DIGITAL ART BY Meldrid Ayag.
School life is a blooming rose not without its thorns.
My first day was simple yet hectic.
When I stepped through the school gate, I felt awkward from being surrounded by students in their crisp uniforms. I was in civilian clothing because I was idiotic enough to burn my uniform while ironing it. Nevertheless, I trudged to our building where our classroom was situated.
I was hopeful as I made my way. A new school year meant new opportunities and new experiences. A time to make memories to look back on when we’re grown up and busy.
I saw many familiar faces and also a lot of new faces, who were most likely freshmen. Once I arrived by my building, I was slightly tired, my lack of exercise due to the pandemic becoming very evident. A teacher was beckoning us to head to the Oval for the flag ceremony and I obediently followed the other students on their way there.
Nothing could have prepared me for the fatigue I was about to experience.
We attended the flag ceremony, with the soil—practically mud—sinking beneath our soles. The students used their IDs to fan themselves as the humidity suddenly decided to announce its presence. My hair stuck to my neck and my bag weighed me down, an ache in my shoulder starting to take effect.
The huge amount of people present stunned me. I hadn’t seen such a large crowd in a long time. I was flabbergasted, if anything. The walk back to our classroom was as tiring as the walk to the Oval.
Come recess time, students crowded all the canteens. The main canteen, especially, was filled with bustling students. Students pushed against each other, eager to fill their stomachs. I went nowhere near the mass of people. I had enough foresight to bring my own snack. It was still truly a sight to behold. It was like rush hour in a street of a big city.
By lunch time, students were heading home. They stood on the pavement beside the road, hoping to hail a tricycle to return home and eat lunch with their families. A sheer amount of students were waiting and waiting and waiting. The tricycles were trying to keep up with the number of students. It was a pain to just try and go home.
It also feels strange to have forty other students sitting in the same room and a teacher, in the front of the classroom, teaching us. It almost leaves me shocked. I realize that I have grown used to solitude with my thick stack of modules.
It was tiring, exhausting, and draining—but also a comforting familiarity.
This was life two years ago. Before the pandemic hit, we all went on campus to study hard and live our best teenager lives.
Although, we lost two years of it.
It feels as if everything has aged, but me. Due to the pandemic, it doesn’t feel like I’ve lived two years of schooling. It feels as if I am still a seventh grader and not a tenth grader, in her last year of junior high.
Time passed by too fast when no one was even telling it to hurry up.
It is still a new school year. It’s something to make the most of. I can study hard and stress about my grades. I can meet my friends daily again. I can chat with them and have fun. I can live the journey I will pave for myself.
So here I am, cheerfully snapping the thorns off this blooming rose.
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