Last December, I graduated from Stanford University with my bachelor's and master's in English. Now, over 100 job applications later, I'm working three part-time jobs, living in one of the most expensive areas in the US, and constantly doubting where I should go and what I should do.

Three months before graduation, I started the grueling application process. I applied for project management, marketing, UX, and writing roles. I even applied to entry-level roles and postitons in Big Tech.

I personalized nearly all my résumés, wrote cover letters (mostly) without ChatGPT, conducted company research, and prepared hours for the few I got.

But nothing worked, and I'm still trying to figure out my next steps as a recent graduate.

One complicating factor in the job search has been my international status. I'm in the US on a student visa extension -- known as Optional Practical Training -- which means I could legally work in the US for one year without needing work visa sponsorship. However, I would need to find a job within 60 days after my OPT starts.

Two months postgrad, I was starting to panic. The 60-day unemployment on my OPT was ticking, and I was scared that I'd be sent home.

One day, complaining about all this to a friend and asking how their job was going, they showed me their company, an AI startup's, website. I took a good look and said, "I could write copy better than this." And that was my pitch to the CEO. A week and two rounds of interviews later, I was hired as their first marketing intern.

The three months at my first job passed like a blur. I was thrown into the world of tech, AI, B2B, CRM, and other increasingly frustrating acronyms. It was difficult, confusing.

Throughout my internship, I still applied for other roles. Despite my manager's many verbal promises, I knew the startup wouldn't be able to hire me full-time. I was proven right.

After I left that internship, I gathered myself up, gave myself one day to cry, and started the cycle all over again. I subscribed to at least a dozen job boards, followed Gen Z career influencers on LinkedIn, and reached out to senior tech writers for advice and consolation, repeating their words in my mind: "The economy is bad. This is not your fault."

One piece of advice from a career blog stuck with me: to create, write, and document in public. So, I started a TikTok account. I branded myself a "non-techie in tech." I shared my job search journey publicly. I also started posting on LinkedIn, where one post about my difficulty with the job search received a little virality.

Now, my three part-time jobs are barely enough to keep me afloat, even though they allow me to maintain my legal status in the US, for now. I capitalized on my admission to Stanford, helping students with their college essays as a freelancer. I use my English degree to be an essay editor for an EdTech company. I also help out an AI startup as a copywriter.

Throughout these six months, through various phases of unemployment and semi-employment, I've experienced a range of emotions: sudden bursts of motivation and drive, excitement about a position, but always ending with disheartenment after each job rejection, each "Thank you for your time."

The hardest part of all this is telling my family, who worry constantly and ask what I would do next. I try my best to keep up a front, telling them the little successes, but they never know the true extent of my tiredness, of this quiet shame.

What had these past eight years in the US been all for? I've asked myself again and again. What use are these degrees if I couldn't even get a full-time position that doesn't involve me being in debt?

I joke about unemployment on Twitter, on TikTok, and commiserate with my fellow Stanford grads in similar predicaments. But as my outrageously high rent eats into my savings, as my health insurance expired, I grow more anxious and depressed with every passing day.

I've stopped applying for jobs for a month now. I feel like I should start again, as I only had six months left before I would need a company to sponsor my work visa, but I just can't bring myself to it.

Amid the stress of money and immigration, I had forgotten why I had spent four years working toward two, seemingly useless, English degrees: and that was to read critically, to write with care, and above all, to create, to tell stories, to find community. I'm trying to practice that love for stories again, even during these times.