Chapter 5 – Pressure
Today, yes, the result is going to be published on the notification board of my school. I'm walking to school nervously, my fingers twitching inside the pockets of my jacket. The early morning air doesn't help it.
My mom talked to me after dinner. She didn't scold me, didn't raise her voice, but her words pierced like needles. She said:
"You know you're going to take the high school entrance exam, and you've chosen the gifted school of our city. You have to study hard. That also means you must get first prize, okay? Don't disappoint me."
She smiled at the end, but it wasn't a soft smile. It was a smile with weight. Pressure doesn't always come with yelling. Sometimes it comes dressed as quiet expectations.
I don't know when this started, but I've been living under this cloud since I got into secondary school. Adults think that puberty will make us rebellious and careless. They don't realize some of us are just quietly collapsing while trying to meet all the bars they set.
I have studied. I've stayed up until midnight or sometimes 1 AM for reading, revising, drilling vocabulary lists until the words blurred. I've skipped meals, skipped breaks, all to chase this vague thing called success. Whatever that means.
The school gate appears. Familiar. Unchanging. But my heart's not calm. I glance at the board. Nothing yet. Just white space, waiting to crush or comfort. I sigh, then head to my classroom. Maybe I can rest my eyes for five minutes...
But why is it so noisy? The hallway's buzzing. I hear snippets "English prize," "the list's up," "unbelievable!"
My heart leaps. I throw my bag on my chair and sprint back to the board. My footsteps echo down the hallway. Everything blurs.
I reach the board. Breathe.
I slowly search for my name.
And there it is.
First place.
I stare at it, just to make sure it's real. Then again.
Yes.
I did it.
I did it.
But the pride only lasts a moment. Just one.
Because this is only the beginning.
Now, the next goal rises like a mountain in the distance: the district-level English competition for gifted students. I've done this before. Second place. Third place. Never first. My parents didn't say much those times, but the silence after the result said more than any words could.
I clutch my chest, not in drama, but in actual discomfort. This pressure just like wearing a stone necklace every day.
Finally, lessons end. I step outside. The sun's bright but it doesn't feel warm. I walk the familiar road that I bike through every day. The cracks on the sidewalk, the smell of old trees. Everything is just really familiar to me.
But I'm different today. Heavier.
I unlock my phone. I text Shin:
"Hey, guess what? I got a first prize in the English contest."
I stare at the screen. Should I add a smiley face? Or a crying one? I settle for nothing. Just the plain sentence. Actually, i didn't tell him about this and we didn't even have chances to talk with each other. He always disappears. I hate that.
I throw my bag on the floor once I get home. My parents aren't back yet. I lie down, staring at the ceiling. My eyes feel like they're filled with sand. The room is quiet, but my mind isn't. It's racing ahead. Planning. Panicking.
Should I study right now? Take a break? Nap? Revise grammar? Read comprehension passages?
I end up doing nothing. Just lying there. And that makes me feel worse.
At dinner, my parents return. My mom sees me and immediately says, "So? How was the result?"
I smile weakly. "First place."
She nods. "Good. Keep it up. You've got the district competition next."
That's it. No hug. No high five. Just a nod and another goal tossed in front of me.
Later that night, I open my books again. The words blur. My head aches. But I keep going.
I don't know why.
Maybe because it's the only thing I know how to do.
Or maybe because… I'm afraid of what happens if I stop.
And somewhere, buried deep under test papers and parental expectations, a part of me still whispers:
You're more than your results.
But for now, I don't have time to listen.