Someday, I'll Find My Way Home

Karl reviews for his Math exam.

Trust me--if I say that I have something important to do, it really is true. Not some fat lie that I came up to escape any situation. And the key words were, "I really have to go, I have something to do."

And that line was the most used since last week, when I started reviewing for my exams which was loaded this week. I have four exams--MATH 17 (College Algebra), probably the hardest; NASC 1 (Natural Science), which still confused me so I need some extra time; ;SOSC1, probably the easiest ;and PSY 1 (Psychology), which took a lot of my time memorizing (that I hate so much). Plus, extra essays for ENG 1 (Introduction to Writing).

And I had to convince myself over and over again that this was normal, and freshmen had the lightest load of all the college years. It was just me and my constant pressure to myself to be better.

I know Axel had been asking me to eat with him since last week, but I ignored him and went straight to the library instead. Actually, I had been ignoring him all week because he kept on pestering me on a lot of questions. With finality, I said to him, "Let me think first, okay? I need to breathe."

"Oh, okay. Sure, sure, sure." As if he was saying it to himself rather than me. And that was the last of our conversation this week.

I must admit that the session where we review together during breakfast on Math topics had been really helpful for the retention in my brain. I could solve a lot of problems in a short span of time, and analyze problems carefully. We were perfecting the exercises on our Math recitation class, which made me really happy, because I had a chance to get a high grade on this one.

And then, I always come to this question: why is grades so important to me now in college?

I couldn't come up with an answer myself.

Let me backtrack a bit. My mother was an educator, so she was my main source of pressure during elementary. She would always check my exams and teach me the parts where I was wrong. She wouldn't be mad or happy on the scores, except for a twitch in the eyebrow whenever the score had a lot of mistakes on it. That always ticked me off to do better.

That escalated on high school. I didn't want to disappoint my mother, for the most part, so I did my best to become the very best. I became the class valedictorian. I won most of the awards during our graduation. 

I still remember the words of my father during the times I reviewed for our quarterly examinations: "Don't pressure yourself too much, nak. I will always be proud of you."

I know. Their faces when I received the awards were some of my greatest glories in life. They were misty-eyed while my father patted the back of my mother, who was already sniffing in a tissue she brought. I wanted to see those faces again.

Those was the validation I needed. My father's voice had been ringing in my head since last week. I didn't need to push myself hard.

But I still did. I didn't want to disappoint them. I am the first-born. I should be a good role model to my sisters.

And at the back of my head, I knew I need a little more extra effort just to hide a secret I had been hiding for a long time.

That was always the case for me.

The library had been a haven for someone like me who wants an chill, quiet space to study. I would seat in front of the window so I could see the outside world and what's it like to be with friends. I always stayed at the reserved room to borrow their copy of The Calculus 7 (that was the Bible for our future Math subjects).  Plus the room was almost always empty so the room was extra cold that I need to bring my own jacket. And sometimes, I would end up sleeping because of it.