There I was, first column and front row, sitting by my desk which abruptly sided the wall surface. Brick by brick it grew tough and compact into that dull box which suited as classroom, students filling in all square and accurate. It actually felt constrainedly uniform. The air felt too dense and my body felt too light. And I? I felt suffocated.
Other students would sit perfectly erect and would swallow whatever their senses caught, determined and confident about their so-praised academic purpose. I could feel my arms laying idle and neat on the rough wooden desk and my feet exerting little pressure as they touched the ground. Judging looks, I could easily be camouflaged to fit the perfect droid attitude, focusing on the lady with her marker, always wearing a frowned-eyebrow expression and her mouth wide moving, as fast as the act of throwing up a perfect lunch. But the thing is, my ears could not follow anything that my eyes captured. I heard nothing. Or maybe was I not listening?
In matter of seconds, I would be travelling to a vacuum, free from any sound, or touch or sight, even if I left my eyes and ears perfectly open, and my body as perfectly straight and fresh.

My world could be anything. I would recall the sun and the blue sky and the sweet caress of chill breezes. I would picture myself reading or writing about all my exigencies upon the world. Or, wearing goggles and gripping a wave of the light water of a swimming pool or even, absorbing real knowledge from college books and experimenting with microscopes. That sounds totally cool right? But in reality, all those perfect, soothing pictures did not come up that often, even if I already travelled my mind away from the current world. I would think of people instead, those who I’ve attached myself to, those whom I was grateful to have, those who have hurt me or those who were about to hurt me. It would all start with a spark from a candle flame, and it would gradually burst into a rocket firework, evoking memories of minutes, days or years back. My brain would be working out the resemblances and linkages and finally I would come up with…. Realisation!

I felt good, losing myself, away from that world of learning for no purpose of well-being. Though, I maybe confused the good feeling with happiness, I don’t know. I had this obsession, of understanding everything, of being conscious of the unconscious. I wanted to know the truths behind meanings, I imagined it was a way to prepare myself for the future, avoid myself of being hurt. Even so, the past’s truths did hurt sometimes, and the future could hurt even more but I guess, I wanted to fight off ignorance and deal with the grief. I was not always involved in the memories or with the persons I recalled, but, it did not prevent me from being twice as sad when realising that intentions were not always good. I could not understand why people would not think of others, and would not realise that they can think bad of others. Maybe some were afraid to speak up and contradict their friend, and maybe some would pretend to respect and accept them while deep down still believing that he’s right and the other is wrong.

I could not understand how people could be annoyed! I could not understand how people chose to be annoyed by how others were simply being themselves! I love people. Maybe too much, so much, that I’m maybe afraid of them. They always seem to compare, categorise and set aside those who do not suit them. I wonder why are we not neutral and then accept and consider everything and everyone positively. I wonder why people do not think of everyone else as amazing. Maybe if they knew they don’t, then they could stop choosing and acknowledge how we all are amazing. And I guess that would only work if everyone would think like that because it is no one way traffic, I am aware of it and I guess that makes me some sort of ‘dreamer’. But John Lennon had sung once, “I am not the only one.”

The dreamer tag is quite ironic, it has some few meanings that fits me all, and I think I like that. Daydreaming is a great way of escaping, but it is not always good. The teachers think that I am a lame student. Maybe I am. Or, maybe if we would all be taught to study freely for the mere virtue of knowledge, instead of studying to be the best, it would have served a truer purpose. And maybe, if we were not being imposed on how to learn, we would have learned more than what’s in the books. Maybe we would have learned with the satisfaction of just knowing and discovering, rather than just because we had to ,or so that we figure out who gets to know more than others. I do not always get bad marks though, sometimes the other kids are quite astounded. Well, it depends, if I really wanted to understand because I like discovering and understanding but without restrictions, without having to agree with whatever is put on the board and without being locked up in a box with those perfect kids. I wonder if these kids wonder what is their purpose right then, and I wonder if they are happy, I wish they are, I really do.

Then, SNAP, back to the real world. The bell had just rung, I guess. The teacher was rushing all formally out of the classroom, eyes straight for the door when everyone rose from their seats and chanted the usual farewell phrase. That is said to be some sort of respect. I’ve always wondered how it could be respect though, not because I feel rebellious, but I feel curious. I think, I’d like to know how I feel about the reason for which it is put as respect. I once brought it up with some ‘good friends’, and, it is funny how they their bitter looks showed they found it derogatory but said nothing and changed subject instead. I suppose that could be what they think respect is, though it felt as if they would waste time if they actually discussed about it. And I wonder if they know how they think if ever they do think like that. Or maybe, I am just wrong, but I am trying not to be. It does not really matter to me anyway, I do not feel angry, but I feel sad if I ever am right. Because, I do think they are amazing, and sometimes, I wished they did as well about me.

At times, I view life as a drop in the ocean and at other times as an ocean in a drop. I like picturing myself with the dilated-pupiled-eyes-in-awe expression all the time, about everything, and everyone. I know that I have not done so too much in the past, but now I think I would. And I think about all the people in the world, and all those who have gone through what I go through, and all those who think as I do. And I wonder how it would be like to talk about it because I would like to. Am I the only one? Sometimes it is hard, sometimes it isn’t. I always thought that life was unfair and I always felt bad about it. I always hated school even if I enjoy learning on my own. And I think the only way to go through it is to keep on dreaming, to keep on hoping, because that keeps you on breathing and that way we could all inhale deeply in the dense dark air and then liberate a lighter, freer air. We could all simply try to fix our lives and our world and sometimes we should just halt a little bit and think about how happy we could be. Because we can. Yes, we really can.