The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience? “Obstacles are designed to teach us, not to break us.” My physics teacher Kakai's motto has been reminding me about his strength and knowledge about life and study. I have always appreciated this phrase and whenever I failed, I always repeated it within. However, before his arrival at our school, I was losing my hope. I come from Uzbekistan where the President of the country Shavkat Mirziyoyev, established Presidential Schools in 2019 for youth in order to produce workforces who can compete with the other staff worldwide. Students were selected by testing their knowledge about mathematics, English, critical and logical thinking. As the education system was based in Cambridge there were several challenges for me to get used to having some insufficient results. Question types were strange and answering them in English was agonizing. My results were falling consecutively. Then one day, an international physics teacher arrived. He was Kakai Wasula which then became one of my best friends who is always with me when I feel depressed. The main point in which he helped me was changing my mind about failure. Before his advice, whenever I get low results, I used to get depressed instead of learning from my mistakes. However, after a talk with him, I changed up my mind. After that time, I started looking at my mistakes from the bright side. Instead of being upset, I tried to master the questions that I had made mistakes. Then my results started to show an increase in my worldview. He has been telling me that failing is part of success and plays a good role in life. This golden phrase was my motto if I do something wrong. After a while, there was a big test at school and all the students were stressed because it was the Educational Agency of Uzbekistan itself taking it. The test was the most serious one, as its results play a vital role in my graduation marks. I went to Kakai and asked for some advice. He repeated his words: “Failure is the part of success; it is what you are going to learn tomorrow and don't forget, you are not going to fail. There is something inside you telling you that you can achieve your target. I believe!” I was so proud. Maybe Kakai was lying – there was nothing inside me shining so bright. But, after his motivations, there was a fire burning inside my heart and its sparkles were illustrated by my eyes. That was the time when I learned to be motivated and unstressful. Because I experienced how both ways, being stressed and in opposite being motivated, might have an effect on future progress. Whenever I believed myself and did the test I got high results. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the hall, where all the students were waiting for their papers to arrive. I preferred to sit in front of the camera, while the rest were arguing to sit at the backside. It was lovely to believe in yourself and to know that at least a person believes in you. When the papers arrived, I happily turned the page and saw an easy problem there. I was passionate to finish the test with the best result and justify the confidence of all who believed in me. The test was over and the results were out. I started to search for my name from the bottom so my happiness will be greater if I find myself at the top. There my name was! At the top of the page! Just as Kakai told me, failures made me stronger than before. It was part of my success. From that time on, I get happy when I face some challenges or failures that now I can learn something new.

Amina walked out the door and down the deserted road nervously. She didn't look back so that her mother wouldn't see the fear in her eyes and beg her to stay home. She had to do this. Her future and her family's depended on it. She looked around for support but found none. So far, she had only seen two goats and a dog. There wasn't a soul outside. Not even signs of life like cooking pots and remains of last night's charcoal fires. Nothing. As she walked past the third house, Amina began to wonder whether leaving home had been a good idea. It now seemed quite unlikely that the exams would hold today. Who would be crazy enough to come out? Her schoolmates would laugh at her when they heard. That is if she made it back alive. Should she turn back and go home? At least, she had made an effort. Amina kept going. She could not explain why. A few minutes later, she saw someone. Finally! A middle-aged man from the look of it. He was wobbling along the path with his back to her, clutching a bundle of firewood. From his slight hunchback and slender frame, it was Mallam Yinusa on his way back home- most likely from the forest. His house was not very far off- just beyond the huge, gnarled kapok tree by the marketplace. Amina had never been happier to see anyone in her entire life! “Good morning, Mallam!” she cried. He whirled round in astonishment to see Amina walking right behind him. His mouth fell open. “Amina! Kai, kai, kai! Where are you going this morning? Do your parents know you are out? Don't they know what's going on?” Amina squirmed, “I know, Mallam. But I need to be in school this morning for my exams.” Mallam Yinusa frowned. “You children and this school madness! The village is not safe. Stay indoors! Go home! School can wait!” Seeing that he was not having any luck dissuading her, he added with a sigh, “Alright! If you insist on going to school, I wouldn't advise you to follow this path. It's far too exposed. Anything can happen here. Go through the farms until you get close to school.” Amina thanked him for the advice and watched as he disappeared behind some mud huts which had weatherworn thatch roofs. Her face fell again. She was alone once more. Just a little girl on a lonely, dangerous road. She trudged on warily. A bit further on, she made out two dark figures ahead of her. Her heart lurched. They were about sixty yards away and heading in her direction. As they hurriedly approached, she realized that they were holding machetes. One was shorter and stockier than the other. She heard their hushed, angry voices despite the distance. Sound travelled faster in graveyard silence. When they realized that they were not alone they stopped talking and maintained a more cautious pace. Amina's heart pounded loudly. She could not turn and run. That would be foolhardy as it would raise suspicion and they would definitely catch up with her. She would just have to pray that they were not ‘Boko Haram' (Islamic terrorists) and would just walk on by. The alternative was almost certain death. Her school uniform would draw ire. She thought of the kidnapped Chibok girls for a minute and almost passed out. Most were still missing! The two men looked more menacing as they approached, both wearing amulets on their arms and ankles. Their dirty, brown clothes had sprinkles of dark red. As they drew closer, she noticed that they were both glaring at her. She wanted to disappear! Amina's throat was dry, lips parched. Her heart thumped maddeningly against her rib cage. It wanted out! She clutched her pencil tightly till her palm almost bled. Death was just a few yards away. Was it too late to run? But her legs wouldn't have taken her far as they were almost giving way. For some reason, she found them still ambling on. The two men were a few steps away now. Their eyes were bloodshot and even more dislikeable. Amina was certain that someone had died by their hands that morning. Perhaps, it was her turn to suffer a similar fate? They scowled at her. It was then she recognized their faces. They were both local hunters- probably on morning patrol following rumours of an impending ‘Boko Haram' attack on the village. In her state, Amina was too terrified to greet them. Neither party exchanged pleasantries. From their expressions, however, it was clear they disapproved of her presence on the road. She was a distraction. They would rather preoccupy their minds with genuine threats, not little girls in school uniforms. These sentiments were vividly conveyed but not voiced. As they passed her on either side, they reeked of a foul stench of blood and death. Amina breathed a huge sigh of relief when they passed and quickened her pace. She had almost died of fright. She knew she couldn't go through such an ordeal again and had to get to Bilkisu's house as quickly as possible. She couldn't do this alone anymore.

