keio locates in tokyo). Leaving behind my rural all-boys high school, I began living alone for the first time in the bustling city of Shinjuku. There, I unleashed 18 years’ worth of pent-up energy and partied hard. I didn’t study seriously at all. Then, about two years later, I got a call from a classmate. “Why didn’t you come to today’s exam??”

It was a devastating blow. I had skipped so many classes that I didn’t even know there was a promotion exam that day. The emotional impact of failing was heavier than I expected. Seeing my classmates become seniors and my juniors become peers was a strange and complex feeling. Around this time, my values began to shift. The trigger was meeting someone even more “hopeless” than me.

We met because we both repeated a year. This friend was thrilled about it, saying, “Now I’ve got a great story to tell.” He started drinking more, partying with women, and eventually got involved in shady circles(students association) outside of our university, heading straight toward a second repeat. Watching him, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Is he not worried about his future?”

Then came a turning point. I tried studying seriously for an exam—and surprisingly, I did quite well. That experience restored my confidence in my academic abilities and made studying enjoyable again.

Many things happened after that, and my values continued to evolve. But I steadily progressed through the years and eventually reached graduation.

Now, looking back, the damage from repeating a year feels almost nonexistent.

It’s become a fond memory.

If my own child were to repeat a year someday, I wouldn’t encourage it—but I wouldn’t condemn it either.