In this suffocating classroom, crowded by almost thirty middle school students, including myself, who was sitting, had finally reached our transition in life. As it was happening, I was bouncing my legs, vexed, as I was looking in the distance near the window. Still, I wasn't near the window when I was looking at the window, so I could only see a single and its dying leaves.

         Like the vending machine, this classroom had it all. A set of students, some different sorts of unreadable mood, a humid temperature, and a motionless silence, but I couldn't bring myself to complain about it despite all of that.

I was too worked up over something so trivial. Even then, I thought that it might have had a significant value for my future, but I've had my doubts if it'll always be my one and only dream for the future.

         And it wasn't just that; I was utterly lost and had thought that this was such a bad day for me.

The tremors of mixed emotions crushed my concentration, pushing me to the brink that I stopped thinking and started feeling my forehead using my arm instead with a long sigh.

         The temperature of my forehead was warm, but not at the point that it would be classified as a fever. It might have been the stress that accumulated from all this deep thinking.

         However, what made me feel that way was simply because of the last message that we need to write before the graduation begins, or preferably, the 'beginning of the end.'

         I forced myself a smile, remembering that today, I’ll finally be able to move far away and live independently. 

Doesn’t it look like I am running away from some problem? In fact, I am. However, the unfortunate truth is that the solution to this problem is actually by running away.

         This isn’t some kind of problem that can be dealt with by rushing head-forward.

         Although other than that, what am I supposed to write as a way of saying farewell? Do I start by saying, 'dear fellow next year graduates; don't follow your dreams, okay?' Oh please, that'll immediately teleport me to the teacher's office just to testify every particular part of the why-and-why quote from the teachers.

         Nonetheless, going to the teacher’s office is going too far for just a speech.

         Before I knew it, and before everyone knew it, it was already dusk. After the students left with their impulsively written gibberish god-only-knows stuff, I felt impatient. The rest were the only people left in this classroom, and that was me and some random long-haired girl I don't know.

         It seems she, too, hasn't even finished writing her last speech, most likely consisting of her career dream. Or rather, that's what we've been tasked to do, to begin with. And even though ditching this by writing some cobblers' objectives would have gotten me away with it early, it was already too late.

         It doesn't matter what I'd write right now; I'd still go home at nighttime without anything achieved. So instead of leaving empty-handed, I should finish this and call it a day.

Before I do it though, I'd want to see what she has made so far.

         I stood and walked past the disoriented chairs to sneak behind this long-haired girl frantically looking at the board and her paper. However, seeing her feel a little bothered gave me a reminiscent memory of the past.

         I've always worked myself to the bone when I was a first middle school student, without thinking of the benefit; Kindness? Satisfaction? Not even I know the reasons, but I know they weren't a part of my motivation. It must be because I wanted to be granted a reward for all my hard work, or maybe I just don’t know what I am supposed to do. However, there is nothing in life that you can’t get by hard work. It’s just that hard work doesn’t always benefit you. That’s why if I purposely dedicate myself to something or if there is an absolute benefit in that something, then that’s the only way that I could motivate myself to do it.

         I don’t want to do anything that’ll grant me nothing anymore nor do I want someone to become like me. 

         Still, even though I have created my own reasons, I haven't done some single thinking at all. So I was wondering what that long-haired girl made for such long hours of thinking, and after I’ve seen it, then I’d also start working in mine too.

         I bet it's already a three-pages—wait, she hasn't even written a single thing yet!

         I see… I see that we are both helpless and hopeless to the core that we could only stare at our paper for an hour. So much for a dream, we couldn't even take action to it.

         "What is it?" She earnestly asked—no, more like, she hopelessly asked. It's already apparent just from seeing her sloping brows and her soft cold voice. Evidently, she seems tired.

         Although trying to force such an angry tone in her voice. Is she intimidating me or some sort?

         "It’s nothing.” I calmly said. “I am just observing a lost cause.”

         Or more like, birds of the same feather.

         “You are one to talk.”

         I won’t deny that, though.

         “I never thought that this would be a difficult task to do.” I sat beside her to her right, and her arms were moving cautiously away from me. It was too cautious that I could feel it saying ‘stay away from me, you depressed monk.’

         Wait, who is the depressed monk?!

         This might have been the first time I aggressively start a conversation with a random person. Still, even then, she first started with a question, and I doubt that it would matter. The fact that I’ve talked to someone when I don’t have a friend is somehow surprising. Is it my talent? Although I bet that everyone could just do it. They just aren’t trying hard enough.

         “It’s not difficult. It’s just a waste of time. That’s all.” She went looking somewhere to the window with a boredom gesture to the left, somewhat done with everything. But even then, I could still see her fingers in her ballpen unwavering—it hits me that no matter how much she tries to give up on something. She doesn’t seem to stop doing it anyway.

         What is she doing? Isn’t she worse than me?

