A Bachelor’s Degree

High school for me was an escape from household chores. There was no sign of protest when  I told my mom one day that I don’t want to go to school. In her gentle and mild voice, while her hands are busy in front of the stove,  it’s alright, she said, but in that same voice i’ll be listening to her condition: that I would wash dishes, clean the house and help cooking. As I stand there hearing those words, my lips pursed, without a word  I would start getting ready for school.

Anytime we stay late in bed, she would shout out the condition for everybody to hear, if no one wants to go to school, fine, as long as we do housework. I didn’t know how smart my mother was, her reverse psychology was effective.

I look at school life  spent living in an aquarium, perfect corners, perfect marine environment, with oxygen and food sprinkled on the water, nothing to worry about water pollution, once in a while you get tapped on the glass, otherwise everything is taken cared of. Everyday we leave our real lives home to come to this place called school and live another life for the next couple of hours, come back home and pick up where we left. The first place where we’re on our own expected to act as adults with a taste of freedom and independence,  limited though they may be.

When I was much younger i used to love school. The first time away from home and I was made to decide what to buy with the money I  have. Only to discover that it wasn’t enough to buy everything I wanted to buy. It was where I met playmates and play as long as I could. And stop when I had to, Where I learned that if only I could study harder I would learn, if I don’t then nothing will happen.  Where I learned that I could stand on my own. In school we strive and struggle, fail and succeed, fighting for only one thing, our grades. The system itself is not easy, we didn’t  came out unscathed.

So what’s this they’re saying about schools killing creativity in children?

Coming from a struggling family, witnessing economic hardships at a young age wasn’t a hindrance for my parents to surrender their dreams and visions for their children. School was the only symbol of hope.

Isn’t  hoping a sign of creativity.

Those cheap, colorful ribbons with a piece of gold plated metal on the end that gets  pinned on my chest at the end of the school were not only a symbol that I made good grades but its relevance lies in what it has made me as a student before,  it left an imprint of confidence and affirmation that i could do something better in the future

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fifteen Credits.”

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