Apparently, Section One isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
When Section One and I parted ways in Sophomore high school year, I missed it. I missed the fact that I was part of the top brass of the Special Science Curriculum, of the entire school in fact. Being in Section Three was an uneasy feeling. I felt like I didn’t belong, in an arrogant sense. I felt like the gods had smoten me for no reason at all, that I’d done something wrong and they punished me by sending me to the third section. For ten months, in Section Three, I toiled long and hard into the night in the hopes that I would soon return to the glory that is Section One.
Looking back, I now realize that I’d gotten it all wrong.
Because Section One doesn’t necessarily mean top brass. By sending me to the third section, the gods weren’t smiting me—they were blessing me plentifully. And, although my mantra is that life is too short for regrets, I now wish I hadn’t toiled so hard to get back to Section One.
Because it just isn’t worth spending that much time on. It just isn’t.
Section One—hereon in referred to as III-Avogadro, or simply section Avogadro—is a mess. A total, depressing, happiness-depleting mess. When I come into the room every morning, everyone is wearing either a grumpy, pissed, irritated, or panicked face. “I forgot about the Chemistry test! Dang, I forgot about the Social Studies assignment!” The word disgruntled could be appropriate to describe what state section Avogadro is always in. Even a simple and quick question would be met by the “talk to the hand” gesture, because everyone’s so busy with their books and shit. This is where I don’t belong. This is where I seek asylum from.
I could swear that people would be ready to kill just to get high grades here. I’m just counting down the days to when all hell breaks loose, when grades will have become such a priceless treasure that we’ll start throwing armchairs and maiming each other with textbooks.
Which would be sad, because grades aren’t priceless treasures. To quote a good friend of mine, grades are merely numbers. They don’t total one’s personality. While I do agree that education is a priceless treasure, report cards aren’t accurate gauges to measure knowledge. The effects of education aren’t felt during school. They can be observed during life itself, and the Great Periodic Test is when we stand at the edge of our precipice and ask ourselves, “What have I done with my life?”
Grades are numbers. A combination of ones, twos, threes, fours, fives, sixes, sevens, eights, nines, and zeros. And such useless things aren’t worth maiming people over.
Some people in Section Avogadro can also get arrogant. At the risk of being called a hypocrite, I daresay I hate arrogant people. Shit. Like you know everything. Always managing to sneak intelligent phrases no one gives a shit about into your sentences. Whenever quiz-checking time arrives and the owner of the paper you’re checking gets a wrong answer, you quickly quip that he’s stupid/dumb. Sometimes I wonder whether you bring all this failure upon yourself.
And then there’s the invariably crushing pressure to perform well in Avogadro. I don’t do well under pressure. Nor do I think we should be pressured at all, but hell, we are.
I actually have the option to transfer sections, to move to a lower, less-pressuring classroom, perhaps with less [insert adjective here] classmates. I’ve actually really thought about it a lot.
Why haven’t I?
Fucking regret, that’s why.
Why would I toil for ten months to get to Section One and then transfer to Section Two? Thanks, but no thanks. (Mia, I respect your decision.)
Avogadrites, sorry, but this is just how I feel. Ahh, it felt good to relieve myself of that burden.