At the start of the pandemic, students all around the world were forced to adapt to online learning and every one of them had a unique and interesting first-day story. Mine started one morning with a deafening sound. Beep! Beep! Beep! “Shut up!” I shouted with all the energy I had, which wasn't much because it was still very early in the morning. Beep! Beep! Beep! I tried to figure out how to stop my alarm but it was a new clock and my sleepy head didn't help me. I banged the alarm clock. I didn't care if it broke; I just wanted it to stop making that high-pitched, annoying noise. Beep! Beep! Beep! After a few minutes, I gave up and said, “You win, you win!” Beep! Beep! Beep! I got out of bed and stretched my stiff body. After some morning stretches, I went downstairs to have breakfast. I had some delicious cereal with milk. After finishing my breakfast, I went back upstairs, just to find out that my stupid alarm was still ringing. Beep! Beep! Beep! “Dude! I'm awake! Your job is done for the day! Now, can you please shut up?” I yelled at my alarm clock which didn't seem to help. Beep! Beep! Beep! Luckily, my brain was more awake by now and found that there was an off switch at the bottom of the alarm. “Who hides the off switch at the bottom?” I complained, “No one's going to see it!” I was nagging about the location of the switch when I suddenly took note of the time. Fifteen past seven. “Oh no! I'm going to be late!” I exclaimed as I ran to my shower. I took the quickest shower in the history of showers but I was too panicked to even care. Then I changed into my school uniform and brushed my teeth. I ran back to my room and opened my laptop. I checked the time. Twenty past seven. “Phew,” I sighed. I went downstairs to my study room and tried to figure out how to get to the meeting. I wanted to enter earlier to make a good first impression. “Ok, so they said to go to Google Classroom and look for the class called Meeting Room,” I said to myself while following the instructions. After scrolling through Google Classroom for several seconds, I finally found the Meeting Room class. I saw that there was a ‘Join' button so I took a guess and pressed it. I was right! It led me to the Google Meet tab. I sighed in relief. Oh no! I said it too soon. The website won't load properly. I tried to reload it but it won't work. I started to panic. I didn't know what to do. I began hitting my laptop and shouting at it. “Work, laptop, work!” I yelled. My heart began to beat rapidly. My body was shaking. “What should I do? What should I do?” I asked myself. Wifi! I ran out the door and to my wifi router. I began kicking it and hitting it. “WORK!” I got so mad at it. It must've been scared because when I gave up and went back to my study room, I saw that the Google Meet had loaded. I could finally join and I wasn't even late. “One minute early. I guess it's better than being late,” I sighed as I entered the meeting. The rest of the day was the start of a new journey that I have yet to explore. I couldn't wait for what was going to come next.

