2024-2025 North Carolina - Chapel Hill

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if we don’t hear something today I’m going to lose it.

Losing It 60 Days In GIF by A&E

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fb chat just went up to 126? assuming they just let people into the group
 
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March 18, 2025


Dear Diary,

The candlelight flickers before me as I scratch these words into this ragged scrap of paper. Ink is running low—one more drop from the bottle, if I’m lucky. The survivors I’m with... they’re growing weaker each day, both in body and spirit. I can feel the same shadow creeping into my own heart. It’s hard not to. How many more days will we last like this? How long before the last bit of hope is swallowed by the dark?


We were told someone—someone—would come for us. They said the Admissions Team would rescue us by the end of March. But how can we know what’s real anymore? The days are hard to track. Each one feels like it bleeds into the next, and the line between hope and despair blurs a little more. The ones who've been here the longest… six months, some of them. They’ve watched their friends wither away, one by one. And now they speak in whispers, wondering if we'll ever see the end of this.


I try not to complain. I know my suffering is nothing compared to theirs. After all, I’ve only been here two months. But with each passing day, the light of hope dims. Some of us, like me, hold on to the belief that the Admissions Team will find us, even though we can’t help but doubt. Maybe we’ve been forgotten. Maybe we’ve been deceived.


I tell myself to keep going. To keep looking for firewood, to keep surviving. For now, that's all we can do—survive. Each crackling ember is one more breath, one more heartbeat in this cold, lonely place. And for those still with me, it’s all we can offer each other—this faint, flickering light in the dark. But we know not all of us will make it.


I must go now. The others are calling me. There’s still wood to find, though it feels like we’ve already scavenged every corner of this place. I can hear their voices echoing in the distance, faint but steady. We are still here. We are still waiting.


Until tomorrow, if we see it.

-C
 
Based on last year's cycle track it seems like anyone who's continued review at this point is automatically a waitlist? Likely meaning we still won't hear anything until after April 30??
 
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I heard from someone that interviewed late jan we could submit LOIs if we wanted - can anyone who interviewed around then confirm? They were pretty strict in the fall about no updates/letters, but I saw on this thread somewhere that they might have changed admissions teams at the start of this year, so I'm not sure if they just heard wrong or if UNC changed their policy.
 
I heard from someone that interviewed late jan we could submit LOIs if we wanted - can anyone who interviewed around then confirm? They were pretty strict in the fall about no updates/letters, but I saw on this thread somewhere that they might have changed admissions teams at the start of this year, so I'm not sure if they just heard wrong or if UNC changed their policy.
Their website says "We do not accept updates to your AMCAS or Supplemental application post-submission (e.g. new experience, job, letter of intent, etc.). The only exception is if someone from the Office of Admissions has requested an update." I am assuming no.
 
March 18, 2025


Dear Diary,

The candlelight flickers before me as I scratch these words into this ragged scrap of paper. Ink is running low—one more drop from the bottle, if I’m lucky. The survivors I’m with... they’re growing weaker each day, both in body and spirit. I can feel the same shadow creeping into my own heart. It’s hard not to. How many more days will we last like this? How long before the last bit of hope is swallowed by the dark?


We were told someone—someone—would come for us. They said the Admissions Team would rescue us by the end of March. But how can we know what’s real anymore? The days are hard to track. Each one feels like it bleeds into the next, and the line between hope and despair blurs a little more. The ones who've been here the longest… six months, some of them. They’ve watched their friends wither away, one by one. And now they speak in whispers, wondering if we'll ever see the end of this.


I try not to complain. I know my suffering is nothing compared to theirs. After all, I’ve only been here two months. But with each passing day, the light of hope dims. Some of us, like me, hold on to the belief that the Admissions Team will find us, even though we can’t help but doubt. Maybe we’ve been forgotten. Maybe we’ve been deceived.


I tell myself to keep going. To keep looking for firewood, to keep surviving. For now, that's all we can do—survive. Each crackling ember is one more breath, one more heartbeat in this cold, lonely place. And for those still with me, it’s all we can offer each other—this faint, flickering light in the dark. But we know not all of us will make it.


I must go now. The others are calling me. There’s still wood to find, though it feels like we’ve already scavenged every corner of this place. I can hear their voices echoing in the distance, faint but steady. We are still here. We are still waiting.


Until tomorrow, if we see it.

-C
This is beautiful 🤩🤩 what a way to capture how we feel
 
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