Missing the Little Things
Breathe just breathe.
I think I’ve said that to my self every single day this week, and yet I still forget to when I write my papers. I find myself blue in the face, struggling to keep my eyes open as I try to hold in the fear I have for this year.
It’s funny, but I was more afraid of my teachers then any plague.
I was more afraid of failure than disease.
I was more afraid of my assignments than other people.
I’ve sat in an old but comfortable office chair for the past semester wondering about whether or not I even want to stare at yet another Word document. I want to say that I’ve learned this semester but in reality, it’s been hard to learn anything. I can barely stay awake in my zoom classes, and yet I find it hard to sleep.
I stare at the ceiling and instead of sugar plums that drift around my head I see letter grades swirling around like a halo. Numbers cascading down like snow and the endless words that pour from my eyes as I cry to myself at night.
And I don’t sleep.
Then I'm tired in the morning and need to drown in coffee. Bitter but delicious coffee that has brought me more joy than most of my classes. I think that is the saddest realization of them all, that I don’t like school anymore.
I fear the enormous amount of work and dread the long lectures where it feels like I don’t learn. Say what you will about the decrepit classrooms where I spent my semesters before. They were at least there for my focus, and the profs in all their awkwardness and wisdom were smiling at the front of the classroom.
I laugh now thinking about the joy of school even with all of its faults.
Who would’ve thought we would miss sitting in uncomfortable chairs at 8 AM. When I think about it more, I feel like I miss being able to see friendly faces and not having to worry about the world falling apart at the seams.
Things are being sewn back together again, and I hope I can at least see my classmates again.
Even if I never speak to them, I want them to be there.
By Swan Yue