I would like to take this opportunity right here, right now, to show my immense appreciation and gratitude to teachers. You do what I cannot do. You have the patience that I will never have. You amaze me every day. Teachers, I love you. And I respect you. Will you marry me? I'll do anything, if you'll only promise to never leave me again. School is a point of contention in our household. I love it, my husband loves it, my daughter likes it occasionally, and my son hates it. I can't say that I blame him either. He has ADHD and is the square peg trying to fit into the round hole when it comes to getting along at school. In the couple months leading up to spring break 2020, he was completely unable to be in his classroom all day. I would get phone calls from the school telling me that he was hanging out in the hallway with the Education Assistant because the class was too distracting. We toyed with the idea of homeschooling him. But after a trial period of about 5 days where we brought him home at midday, we realised that we didn't have the stamina for it. He asks a lot of fucking questions. They come rapid-fire, like bullets out of a semi-automatic, and he doesn't wait for the answer to the first one before asking the next twelve. The vast majority of them are obscure, or require a PhD in something like mechanical, aeronautical, or medical engineering. Despite our best efforts, he wasn't interested in going on hikes or bike rides, or doing any at-home learning. He just wanted to watch tv and play Minecraft. In the end, we worked to get him back to school for full days and agreed that we would not be bringing up homeschooling again. Ever. Obviously we all know how that turned out when lockdown rolled around. Can we just agree that there are certain things that you need an actual human in front of you for? Yes, we have amazing technology at our disposal. Yes, it has opened up the world and made things possible that were previously impossible. But as a species, we have not yet evolved past the need for human connection. The in-person kind (I can't even believe I have to specify that.) We'll know when we've evolved past it because we won't ever feel lonely. In fact, we probably won't feel anything at all. We won't feel an urge to fall in love, or have sex, or make a real friend. Until that day, a day that I hope never comes for mankind, we still need each other: not virtually, but physically. Which is why this whole virtual schooling thing is not going to work. The platform our school is using for online learning is meant for adults, therefore it has a chat box as well as the video function. At any point, students with unlimited access to their technology and minimal parent supervision can contact their teachers day and night. And they have. At all hours of the night. The school has sent out numerous emails to the parents asking them to get a handle on their kids so they don't interrupt the private lives of their teachers. It's been a disaster. But that doesn't even begin to describe the online learning portion. Each day the class has a morning meeting from 09:30-09:50. It goes a little like this: “Good morning Tiana…good morning Tiana…can you unmute yourself please? Tiana? Please can you unmute yourself? Okay I think there's an issue there, good morning Rashid, can you mute your mic please, there's too much noise in the background. I need those students that are currently using the chat box to post memes and videos to please stop because it's distracting.” That carries on for a few minutes. Then the teacher says, “Okay so now that everyone is here, we're going to do our greeting chain.” The first time I heard that, I thought, surely there must be a mistake. She just greeted everyone, didn't she? But alas, they must now greet each other. The greeting chain has a theme based on the first letter of the day of the week, such as “Wine Guzzling Wednesday” or “Fuck This Pandemic Friday.” Its success was dependent entirely on the students' level of interest (somewhere in the negative numbers for my son) and willingness to participate. While I think the exercise was an unprecedented waste of time and resources, I found plenty to be amused by. My personal favourite was when the class was playing 20 questions. The teacher held up a paper bag and asked everyone to guess what was inside. After about 47 questions, the kids had it pinned down as a food item and proceeded to list off every variety of orange they could think of. Kid: Is it an orange? Teacher: It is not an orange. Kid: Is it a clementine? Teacher: It is not a clementine. It's not an orange. Kid:…Is it a mandarin? Teacher: O.K. you guys, it's not an orange. Kid: Is it a blood orange? Teacher: *exasperated* It is NOT an orange. Kid: Is it a tangerine? Teacher: IT'S A BAGEL. A BAGEL! IT'S A BAGEL! NOT AN ORANGE! A BAGEL! AND NOW IT'S COLD! *sigh* Lets work on multiplication now.

I always thought of myself as being an open-minded person. Don't we all like to believe we were blessed or simply brought up with good values, which therefore established ourselves as virtuous people? It's the way humans are. But following whose rules is my supposedly open mindedness considered to be open? Mine? As a child, my report cards' soaring numbers, which lit up my parents' eyes and, let's be honest, mine too, every end of semester, were never obtained with much effort. I guess it made me think easiness in academics was a commonly shared characteristic; this simpleminded assumption is unfortunately overshadowed by an even more shameful presumption: that bad grades necessarily meant an unwillingness to work. I believe almost anyone can remember how and when they found out about the existence of COVID-19. My moment was on my way to school: I was riding the subway and reading the newspaper I had picked up just before entering the train. It was quite a small article, with a title resembling something like “An unknown virus' apparition in China”. Looking back, I am still stunned at how the subject taking up less than a page's space in the newspaper quickly became the star of its front page, second page and so on, until keeping close to half of its contents to itself. It all happened so quickly! One-digit numbers of cases became two-digits numbers, followed by the beginning of international cases, leading to the first case in Canada, where I live. Events of this kind finally ushered the world to shut down, countries by countries. How does that relate to my story? Millions of students including me had to deal with the dramatic cutdown of genuine social interaction while navigating through the perturbed waters all adults had had to someday overcome. The real difficulty for many was online schooling: filling our heads with knowledge that was sometimes staggeringly tedious, passed on from a screen that often stayed too still at times to my taste, and normality's. I saw myself become, from a student who used to nail almost every test without studying much, one who found it hard to even understand the content teachers were diffusing. I was a witness to my own fall. After handing over the last exam of that school year, I still remember the odd feeling I had. I was of course happy that at last, summer vacation had come, but... I wasn't able to walk into it with the same sentiment of gratification I had had the precedent years. I now realize it was because I wasn't truly satisfied and proud of myself: knowing I wouldn't get great scores on the exams made me feel disappointed, like I wasted months of my life. This past year, my province has let students of my age physically attend school half of the time, and learn by distant education the other half. I was thus liberated from some of the pressure I was under the year before, but I was still affected by its consequences. Participation, concentration, motivation, even finding topics of conversations with my friends had not only become harder, but problems I daily faced. Although I don't look at these consequences as wounds, I still can say that for my case, time served as healer. It took me months to be able to get back on track, but I did it! It did come at a greater cost, though, but late nights of studying do always bear fruits at the end. Today, I can for sure say that this experience taught me to be more open-minded. I cannot say that I truly understand all matters and circumstances of everyone's lives, but I do know now that grades are not only defined by one's work ethic. Numerous factors can come into play. For instance, parents' fights are greatly able to disturb both one's ability to focus and one's mental health; a family's financial situation can also be an unfavorable influence. This past school year and a half challenged me in a way that, oddly, benefitted me. I doubt I would have changed my work attitude if these difficulties had not happened to me, at least not until the inevitable moment when I would have to hit a wall, just like everyone does someday. To me, it was a reminder to not loosen up too much; a warning that life wasn't like I pictured it.

