My friends and I compare our dark circles and talk about how we don't have the motivation to study. We cram because we spent last night on things that matter to us as people. I used to be so hard on myself whenever I couldn't finish studying the coverage for the next test. I'd break down, sacrifice sleep, stress-eat. These days I just want to give myself a break. But even though I do, I still have to wake up at dawn the next day and face the music. I still feel it: fear and panic. I don't want to fail but I also don't want to exert the effort it takes to excel as much as I want to. And I'm not the only one. It's the same for a lot of my peers. Most of them only aspire for a passing score because that's all that seems attainable while still maintaining our sanity. But not me. I wish I could lower my standards, or impose stricter self-discipline, but it's built into me. Both the need to get exemplary grades and the debilitating laziness.
We're just stupid kids who take everything for granted, and not even a million inspirational stories or 30 minute Ted talks could motivate us to get up off our asses and do "something" as proper adults define it. We're clueless about the future, obsessed with the present and missing the past. We talk a lot about our childhoods and high school, when things were simpler and all we had to worry about was making ourselves happy. School wasn't nearly as demanding as it is now and our souls weren't quite as drained. Remember being excited for college? What a joke. But that's just what made that point of our lives so special—the excitement we had, the readiness we felt to take anything on. Graduating high school, I felt like my world was widening and the possibilities were endless. I wanted to grow up so bad. But here I am, lagging behind. You know I once felt determined to strive for excellence? Everyone around me said I could do it. It was a little bit late when I realized I just wasn't that type of person. I'd already set up expectations. All sixteen-year-old-me expected was that she was going to be happy by now. Damn, I'm really sorry I let her down.
You know, a lot of the time I just want the world to slow down, for time to ease into a snail's pace. Especially during the happy parts. Isn't it cruel that that's when it quickens? If I had it my way, nights would be longer, weekends would be eternal and holidays would be infinite. Hey, call me lazy, but I would rather spend my time doing things that make me happy. I really don't mind working as long as it's on a new book. I like cooking for my family, watching movies and having conversations with my sisters, and listening to good music. Am I crazy if I just want to lengthen moments like these, to linger in them? I don't think I'd ever get bored. I don't think I would be so sad.
But these days I spend more than 12 hours at school, trying desperately to focus when my head's in the clouds. I do the work just to finish it and without any enjoyment. My friends and I eat a little too much to cope with all the stress, and our uniforms are starting to get really tight around the waist but we don't care because we're nearly at the finish line anyway. I try to imagine the happy days that are ahead of me once this is all over, but when I look around at the adults in my family, I get a grave feeling that it never gets better. Maybe the money will make it all worth it, but isn't that sad?
