404: Love Not Found

The Gift of Nature

[POV: Emily]

Pencils swerve on paper as it graciously writes lines of poetry. Erasers brush up against each page to allow a chance for redemption. The sound of wood slowly being peeled away by a piece of metal to make a sharper point makes up the ambiance. Each stroke, shaving, and eraser crumb create a sensation that unleashes the true potential of creativity. With the sun beaming down through the translucent glass of the window, the white walls of the classroom suddenly turn into one's own puppet show. The incongruent musical notes and staffs that are seen on the said wall turn into a background for different stories, ranging from teachers introducing the fundamentals to wanderers of the olden days discovering the beauty of melodies. Even if the others are solely focused on their work, I know that they will appreciate these things as well once they see them.

I remember at my old school, no one really looked at all these things, nor was aware of them. The teachers usually closed the blinds so that the light wouldn't battle with the cold air inside the room. School-issued digital devices were used for us to write notes and take tests, thus silencing any rhythm brought about by physical tools. Worse of all, verbal participation wasn't a thing. Using the devices given to us, we are again tasked with participating through the use of word bubbles or short sentence replies that will be displayed on the board. Despite the fact that our sessions are a lot quieter when we do them, the silence isn't a sign of civility but of trained apathy—the bane of reality.

Speaking of apathy, every single day since we first met, Alex has not spoken with great intrigue before. He does not speak with jubilee in public, in private, or even in class, but rather with a monotonic regurgitation of all previous lessons. I remember this one day when I was very ecstatic since my mom had just packed me chicken nuggets for lunch and I saw that I had way too many for myself, so I thought Alex could have it. I put my lunch behind my back, ran up behind Alex, and then called for his attention. Seeing that he was about to finish fixing his things, I was preparing myself to give him part of my lunch, yet he didn't even look at me when he stood up and walked towards the cafeteria. Stunned, I stood there for a good 10 seconds trying to comprehend what happened before I realized he was gone. Later that day, I tried to talk to him to see what the issue was, but he ignored me. The only thing I remember him saying was something along the lines of, "We're at school doing the same thing over and over again." Seeing how frustrated he got, I decided to let him be for the day to hopefully calm his emotions.

The very next day, I recall asking him the same question about what was going on and how he was feeling, yet I got the same answer. However, this time it wasn't the exact same answer. As he began to recite the same line he throws at me whenever I ask that question, his frowned eyes gave way to something different, something tearier. With how his mouth stayed unmoving while his eyes watered, it was evident to me that if I were to ask, I would be met by nothing but resistance and denial. At that moment, I felt like I was suddenly thrown back to my old school. A lot of suppression, a lot of unanswered closure, and a lot of diverted anger arose from nearly every student. Bickering amongst each other and silent judgments were prevalent, thus putting everyone on eggshells when expressing their true colors. Alex's eyes looked exactly the same. The exact same pain must remain the elephant in the room for it to pass. Therefore, I said the only logical thing I could to him, "Try to find the meaning in things so that you don't have to see them as they are, but something that you want them to be." I know escaping isn't the answer, it never is, but he needs hope, he needs to be reminded that he isn't stuck.

However, something is off. Despite being the one that said to see things in a different way, it felt wrong to say it. I've said it multiple times before, but saying it now feels disingenuous. It felt as if he was actually right this entire time. Why does he feel right? Is it so wrong to be at school? Is it even school that's the problem?