Monday, let's go to school. Is it online today? Not sure, let's check. Now I'm late. Pulling on my socks, I run to get my shoes, skipping breakfast today. Run down the street, just in time, not late, not today. I enter class and slave away, listen to teachers, but stay away. We must be safe, don't forget. Tuesday. Got up early today, online today. I made toast for breakfast while in class. Camera off, they won't know. Scrambling through books, did we learn this? I don't recall. I'll just ask a friend. It'll be fine. Wednesday, back to physical school. It's not fine. We had a test today? No one told me. Or perhaps I wasn't paying attention. I study history during maths. Hope I don't get caught, am I out of sanitizer? This test seems hard, I don't know any of this. Is it just me? No, everyone else seems lost too. Thursday, almost done. Online once again. Text friends and don't pay attention, I should pay attention. I'm bored, should I eat something? No, not hungry. What to do, what to do? Grab a book, take a look. What's going on? I'm lost again. Friday! Giddy to get to school, I'm early today, suppose I should study. Ding, ding, ding. There goes the bell. Time to go to class, my mood dampens. Test results? Already? Oof, that hurts, did everyone else fail that badly? No. How did they do so well? Is it something wrong with me? No. Not the worst, but still not good enough. Did someone cough? What to do, what to do? Saturday, I'll rest today. Eat some chocolate, I feel depressed, or is it stressed? Somewhere in between, I think. I need to study, I do. But now I feel too lazy, maybe I'll feel motivated tomorrow. But for now, I'll relax, watch a movie perhaps? Sunday. I have to do work today. I must. Look through my notes, incomplete as they are. I'll watch a video, informational of course. No, this isn't working. what do I do, what do I do? I'm lost, lost, lost. I need to study, I must. I find myself thinking, collapsed on the floor, I have school tomorrow, what a bore.

“Layla got admitted to a mental facility. She's been self-harming and she tried to kill herself.” Did I fail as a sister? Did society fail her? I thought I should feel upset or sad or worried for her, right? I'm supposed to be more concerned that she tried to take away her life and ask her how she's doing. But this wasn't how I felt. I was pissed. Your life isn't your own, you hurt people by making the choice to take your own life. I was so angry that she tried to go without some sort of goodbye or note. I was infuriated that she didn't try to fix the problem or get help. But I knew that if she was successful in her attempt, I would be having a different conversation. The successful cases always start out with people who were unhappy and struggled to reach out for help, and the only difference between them and Layla was that she failed. I thought I was heartless for my lack of empathy until I heard what my mom had to say about the next day: “Go to school tomorrow. Get the homework for your sister. If people ask where your sister is, just tell them that she got sick. You aren't lying to them. Don't tell your cousins, just keep this to yourself.” Our dirty little secret was swiftly swept under the rug and we were still the picture-perfect family that she imagined in her head. Do the work, get through the day, go home. It went like this for some weeks as Layla was in and out of that haunted building. That nightmare that put bars on an already trapped mind. She laughs about stories of "butt juice" and funny nurses, but I knew when she told me those stories that every night she cried herself to sleep on that firm mat, in a room of people she never knew before. Girls shared anecdotes that made Layla's story seem like a lullaby. I knew the cage that she had to suffer in for what must have felt like ages with only minutes of communication with friends and family on a daily basis. I walked around school pretending that everything was okay; all I had to do was say “my sister isn't feeling well” and smile. I know the frustration that my mother had to endure with Layla's situation, so I took care of myself. I was one less child to worry about. I didn't have time to be sad. Every day, after eight hours of pretending that everything was fine, I walked myself to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, and when I got home, I would begin the process of feeding five mouths- one less than “normal”. I would clean up everything and get to work or bed. I didn't have time to be sad. That one weekend was supposed to be like rain in the desert. I was finally going out for the first time since the storm struck. I was out with a friend when I got the call. Words that would echo in my mind forever as I answered the phone to a furious mother: “I'm done. If Layla wants to kill herself, then fine, let her do it. I don't care anymore. I just want her gone and out of the house. I don't ever want to see her after she graduates high school” In the span of one month, I became a mom, a therapist, and alone. Part of me was furious that she couldn't maintain her composure and have the patience to attend to her mentally ill child after all the hours I spent to make sure she had little housework to do. But I knew when I heard those words that my mother wasn't trying to be difficult, it was her cry for help. “Hey, mom, you don't mean that. I know that she's frustrating at times, but she is your daughter and you love her. She is trying her best to get better, but it's a long process.” Who did I have to bring peace to my chaos? I grew even madder at no one. I took on extra responsibilities, I did what I was told to protect the perfect dollhouse image of our family, but in the process, I lost myself. I did nothing for myself and I stopped talking to the people that were knights in protecting my mental health when hell went loose. I found a safe haven in the one place I have never enjoyed since the third grade: math class. Anyone that tells you that math teachers are terrible people either (1) failed math or (2) never took a single good math course in their entire life. My math teacher let me rant to him about completely irrelevant details like the perks of being a Disney princess or the lack of warm bagels in the cafeteria on a daily basis. He was the only person to point out tendencies in Layla that kids my age have never recognized. He knew about the responsibilities that I had going on at home and it felt nice to be seen. I felt like I was sacrificing my time for people that didn't even notice me, but someone was looking in from the outside and he knew the pain I was putting myself through. He knew the fake smile that I put on and the fire that I couldn't seem to put out no matter how hard I tried. I didn't blame people around me for not seeing me clearly, I was simply grateful for finding a space where I could relax my shoulders and stop holding my breath.

