What I’ve experienced in school.
Finally, the blade deepens and hits just right, the scar of what the doubtful and painful knife have left me insecure and filled with emptiness. The sparks of love I had was weak and burning low, it soon became a weapon that only caused me harm. This body soon became an empty vessel searching for a purpose in this constant non-fiction world.
Tick tock, tick tock, the clock goes, teachers writing of riddles on the board, speaking of a foreign language that I cannot comprehend. Various noises filled the classroom, speaking of gibberish as I sit in this isolated bubble of my own. Surviving in this vessel, searching for a purpose- no, but rather waiting to be re-wired and commanded day by day. I love the languages subjects so I am pretty good at it, but I hate maths and sciences, hence I am bad at it. With no further comments I scanned through the whiteboard, but everyday I worry on how people kept instructing me how to grow as a person; giving me options on what’s right and wrong, but in the end, the things that I will choose will forever be false.
Everyday, I noticed to have a work that is always incomplete; I stare at the blank piece of paper reflecting about my life. With not much personality as an individual, hence I do not find it as an inconvenience to survive in this school. As time continue to pass by, I realized that I’m currently stuck in a never ending cycle of hypnotism, walking through the same hallways each day, and soon it feels as though everything is on repeat. In class again, questions and answers that are not even needed in my daily life, being drilled in my mind, as I flipped through textbook, which contains no specific answer.
“How are your grades?” you asked with a smile.
I shrugged, “the same, I guess.”
Piercing me with your eyes, reminding me of the “future” I will soon have.
If my tears were colours, then my pillow would be painted with rainbows. Thus in the morning, I would wake up with dark rings around my eyes, haunting me every time I look at my
reflection. I would try and cover it up so that they would be a shade lighter, and I know they would not disappear.
Staggering through the same hallways, towards an empty seat, one far from the sunlight, but rays still blinded me and left me in daze, as if its trying to question me;
“What were you expecting in life?”
“What are your dreams?”
Searching frantically for an answer in that empty textbook, I can’t breathe, I’m choking and it hurts. The stares that they give, beating down my confidence and pride all over again, I tried to find an answer, but its all the same; still an empty white paper, reflecting about my life.
“I can do this…”
I keep repeating those words in my mind, as I stare at that incomplete work, telling me about “responsibilities”, “success”, “achievements”, “grades”, and so on, but every time I climb back up, your words kept knocking down my stance, chaining me down, to expectations, that I cannot achieve.
Expectations and dreams, which are so heavy chaining me, more than gravity ever will.
“I’ve tried…I’m tired…It hurts…”
“When will you ever grow up?”
But let me ask, what is the meaning of “growing up” in the first place? If this is what’s it feels like, then I just want to stop. The path they build for me is dictated to be perfect, and filled with beautiful lies. Feeding me with expectations, rewiring my senses, choking me with perfection.
I cannot breathe, I feel nauseous. My body cannot sustain it.
Staggering to a mirror, I see the rings under my eyes, as a constant reminder the about those disappointment glare, I noticed :”Ah… they are getting darker.”
Reflection; write about your experience when writing a specific essay
It actually triggers really bad memories when I wrote this essay, because in school my parents always had really high expectations of me, reminding me that I’m the grandchild of two professors. As a child, I am constantly compared to someone better than me, whether they are younger or older. Not only my parents had high expectations, but my grandfather too, until now he would always asks me;
“Are you fluent in your German?”
“Have you mastered at least 3 languages?”
My grandfather speaks in total of seven languages, hence he expected to do the same, he also expected me to be a professor as he is, thus he constantly asks about my maths and chemistry, but I’m really terrible at chemistry and maths. I hated maths because I can never understand it, and I can never bring my C to a B. But I love Art subjects like English, Literature, Art and music, because they feel so free.
When I was in year 7, I remembered that I told my mother that I wanted to be a photographer and that I wanted to do art, she got angry and told me;
“You can learn that whenever and wherever you want. And how are you suppose to earn for a living later? I didn’t pay so much for your school so you can throw away your potential. ”
But I love photography and art; they were my passion, but clearly not in my mother’s eyes. Even now, I just have to live up to her expectations in me.
I have always hated it when my mom would say
“You are the granddaughter of two famous professors.”
“Aren’t you ashamed that your younger cousins are doing better than you?”
My family isn’t the only one who have high expectations, but my tuition teacher too, when I improved my literature from C to B, my tuition teacher said to me ;
“I didn’t teach you to give me shitty marks.”
In graduation, I texted my biological father that I just graduated, he replied :
“oh ok that’s good, how did kresna do?’
I mean, can’t you just ask me how Im doing or how is my marks or wish me luck for IGCSE first before you ask me how kresna did? Like is your expectations of me that high to the point its like you don’t care?