You know what else sucks? Everyone else seems to be enjoying their school life. Like—what magic tricks are they pulling, and where can I sign up? I want that too. I really do. But every time I try, it slips through my fingers. Like I’m not made for that kind of joy. Like I’m wired differently. The girls who should be struggling—the ones who skip class, who sneak in drugs, who flirt their way through every punishment—seem to be having the time of their lives. Me? I’m the bottom bunk girl. Literally and figuratively. I stare up at the metal frame above me every night like it holds answers. Like maybe, if I stare hard enough, the universe will give me one good reason why I’m trying so hard. Because honestly, what’s the point? I’m giving my all to school, while others just float... and I’m the one drowning. Someone please explain how this system works, because I definitely have questions. You know who I envy the most? The girls who talk about their boyfriends like it’s a full-time job. They get snacks, gifts, and food from them—luxuries in this tech-less, joy-starved boarding school. On sports day or any big event, when the boyfriends visit, you’d swear their eyes sparkle brighter than the sun. And of course, when they leave, the stories follow. The giggles, the whispers, the over-analysis of every hug, every kiss, every maybe. I don’t even have a phone to distract myself. We’re not allowed devices, remember? So I lay there, listening to every bit of gossip unfiltered,echo through the hostel walls like a cruel reminder of what I don’t have. I’ve never done half the things these girls talk about. I’ve never broken school rules. Never had a boyfriend. Never snuck out. Never been the center of anyone’s attention. But sometimes—just sometimes—I wonder what it’s like on that side. Not the drugs. Not the fake friends. Not the reckless stuff. Just… having someone. Someone to talk to. Someone to tell me I’m not invisible. Someone who makes me laugh, makes me feel like I matter. Someone who knows all my weird thoughts and doesn’t run away from them. I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of sharp, giggly voices behind me. > “So, did you guys have sex?†The question cuts through the room like a knife. It’s bold, loud, casual—like they’re talking about homework. > “No,†the girl answers with a small shrug. “He doesn’t want to make the move.†Suddenly, laughter erupts. > “Iyee, he’s weak!†“Girl, you better find yourself a new man.†The girl tries to laugh too, but I see it—the way her eyes narrow, the way her smile falters for a second. I think… I think she really likes him. But in this place, maybe liking someone isn’t enough. Maybe you have to perform love to prove it’s real. Anyway. Everyone wants to fit in somehow. I don’t know what side I’m on. I’m not one of them. But the thought still lingers in my mind, no matter how much I try to ignore it: Is having sex really all that? Would having a boyfriend change anything? Maybe. Maybe not. But right now… even just a hug, a conversation, a shared secret—that would feel like gold....
You know what else sucks? Everyone else seems to be enjoying their school life. Like—what magic tricks are they pulling, and where can I sign up? I want that too. I really do. But every time I try, it slips through my fingers. Like I’m not made for that kind of joy. Like I’m wired differently. The girls who should be struggling—the ones who skip class, who sneak in drugs, who flirt their way through every punishment—seem to be having the time of their lives. Me? I’m the bottom bunk girl. Literally and figuratively. I stare up at the metal frame above me every night like it holds answers. Like maybe, if I stare hard enough, the universe will give me one good reason why I’m trying so hard. Because honestly, what’s the point? I’m giving my all to school, while others just float... and I’m the one drowning. Someone please explain how this system works, because I definitely have questions. You know who I envy the most? The girls who talk about their boyfriends like it’s a full-time job. They get snacks, gifts, and food from them—luxuries in this tech-less, joy-starved boarding school. On sports day or any big event, when the boyfriends visit, you’d swear their eyes sparkle brighter than the sun. And of course, when they leave, the stories follow. The giggles, the whispers, the over-analysis of every hug, every kiss, every maybe. I don’t even have a phone to distract myself. We’re not allowed devices, remember? So I lay there, listening to every bit of gossip unfiltered,echo through the hostel walls like a cruel reminder of what I don’t have. I’ve never done half the things these girls talk about. I’ve never broken school rules. Never had a boyfriend. Never snuck out. Never been the center of anyone’s attention. But sometimes—just sometimes—I wonder what it’s like on that side. Not the drugs. Not the fake friends. Not the reckless stuff. Just… having someone. Someone to talk to. Someone to tell me I’m not invisible. Someone who makes me laugh, makes me feel like I matter. Someone who knows all my weird thoughts and doesn’t run away from them. I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of sharp, giggly voices behind me. > “So, did you guys have sex?†The question cuts through the room like a knife. It’s bold, loud, casual—like they’re talking about homework. > “No,†the girl answers with a small shrug. “He doesn’t want to make the move.†Suddenly, laughter erupts. > “Iyee, he’s weak!†“Girl, you better find yourself a new man.†The girl tries to laugh too, but I see it—the way her eyes narrow, the way her smile falters for a second. I think… I think she really likes him. But in this place, maybe liking someone isn’t enough. Maybe you have to perform love to prove it’s real. Anyway. Everyone wants to fit in somehow. I don’t know what side I’m on. I’m not one of them. But the thought still lingers in my mind, no matter how much I try to ignore it: Is having sex really all that? Would having a boyfriend change anything? Maybe. Maybe not. But right now… even just a hug, a conversation, a shared secret—that would feel like gold....