This is surprising how a single things can disappoint you to this extent ? these online classes are getting annoying day by day . what teachers think we are doing ? its not like we are enjoying this time . we literally spend more than 6 hours in the front of screen thanks to our education system , are the even concerned about us , 2 weeks of the months are for exams , with classes and assignments and online competitions where we HAVE TO PARTICIPATE . what the ....? . all exams in a week or more than as some of our teachers love to take test twice . Saturday was supposed to be the last day of my exams but NO because my math sir suddenly wants to take the exam again . like seriously want the hell . and they want us to be creative , like we have time to do anything else except your assignments ! Sunday is not a fun day , we have extra classes . school was fun ! but this is torture . they are making us mentally sick ! i had made list of thing i have to do and trust me it is not ending ,just daily one or more things keep on adding . and the most frustrating thing is that 75% things we HAVE TO DO {acc to our teachers} is nonsense , like every time i ask the same ques ' what is the point of doing this ? ' it would be a l relief ,if someone will answer that.

When there are so many problems in the world, let us not make things worse. And there are no preconditions for self-development here, to be honest, sometimes one wants to fall into a lethargic dream or constantly yawn (which is indecent in a civilized society) from these strange speeches, where people are trying to find motivation. What can be funnier and sadder at the same time, where a healthy person full of strength and energy, afraid of taking risks, making mistakes and winning, is trying to find non-existent instructions for his life? That's absurd. Do not search for what you already know in your heart. Slowing down and laziness are almost the most useless things in the world. At least, boring so precisely. Well, when we have figured out the nuances that will be discussed in this letter, or rather, these is not here — let's begins. P.S. You have to read out loud to put a point. How little time is given to us to think about it after all? Stop with your eyes covered, breathe fresh air and just think. Preferably about the past, because it's the only thing that defines you now. I think the connection between us was formed the first time we met. This woman, descended from the pages of her favorite Victorian novels, was exactly like the heroines at the English court. Intelligent enough, mysterious enough, known her own value. She wasn't a great beauty, but she didn't need it. She had much more — a bright, blinding light — the fire to life, which made me, young, reach out to him. “You have to reread what you've written out loud three times, and only then you have to put a dot.” “There must be a mystery in a woman that will give a man a field for imagination.” She was not just my teacher of literature, no, rather a spiritual mentor, brought up in me something that I thought I could not possess.I was always fascinated by her her dazzling love of language and literature. The way she could forget the time, telling a poem of her favorite poet in 3 languages or with rapture read an excerpt from “The Master and Margarita”. She wanted to bring her world to us and, unfortunately, not many of us were ready to accept it. It was the highest point of professionalism that everyone dreamed of achieving — to dissolve in what you do without fear of being misunderstood. If only you could attend one of her lessons, you would understand me. There is no better teacher in the whole world — that's my axiom. We didn't just read interesting stories about some characters, we lived a whole world woven from incredible crossroads, we immersed ourselves in the culture of that era and the country where the events took place, and we learned to think like those people, to understand their actions and to empathize with them. Everything that was going on in that office was like the entrance to Narnia: crazy magic.It was this woman who made me not just open up to something new and unknown, she made me believe that I could do it, she taught me to see things right and not be afraid to express my thoughts on paper, and I dare to think that what I was doing and writing, she liked it. The last time I saw her was at an event of some kind. She sat in the front rows, as always dressed up and beautiful. My best schoolteacher. How long has it been since... We didn't talk, but for 10 minutes I couldn't take my eyes off her, admitting and understanding that woman meant so much to me, so much that sometimes it got scary. The night I got my work, which was in her possession until she was fired from school, I was so terribly confused. I didn't know what to think. I was overcome by sadness at the thought that she didn't want to remember me or that I had unwittingly become a sad reminder of a job that was her whole life. I cried for an hour over those works, remembering in every detail the path I had taken. All those years trying to be her best student, imitating this woman, the greatest teacher, in a crazy race with time, I never understood what she had done for me. She saved me with these works for long-forgotten competitions. Even years later, reminding me who I am and what I really must do. Someone says that history should touch the reader, causing slight nausea and suffocation. It seems to be the same with people. At least that's what happened to me. Other people make us human. So look back and say “thank you” to that very person whenever you can. “How many words in the world and nonsense can't find the right 'thank you'. I am grateful for your faith and the crazy work you have done to show me the way to myself. Without knowing it, it was you who showed me what a determined look and an ever-burning heart means. I learned to fall in love with simple plots, reading the riddle between the lines, and to see the genius in a completely, at first glance, delusional phrases. As Heathcliff would say- “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” With love, warm regards, forever your student”.

