The Beginning

I love school supplies. New notebooks with perfectly lined paper, clean wooden pencils (the erasers still pink and full), pens that write so smoothly, and binders that feel promising and exciting. Every year, memories of homework, pop quizzes, and stress flee from my mind, and I always make the same vows: This year, my handwriting is going to be better, this year, I'll actually study, this year, I won't fall asleep in class... But by week two at school, I'm always singing the same sorry song, the chorus stuffed with hectic schedules and frustration, the verses repeating in a usual fashion. Tests surprise me on a daily basis; I can remember the birthday parties I attended in elementary school but I can never remember when a test is nearing. The first time I have to write in my notebooks, my penmanship is always awe inspiring. The first essay I write is always magnificently crafted. By the next week, everything settles down to just average. But that's just the way school is. The time right after the period when I'm excited about my new writing utensils and right before the period where I grow to like the reliability of normality in the classrooms is the worst. During that brief amount of space, I'm frustrated, annoyed, and anxious about most everything from my lunch table to my amount of homework. But there's still reason to be hopeful, because even though I know that I'll be writing with dull pencils on crinkled paper , it's all worth it in the end. To have an education and to be able to teach others what I know is what I strive for. High school is a very important part of my life, so I'll let the small grievances slide, sharpen my pencils, and focus on the big picture.

Until next time,
Lily