School Feel More Permanent

School no longer feels temporary now. That’s the depressing part. In September everything still feels observational. You imagine personalities can change, groups can shift, maybe life itself remains flexible somehow. By November everyone understands the structure already.

Who belongs where.
Who sits with whom.
Who teachers secretly prefer.
Who gets interrupted constantly.
Who pretends not to care while clearly caring very much.

Even the corridors feel more serious now.

This morning the classrooms were freezing because somebody apparently believes adolescents develop character through mild suffering. My hands were so cold during Latin that my handwriting started looking medically concerning. H. arrived exactly two minutes before class as usual, calm as a diplomat entering negotiations. She always smells faintly clean, like paper and winter soap and something floral I still can’t identify. Meanwhile I smelled like borrowed Allure and panic. During history, Prof. L. started speaking about political systems with such emotional intensity that half the class looked personally accused. One boy fell asleep openly with his head against the desk while another spent twenty straight minutes drawing football formations instead of taking notes.

Civilization continues somehow.

At lunch E. argued with two girls about whether intelligence makes people automatically arrogant. Erick overheard the conversation, sat down uninvited, and said: “No, beauty does that faster.” Then calmly stole someone’s fries. Honestly he improves every cafeteria experience immediately. The strange thing is that school becomes easier and heavier at the same time. You stop fearing it constantly, but then routine arrives and routine is its own form of imprisonment.

Every morning:
tram,
corridors,
bells,
books,
voices,
performance.

And yet small things still matter absurdly much.

H. laughing suddenly during mathematics.
A teacher unexpectedly kind for five seconds.
Seeing your reflection in classroom windows and recognizing yourself only partially.

Teenage life is mostly repetition interrupted by emotional accidents.

Remember me,
Eclipse