Why does the world feel so heavy sometimes?Why does everything I try to hold feel like slipping sand?
I have countless stories hidden inside me,yet none of them fit neatly anywhere.The words tumble in my mind,but the world does not pause long enoughto let me speak.
Let's begin with something everyone sees,something everyone expects: grades.
I was never a topper.I was never a failure either.Not quite average, not quite below.I existed somewhere in between,quiet, unnoticed, just… there.
The world expects you to shine,to be someone remarkable,to be the student everyone remembers.But how can an introvert suddenly become an extrovert?How can someone who whispers all their lifebe asked to roar?
When I was very young, around four, five, six years old,I was good at school.Not the best, but good enough to make teachers smile.Ninety-eight percent. Ninety-five percent.Marks felt like approval.They were fleeting moments of light,tiny proofs that I belonged.
First grade brought praise.Second grade, acknowledgment.Third grade, I was above average.I didn't understand the weight yet—I just knew the joy of doing something right.
Then came online classes.
I was still a child.Wrapped in blankets, staring at screens,half-listening, half-lost in the comfort of my home.I laughed, I played, I ignored the rules.And I passed—not because I studied,but because I found shortcuts,because I could fake effort without consequence.
Those two years were a quiet theft.They stole my discipline.They replaced joy with habitless ease.I didn't notice at first,but by sixth grade, the truth came back to melike a shadow I couldn't shake.
Offline classes returned.No screens, no shortcuts, no excuses.Seventy percent.A number that felt small,yet heavy enough to make my heart ache.
I remember that night vividly.The tension in the air,the weight of expectation,the quiet disappointment in my father's eyes."You can do better," he said softly,and I cried—not from anger,but because I felt I had failedeven before I began.
Maths was always my enemy.The numbers seemed sharp and cold,cutting into confidence with every mistake.Once, I scored twenty-seven out of thirty.I felt proud, even victorious.But the pride was fleeting.The memory of past failures lingered,like a shadow I could never outrun.
We moved again.Back to my small town.Back to my old school,new faces, new comparisons.
Students were divided—the best,the normal,the worst.
I was never the best.I was never the worst.I was just… middle.Invisible enough to be overlooked,yet present enough to be judged.
Seventh grade passed quietly.Eighth grade left marks on my soul.My parents were called to school.Words like "potential," "frustration," and "carelessness"filled the room.I listened, silently crying inside,afraid that showing my tears would make them think I was weak.
That night, I stayed awake.My phone was taken away.I studied five hours, sometimes more,trying to prove that I could, that I would.Yet it was never enough.
I sought refuge elsewhere.Stories became my escape.Anime became my sanctuary.In those worlds, characters struggled and failed,but they were allowed to exist,to be flawed, to be heard.
For a brief moment, I improved.I scored eighty percent in a test.My parents returned my phone.I didn't touch it much—only for necessary studies.But old habits return like ghosts.Soon, I slipped again.Sixty-nine percent in my finals.Shame is a quiet companion.Only I knew how deeply it cut.Only I knew the trembling in my handsas I showed my results.Only I knew the mix of inspiration and carelessnessthat followed the promises I made my father:"I'll do better next time. I promise."
But my mind…my mind refused to listen.It clung to old habits,to comfort,to excuses.
Why does my heart fight my mind?Why does disappointment follow love?My parents wanted me to succeed,to be independent, to live a life that mattered.I wanted the same—but success, when forced, becomes pressure.And pressure kills joy.
I've thought of life and death in the quietest hours.What if I succeed,and yet the world takes me away?What if I fail,and yet the world moves on?The truth is cruel:success is fleeting,life is fragile,and the only thing I've always wantedis to smile.
I don't hate studying.I don't hate effort.I only hate losing myself in a chasethat leaves no room for laughter.
And yet, I continue.Because my parents believe in me.Because I still believe in myself,even when the mirror reflects doubt.
The real goal has never been marks,nor praise, nor competition.It has always been this:to live honestly,to try,to grow,and maybe…to smile behind the shadowsthat the world doesn't see.
Because the main thing, always, is your smile.