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Two lives, Anonymous (17)

I wrote this essay after having 3 months in a depressed state. Im not really good at writing but I wanted someone to read it.

Two Lives

Everyday feels the same, I wake up, check my phone for any social media related notifications from my friends back home, I roll my eyes at the thought of spending another day at School, another day with people from a different area, who don’t see what I see when I go to School, another day with people who take my aspirations to be humorous, another day living a life that isn't mine.

I have often heard my friends talk about being two different people after transferring to a private school and up until recently I didn't know what they meant. Being a different person at school means no loud, slightly overconfident, basketball and music obsessed teen from New York and Richmond, but a quiet, reserved ‘young adult’ who goes to an elite private school and only uses proper English. This gives no reason for me to stand out or have people mention their opinions of the area I live in, my music taste and everything that makes me, who I am.

On my way to school I see the impact that heroin does not just to a person but to my whole community, the same people who I serve food at the homeless shelter stumble on the tram at 7:40am, mumbling and grunting through the drug induced coma of their minds.

As I blast music that reminds me of late nights and early mornings back in New York, my phone blows up with texts from friends telling stories of what I could only describe of as heavenly - stories of partying with artists that we idolise, getting interests from colleges, achieving goals. I see this and almost habitually hold a tear in, feeling quite meek I change trams in the city and get on one directed to the wealthy suburbs of South Yarra and Toorak, places I didn't know existed before starting High School.

8:27, I arrive just a little bit late to somewhat reflect my reluctance to attend this school, but early enough so people don’t notice, remembering to be my private school self. In a TV show I used to watch the main character would always make a certain adjustment to the school uniform to express himself without being seen as different, for me this equates to wearing a sweatshirt to school and sneakily removing it at the gates, holding onto my true identity for just another minute. Deep breath. In and out. Calm. Changing the song on my phone to a motivational verse propels me through the gate, putting on a strong don’t mess with me type face, ready for another day.

First period begins, trying my best to focus I get distracted, this leads me to quickly sending a snapchat to my best friend back in NYC asking about her day and planning for the future, my future, our future. One that is close but just far enough to make me feel sad. “Sebastian” a teacher blurts out, do you know how to solve this problem? Duh, I quickly write the correct answer down, pretending not to hear my peers commenting about my hair or whatever else they say about me. “Who cares… It’s just words, you need to prove them wrong” runs through my head like clockwork. Private School Sebastian. Focus.

Class Two - my year 12 class, honestly I couldn't care less about my ATAR or Study Score or anything else VCE related. All I need is a good GPA, killer SAT scores and to continue my excellent community service history, all these bring me one step closer to going back home. I take down notes and ask questions, exactly what my parents would want, representing my family and my image.

As soon as I walk out of class my phone dials my friend, almost without thought. I tear up when I hear her voice, as it reminds me of the 240ish days since I saw her in the flesh. We reminisce about the past and talk about our future of hanging out, our conversation ends right on the bell. Four more classes, light work. I work hard and get good grades, strictly business. Achieving nothing below an A.

Finally, the 3:40 bell rings, saving me from the depths of a boring science subject I was forced to take, almost sprinting, Locker. Headphones. Hoodie. Home. Finally I get back into my area, Richmond, I smell Vietnamese food, 7/11 coffee and homelessness. Must be the 109 tram, I get home and see my dog longingly waiting for me to open the back door, I greet my dog with a huge smile and talk to her like she can talk back, discussing my issues and being glad I can show her how much I love her.

For a good 20 minutes I debate to myself wether to start homework or go to the gym and better myself athletically, of course the gym wins. I sprint the 2kms to the public gym where I lift weights, stretch and work on my core until I physically can’t do anymore. My mood does a full 180, dragging my feet I play music out loud in the graffiti filled laneway. Dave East, ex ball player turned rapper from my old city, jokingly throwing up sets that my friends rep. I snapchat this foolish behaviour for the entertainment of my friends, my true colours.

Back home I take a start on some of my homework while watching highlights of high schools I wish I could attend. “Dinner” my momma shouts, yum, pasta bolognaise and broccoli, tastes like family. I rip my t-shirt off and jump in a hot shower. Feeling safe I reflect on my day, ‘Wins and Losses’ by Meek Mill fills the bathroom with a different energy, one of motivation and success, wins and losses, today was a loss but its gonna lead to a big win. Feeling happy and focused I ease through two hours of school work and crack into my 1200 page SAT study book.

11:00pm on the dot I get into bed and start reading to calm myself before bed, a text from my friend comes through as I put my phone down. I tell myself check it tomorrow, so you have something to wakeup for.

“5am is the hour of champions” a coach once told me, so set my alarm for 4:30 just to prove that I’m willing to sacrifice to go back home. Today I’m doing this for her. I get back into bed at 6:30 for a 30 minute power nap.

I wake up, check my phone for any social media related notifications from my friends back home, I roll my eyes at the thought of spending another day at school, another day with people from a different area, who don’t see what I see when I go to school, another day with people who take my aspirations to be humorous, another day living a life that isn't mine.


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1 comentario

Zachary Khouri
Zachary Khouri
17 may 2020

First I would like to say that you are an incredible writer and anyone who tells you otherwise must be reading it wrong. You have a keen eye for observations and you have a fantastic writer's voice. I recommend continuing writing to process your emotions, and even publish your works in the future. Writing can help us understand the emotions that we can't say out loud. It can also keep you grounded. Be well and keep writing.

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