         If you believe that something dissatisfies you, do. Then there is no room for pointless discourse anymore. Instead, start by abandoning this kind of activity. Even I, who think that something isn’t beneficial to me, don’t do it.

         I must admit—what a fool.

         “What’s the point of participating in something pointless when I don’t feel provided with the same entertainment the other students do? Getting forced to learn in school. Having to be involved in some pointless chatter and boring group activity. This is all a scam. A waste of time.” She then slumps herself at her table. “I just want to die.”

         I might agree with your sentiment, and I hate school—anything that relates to school. However, the world doesn’t revolve around me—you too. No one in this world can gain what they want by just barking around about their dreams and wishes. If you came here thinking you’d actually expect to have fun. Then your kindly mistaken what life is all about, in my definition—that is.

         “Why not abandon it?”

         “I don’t want to do that.”

         “Then stop complaining about every single thing about it.”

         She sighs in disappointment, “You really like to talk when you don’t know a single thing about why I am doing this. Hey, do you even know why you are talking to me? I bet not, because, for the last eight months, you’ve always been a loner. I know I am not one to talk, but you seriously should stop minding my business like a cockroach.” With a fierce glare, I became even more assured that this woman is dangerous.

         “Well, what can I do? If I heard someone venting her own thoughts out loud, I wouldn’t be able to leave that person alone. Besides, if you weren’t directing those vented frustrations at me, then stop doing a soliloquy. It’s creepy.”

         She averted her eyes off me and said, “Ah—well, say what you want, but you bore me, so get out. You are the most pathetic loner of all loners.”

         The most pathetic loner of all loners?

         In my life, I’ve never been harshly criticized for who I am because I was an inconspicuous person. Still, to be dealt with, the right words that could ballistically destroy my soul are outright going too far. I admit I maybe, but I won’t idly forgive this. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll rudely change your mind.

         I changed my posture to prepare myself. I then said, “Pathetic? I think you are one of the most pathetic people here. If you came here thinking you’d actually expect to have fun and ride your way through the endless wave, then you’ve come into the wrong place.” As I picked it up with an addition of improvisation, she then fiercely glared at me, clearly bothered and mad. But out of anger, I ignored it and continued, “This isn’t some elementary days where you can do whatever you damn, please. If you are complaining about why you aren’t given the treatment you want. How about you start fixing your attitude, huh—” She immediately stood, interrupting my very worst treatment of her, and was about to slap me.

         “What did you say—?” However, I was highly prepared for this moment, so I stood after her immediately and grabbed her hand, making our eyes meet each other.

         I then said, “If you feel the need to physically attack me because I am right—then start abandoning what you like, and if you still want to pursue them. Then why not create something that’ll entertain you? Should it be by playing with some friends, or by challenging something?”

         If you changed your perspective about the world, and the world changed its stance on you. Who do you think is the insane one? Most students would say the world, but nay, the real answer to that is ourselves. We don’t make the world revolve around us because we exist before it—but we should rotate the world ourselves.

         Never use someone to create an opportunity for entertainment for you, but use yourself to create one.

         Her soft hand that I was firmly holding moved frantically, and without noticing, she pushed me back with her left leg, which made me let her go. As I was groaning, I didn’t complain a single bit in pain because I knew I deserved it. However, I wasn’t prepared for the impact of the blow.

         As she tries to keep her urge to run wild and obliterate me, she said, “Fine then. I will promise you. Here and now. That I’ll never pursue what I don’t like and that if I do, I will make it entertaining. If I do all that… then promise me too that you would apologize to me.”

         “Even if I have to do everything for you… um…”

         “My name is Mia Daphne.”

         That’s such a cute name for a person that kicks like a tomboy.

         She then immediately wrote her last farewell speech while standing with inhuman speed. After finishing, she then walked through the center and slammed the paper on the teacher’s desk with the other documents the students have made, and fled. I, who finally stood while feeling my chest, still had to do my task.

         Although, somewhere along in my heart—I get the feeling that I won’t be going home empty-handed anymore.

         Maybe it’s because I’ve helped someone today. And helping someone with the use of evil is genuinely evil itself. But knowing that I have somehow changed her mind instead of worsening her vented thoughts with the use of evil made me humbly satisfied. However, I don’t think she sees this as an act of persuasion but a taunt of challenge. I bet she is still angry at me, but it’s better to stop being sensitive about it.

         Dreams, huh?

         What did she write, I wonder?

         Even with the tempting offer to look at her paper, I decided that it would be inappropriate to do that, even though I have already done bad things. Instead, I quickly sat in my chair to finish my speech. So that I’ll never get a stern lecturing from a particular advisor because I’ve done nothing this late. After that, I decided to go straight home without taking any small detour.

         In hindsight, we haven’t met each other ever again since that last encounter we had. Although it was better that way because I don’t plan on trying to meet her ever again. Albeit with this painful scar on my chest, I don’t think I’ll be able to relinquish these memories.