“Oh my God, why aren't you wearing your gloves! You know you have to be careful at this time!” my mother's voice boomed in my ears as I entered my car. I did a little eye roll. “Relax, the virus hasn't reached my school yet. We're all fine,” I replied. She sighed and focused on the road ahead, her gloved hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, her medical mask pulled down to her chin. She was so scared, so careful, unlike me. Hand sanitizer, I thought, was enough to keep that virus at bay. Today would be the last day of school for a very long time. The Corona virus had reached my city, Toronto, Canada just a few weeks ago. The number of those infected had been going up steadily for the past few days, and last night it was announced that schools would be shut down for the next three weeks. Of course, anyone with a brain knew that ‘three weeks' would turn into three months, or maybe years, but the government needed to tell us what they could to keep us from rebelling or panicking. Everyone was so scared. It seemed funny to me. How hard could it be to stay at home, to practice basic hygiene? Spending months at home would basically be a vacation for me. That's all I ever wanted. That was four months ago. Four months ago, when I was just a lonely freshman in highschool, stressed about schoolwork and still struggling to make friends. Every day at school felt like a walk through a fish market, one where I'd be carrying 30 pounds in my bags with no sleep and no companion to guide me through. Every second was lonesome and painful, my ears sore from my headphones to tune out the sound of my peers having fun with each other, the constant jealousy and bitterness swelling inside of me. Do you see why quarantine sounded so pleasant to me? How I managed to look past the thousands of deaths around the world and deal with it like it was doing me a favour? All this time at home has made me happier than I could ever be at that hellhole of place, school. However, I had plenty of time to think. And a tragedy in my family is what opened my eyes during this pandemic. There was a little while when my entire family thought my dad had the virus. I specifically remember us not daring to be in the same room as him, to keep our distance. It was the first time I feared the virus. My dad was in his office room, working as he always did, managing his business while staying in quarantine. That business was what my family lived on, and without my dad, it wouldn't exist. I had woken up that morning, fresh from the anxiety and desperate prayers asking God to make sure my dad was okay. I would never let those emotions show, though. I put on a tough exterior and calmly went to my brother, lightheartedly telling him, “We should get dad checked up.” “Yes, we should. But don't tell him how they do the testing. He'd never agree to have a stick up his nose,” he said, laughing it off. It seemed like he tried not to let his emotions show, either. I noticed that people control their stress by pretending. Acting a certain way does so much for you, more than you could ever imagine. Of course, this is a temporary solution to dealing with stress but, staying calm projects onto the people around you, making the situation more clear and easy to analyze. I also realized that so many things don't seem to bother me until I experience it. I thought I was different, but it was time to change. This is the case for many, many people around the world and it has always been a problem leading to disaster. Take racism, for instance. There are people dealing with racism every single day, and sure, most people will speak out against it once in a while, but do they care enough to do something about it? Rarely. Most people wouldn't take the necessary action, like reporting the case or attending protests until they've experienced racism first hand. I wish there was a way for us all to have a global or human perspective of issues like this. We can take action and care by doing research and simply believing in what's right instead of waiting for us to experience it ourselves. A few days passed and my dad stopped coughing and feeling sick. Were we worried for nothing? Was it a simple cold or did my dad defeat the virus that quickly? I guess we'll never find out, since we never tested him… The reality of this pandemic is that people will die and things will be hard. And that is the plain truth. The world is going through this together. Without the support of one and other, everything would be falling apart. But open your eyes. It's okay. Everything is working out when we follow rules and support one and other. We are all living, and to our brave hearts that have passed due to this virus, we will remember them for what they have left behind; a lesson to the world. To not think like a citizen of your country, but as a citizen of the world.

Who knew life would be like this one day. We are truly living the fantasy of textbook history. Being a high school student, much of my life has turned upside down. Not knowing when (or how) I will go to college, how I will complete the various passion projects I yearn to do, and how I will discover my true passions for the rest of my life. The amount of uncertainty has brought anxiety and nervousness in all aspects of my life. Being a teenager, the only thing I want is a normal life; a life where I can go to school, see my friends, and learn to grow into a responsible adult. Of course, I am not the only teenager whose feet have been swept off the ground because of this pandemic and the chaos that surrounds our world today. As long as everyone stands together during these rough times, we will be able to get through this pandemic not only quickly, but also as stronger, better people. What I do now is try to help my community. I try to help the community by participating in various events such as can drives and cleaning events. I try to participate in as many volunteering school events as I can while wearing a mask and maintaining social distancing. I see my friends but have to maintain the 6 feet distance, the small distance that seems to have separated families, relationships, and friends. Along with this, I try to maintain a discipline of advancing my studies, so I can go on to become a more intelligent and knowledgeable person when coming out of this pandemic. Every resource I can get my hands on, I try to use. I go rummage through the old books in the musty basement, scavenging for all of the knowledge I can gain. I continue to use the various online platforms I have available to me to try and express myself and learn more about the various career options available to me. This is one the aspects of this pandemic I am most thankful for - the ability to continue to learn and grow through various online platforms. I am thankful to all of the healthworkers and frontline workers putting their life at risk to save the world from this awful, deadly virus. If it were not for them, students like me would probably not have the hope of returning to school this coming fall. They are the reason the number of recovered patients keeps on rising everyday! Hearing about the various tragedies outside of the COVID pandemic continue to strike me. I try to raise my voice in these situations. It hurts to see families affected by the toll of this virus, but slowly (and surely) we will all get through this together!

