The new school year begins, one that involves going back and forth from a building housing so many students you feel like a rat, and yet teachers cheerfully remind you that the place is 'home away from home'. I almost choke on my phlegm when I hear that. In any case, this year's a bit worse because I have a new uniform, with white starched logo-embroidered collared shirt accompanied by a pitch black dust-collecting pants that makes one look awfully similar to the waiters of the traditional Parisian cafes. Either that or the whole school is part of a choir.

The college application process begins, although always with the same gleeful reminder that 'your SATs are near' and that 'this year is most crucial'. I hope to run for Student Council/Government/Regime/Tyranny this year, since last year's society was quite frankly led by hopeless junkies. No yearbook materialised. No senior trip materialised. I hope I get a chance at changing that, although most people might shout out that I'd be trying fervently to implement a senior trip just because I happen to be one.

Being called a senior is freaky. Well here senior gets the meaning of age 70 or more, since most people in 12th grade are boringly called '12th graders'. But still, the fact that all my life (or most of it) I've looked up at those kids with big backpacks and bulging folders trudging along the path to school thinking about calculus, and then I look at myself and I cry out loud: I'm a senior? Truthfully speaking, I think every generation of students degrade, as in 'the kids who were in my class last year looked so much more mature/smarter than we are now'. Scary to think that teachers might, yet again with a smile on their face, claim we are the 'role models' of the school.

Post your comments Written on Friday, September 3 at 8:24 PM