Reality spells school and that spells exams. I glance at my watch. It's 7:30 am. I take a quick shower and slip on my baggy red shirt and denims. I pack my bag and rush to the garage to fetch my bike. I zoom out of my garage and head towards school. We have an exam today. For which I obviously didn't prepare. In fact I don't even know what exam we have today.
With so much chaos going on in my life I barely have the time to care about school and exams. "Very immature" a parent would say. But I live alone. I park my bike in the parking lawn behind our school and sprint towards the bright red building. As I run I notice that everyone is stressed out. Their tension clear in their faces. Oh I get it. It's science exam today.
God almighty has once again proved to be on my side.
I don't need to worry because science is my cup of tea and I can pass with great grades. In fact it is eighth grade science. I directly head towards the examination hall with the needed materials.
My precautionary mind quickly sketches a checklist :
* 2 blue gel pens - check
* 1 black gel pen - check
* hi lighter pen - check
Relieved of my worry I enter the hall with a light head. I finish the paper with a certain sense of positivity. As I am the first person to finish writing the exam, I was granted the permission to leave. I ride my way back home thinking about the exam.
It wondrous that a single sheet of paper has the ability to either fill a person with confidence or shatter his/her self esteem. Probably that is the motive of the education system. To fill the confident ones with brighter hopes and shatter the hopes of the people who need it the most. How insensible.
Marks, that's a greater flaw in the education system. It diverts the point of focus in a student's mind. The objective of school is to learn not to score, at least in my point of view. My focus shifts back to the road from the insensitivity of education. I park my bike and head towards the entrance of my home. I trip on something soft and hurt my head on the door's knob. I tilt my head slightly to look at the evil thing that tripped me. It's a package.
The package fills me with curiosity as I rarely get couriers. I mean, who does nowadays? I'm pretty sure technology has taken over vintage letters and telegrams of much emotion. It's as if technology conveys no emotion at all, a monotone medium for the conveying of emotionless praises and heartless hate.
Only after minutes of ranting inside my head, did I realise that I was still standing at the verandah of my house. I reach down to pick the package up. As I held the heavy package up for inspection a note brushes my nail. It reads
"To my independent loving daughter......."