So I sit, in my navy blue cap and gown, observing the torrent of cars flood the street. Our car is dull, black, and inconspicuous, just how my mom prefers it. She didn't come along, she despises crowds. My brother sits ruefully in the backseat, conned by my father's bait of ice cream afterwards. He is also graduating, and will attend my high school next year. I can't blame him for being somber; his trips and celebrations were hijacked as well. The parade feels like a sham, and so I sit, festering in a puddle of sweat, at the mercy of the sun and the driver in front of me. Many parents spared no expense - painting their windows, balloons tied to mirrors, proudly proclaiming their children's name, and future university, that is if they were ‘one of those parents'. Others proceeded with less pomp, perhaps some chalk on the windows, a flag to half-heartedly twirl. Then there were those like us. My dad breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a considerable proportion of cars barren and hollow. Passing grade. I wonder what kinds of families occupied those cars. We pulled onto the major road and the procession grinded to a halt as the leading cars pulled into the parking lot. Many families stood on the sidewalks, waving signs and hats and banners. Proud of every graduate, whether they knew them or not. Proud of their community, of their future, of who we had become… I wonder what kinds of families twirl those banners. Inching along the street, I glanced out the window in systematic intervals, deflecting eye contact with anyone I vaguely knew. A classic high school obstacle - eye contact. Catching eyes, calculating whether I knew someone enough to say hi, then waiting too long until we rudely rip our connections to shreds and walk past like strangers, even though a couple seconds ago, we hardly were. My dad waves more than me. How am I supposed to wave at someone I don't know? My brother, done sulking but still not ready to admit it, peeks his head out the window. All I can do is watch and smile listlessly. It seems like, with half the parade over, half of high school had been squandered as well. As we turned the corner onto the last stretch before the parking lot, someone caught my eye. I cried out to my English teacher, a warm, soothing, refreshing woman who I grew to love and respect over the year. She smiled a mother's smile, and I felt some baggage slip off my shoulders and sink into the car seats. In the home stretch, most of the families on the streets were taking photos of their graduates. I made the most of it, smiling, waving, doing things that came naturally to a chosen few at the beginning. Some cheerleaders performed on the side. I remember at basketball games being miffed by their chants everytime we scored. This time, I was glad they were here. At the stop before the parking lot, I noticed a rising senior, an officer of a volunteer club I was co-president of. She was our choice for president, an intelligent, charismatic, outgoing, unabashed figurehead. Everything I was not for the majority of the ‘parade'. I stuck my head out the window, inquiring across the street if she had picked a leadership team for next year. She looked away, smiled sheepishly, and congratulated me. Always an escape with her. I sat back down, mildly concerned. She would do a good job. I smiled softly, wondering if she would take the club where I could not. We zoomed into the parking lot, my dad excited by the space the car in front had finally conceded. The final turn. I held a piece of notebook paper with my name on it for my announcer. I almost already knew, but Mista Bale, my basketball coach, econ teacher - the man who had shaped me today was rocking the announcers booth. He boomed into the speakers, “My man, Pranav Mitsumurthiiii!”. My stats teacher snapped a quick photo of me, and shooed us along a line of crazy, rowdy, deafening teachers. I smiled genuinely, perhaps for the first time, as I saw them, living four years again in the 30 seconds the line lasted, until finally, suddenly, it was silent. Graduate. As we drive home, my hair, untrimmed and chaotic, finally dislodges my grad cap, shoving it to the floor between my feet as it springs upwards. I stare blankly out the window, thinking so many things and nothing at the same time. Given the circumstances, the school did a fantastic job. But the parade also represents cruelty, helplessness, regret, and for the life of me I cannot forget that. So as I see friends pile out of their cars onto the grassy fields to celebrate and commemorate, all I remember are the experiences I left behind, and the opportunities that were cruelly wrenched from my grasp. And when I finally get home and flop onto my chair, one final smile dances across my lips. I have many regrets. But we are the class of 2020, and we have become strong.

An early reader poem. Where is the rat He is in the flat. Where is the flat? It is on the map. Where is the map? It is in your hat. Where is my hat? It is on the cat. Where is the cat? He is on the mat. Where is the mat? It is by the fat bat.  Why is the bat fat? He ate the rat. 

