You begin to regret the simple things you thought you would have for eternity that you didn’t appreciate enough. Walking along the steps to school ever since you were five years old, you never thought it would suddenly be taken from you. 

School always was like a dark raincloud with some spotty sunshine.  I often felt midnight blue. The tapping of your shoes against the scratchy, filthy, stained carpet, and the trembling of your hands as a teacher and their exams make you doubt your capabilities, anxiety always hitched along and darkened the cloud. The place you thought you couldn’t belong, where someone was always going to be despising you and wishing the worse, where overworking was simply a myth, you begin to miss.

You now see the bright rays of warm sunshine that always shone through after a storm. Those spots felt like a warm cup of hot cocoa after sitting in the cold. The positive social interactions you experienced with friends. The warmth of hugs and support were like blankets blocking out the freezing cold of mornings. The smiles and polite greetings from teachers obviously trying their hardest to teach the younger generation. Their eagerness to teach bright minds as intense as the enthusiasm you get from Christmas arriving. The still calm school gives was like a deep breath after a minute of panic. The escape from home.

I wake up each morning fifteen minutes before class with exhaustion as an anchor on my ankle. Darkness is all I can see, but after scrambling with the irritating alarm, I use my phone light to light up my path. With two main pathways only able to allow one person to pass through at a time, I have to gather two computers, textbooks, notebooks, paper. With the room being immensely cramped, settling back down on the free spot on the bed is the only choice. 

Darkness is all I continue to see for hours, and the computer lights are the only things illuminating my pages of work. The beaming, bright colors on full brightness projecting from the screen create more shadows on the pages and almost reflects the google meetings from each class. “Camera’s on!” teachers speak. 

But I don’t want to put my camera on. 

“Unmute your mic to speak!” teachers, some even taking away chat-box availabilities, say.

But I don’t want to unmute my mic. 

But why? 

It’s not to run away to do other activities. It’s not to be on my phone. It’s not to ignore the lesson and prevent learning.

Why would I unmute or turn my camera on? To be embarrassed with the squealing, mice-pitched yells from children? Siblings barging into my room, leaving the door open to the voices add to the noise. The television blasting with old-time shows, and someone sleeping just above my head on the top bunk or laughing aloud at a trendy video game. To turn on the camera meant to see any interruptions that occurred. Curious children sticking their heads into the screen, pit bulls that climbed onto the bed along with other people, my unmotivated, dull expression seen from the overworking. My grim situation - always being on a bed, no lights, possibly bugs crawling up next to my head is embarrassing for others to know. 

I turn my camera on and unmute when necessary despite it. 

With homework being twice as much as normal, motivation is lacking in many areas. Procrastination is always there - almost whispering in your ear to take a break, scroll through social media, or take a minute to close your eyes. The exhaustion from only getting a few hours of sleep settles in not too long after school hours, and temptations to sleep murmur in the back of my mind until I sleep at midnight.

The distractions from home, the need to teach yourself the topics where your teachers cannot from the distance learning, and the work that continued until midnight prove to be a struggle.

This time, there isn’t a positive. You don’t have social interaction. You don’t get out of the house. You cannot escape, or clear your head with the hours at school. You don’t see your friends. There is a difficult distance between you and what had been. 

Next year, I will appreciate the simple things.