When I was little, I always dreamed of being a rock star ever since Hannah Montana came out from Disney. Every time the opening plays, I would always be on top of the bed and singing and dancing along while using the remote as a microphone. Sometimes my mother would even scold me for jumping on the bed. Though as I got older, I realized I cannot be a rock star since I was not that musically involved as Hannah was nor did I even have the voice to be one. Then when I was in sixth grade, my English teacher noticed that I was quite good in writing, so she encouraged me to join the school paper in which I did. There, I discovered my talent in journalism something that I did not know I possess. It also happens to be that I was chosen to be a part of a contest, the annual Division of Schools Press Conference, a contest that I had no idea was going to be huge and I was assigned to the Sports writing event. My coach for that event would be no other than our principal himself, a wise man that many people including students and teachers alike respect. To be trained under his wing was an honor because despite the small amount of time I had training under him, I learned a lot from him. When I arrived on the venue, I was surprised at the number of contestants. I felt like I was swimming in an ocean of sharks, but I was not going to let these ‘sharks' intimidate me. After witnessing the live sports event that we were going to cover, I had taken the necessary information needed for my article and proceeded to the room where we will have an hour to formulate an article. I applied everything my coach taught me and submitted my article written in the official paper. The results were to be announced later that day and I did not know what to expect, I did not whether I would win or not, but I thought to myself that someone like me would not stand a chance against those seasoned contestants. But the unbelievable happened, my name was called to come up on stage, a surge of joy and pride ran through my veins. The feeling was foreign to me, but I could not help but smile as I received my medal and certificate, who thought that someone like me who lacks experience would win 2nd place? I was so mind blown that it took a moment for me to register that I would be going to Camiguin for the Regionals. From then on, I became confident with my writing skills and continued to expound my vocabulary by reading articles, books, stories and any reading material I could find. Though as time went by, I realized that as much as I love writing, I did not enjoy it. So, as I continue to find my dream, to find what I really want to become in the future, I let my mind wander by watching films. That is when it hit me, filming and theater arts are the things that I am most passionate about which would explain why I would have the urge to re-enact the most intense scenes of my favorite actors in my own bedroom as a kid. Why I would spend hours back then impersonating people and experimenting on my facial expressions and imitate various accents. The reason why I would be in awe every time an actor has wonderfully delivered and embodied their character, as I pay close attention to detail and dialogue as well as search for any sort of symbolism in movies. It was something that I enjoy. It was something that I look forward in doing soon and as young as I am now, I want to practice it as early as possible. I already have experience in both video and photo editing, my photo capturing has also gotten better and I intend on joining as many workshops as I could that would enhance my potential and my passion in film making grow stronger. There is only one problem that might hinder me from pursuing my dream and that is my family. Mainly because film schools are pricey and as much as I want to pursue it, I do not want to financially burden my family. Also, the last time I opened up to them something similar like theater arts, they were not quite convinced. Even my grandfather was not into the idea of me starring in films because he does not find it practical compared to courses let's say nursing. I admit that broke my heart a little but just because they are not in favor of the idea does not mean I am going to stop myself from pursuing it. Which is why I find ways to enter in different academic institutions that offers courses of my interest by looking up and planning to apply for scholarships. I may still have one more year to worry about it since I am still in Grade 11, but I just want to tell that whoever is reading this, whoever you are, that do not stop dreaming. Pursue it if that is what you truly want. I once read a quote from my school's computer laboratory in which it said, “Allow your passion to become your purpose, and it will one day become your profession.” It was a statement that struck me so much that it has instilled itself in my own mind and has become my motivation in life. Because I know one day, we will all achieve it no matter what.

THE TEACHER There was once a small school, located right within the heart of a small yet endlessly flowery prairie. It was not something flamboyant, only a timid marriage of rocks and bricks, happily constructed and designed to serve as a cover for our heads, when it was raining or when the sun was attacking us with his love rays. That school only had one teacher, and its sole students was me and another girl. We were not always the best example of students, usually coming without having done our daily homework, or with albeit adequate preparation for our courses; though we always wanted to attend, because the teacher always had something new to present to us. He had his special way to make us feel right at home, his speech was magical, his manners were impeccable, his presence being monumental to our very souls. I can still remember the day he told us that we humans, are equal to the other beings of nature, and that we are the only ones who have the need to go to school, because we have to train ourselves to be polite and generous, whilst the other animals are being grateful from birth. At first, I was scratching my head when I tried to decode his message, but now that I am old enough, I know he was right. Another day, we were trying to do an exercise in mathematics. The girl right next to me, was excelling at it, and proudly answered with haste his questions, smiling cheerfully to his beaming visage. I was not doing so good, stuffed with stress and anxiety that I would probably fail. In the end, I also answered, but what surprised me was him announcing us that we both passed with flying colors. “But, we made very different choices and picked diametrically opposite answers mr. Alex” I told him. “How can this be possible?” The teacher left us speechless. “Every answer is a matter of perspective, my boy” said the teacher. “For example, your colleague wrote that 1+1 =2, which is correct, I ‘ll wager. I have to admit, though, that you, son, advocate that I+I = II, which is also right. Either you write that as 2, or as 11, I am only interested that you support your thoughts with zeal and reason. That is the meaning of life”, he pointed at us. Some other day in the calendar, he took us up to the hills that were overlooking the great blue lake of our village. His eye color was identical with that of the lake. The vista was mesmerizing, both in his eyes and in the scenery, and his teaching was so soothing in our hearts. He told us that we must love our family, and honor our mother, for she was the towering of our future, and would always be there for us. We took heed and as we walked back to our class, he stopped us and kneeled in front of us. “Take a flower from me, and put it each in your pockets, and when you go back to your mother, give it to her as a present, as I can't do that. Please remember that she is the garden with the roses, and you are the raindrops of water that this garden so desperately needs to flourish”. That afternoon, we returned home filled with joy, and sadness as well. Joy because we realized that the teacher was right, and we hugged our mother like octopuses that stick to a submerged anchor. She also seemed delighted to see us act like that. But, as our hands reached our pockets, we realized the roses were not actually there, at least in physical form. That is, because our teacher, was ethereal, invisible. What that means? In fact, he was not a teacher, but a captain. That was his real-life profession. But having sailed over all the corners of the earth, he always had great deeds to tell us. And, because our school needed a teacher, he gladly offered to be our teacher. Well, our school, that harmonious amalgamation of stones, bricks and a handful of concrete, in reality was our home. The girl next to me in class, my colleague, was my sister. And what about that captain, then? Who was he? That moustache wielding champion, was our father, who passed away years ago. However, his ethics and lessons were still following us, and his presence was right next to us, watching us over. His reign as a king to our hearts will still live on, and we will never forget him, as he captained our lives with wisdom and honor. A teacher, is a beacon of light and hope. We all need a teacher. We all need a father. Our father. And he was the best teacher of them all.