The night before the test, I was emotionally disturbed, but showed no signs on the outside. Part of me felt calm and laid back; the other felt nervous and scared. I was a wreck, but I did not show.

As I awoke (rather grudgingly) early this morning, I could feel the same fear and calmness I felt more than two years ago. It was the same feeling I got right before my final exams in my first year at polytechnic.

Before I re-entered poly this year, I have had my parents, my friends, my boyfriend and my relatives telling me that this was my second chance, my second shot at school and at getting a diploma. That I had to treasure it and not waste it away. That I had to work hard and not flunk off like the other time two years ago. Before school had started, I had the pressure.

I did not notice this pressure from them. I was a carefree person. I am not the kind who stresses up at major exams. In fact, I laugh it off and take the exams at my own pace, my own mindset. I did not notice this pressure, neither did I realise later that I was putting pressure on myself.

Knowing that I am unable to fail, I decided that a pass was not going to be enough. I wanted something more. I wanted to achieve something that I always thought I could not attain. I wanted straight As. More than anything else, this was what I wanted.

So I began pushing myself, working my way through reports and assignments and deadlines. But I also felt being left behind by my classmates despite the fact that I am three years their senior. This crushed me terribly and I could not accept it. Thus, I worked even harder.

I poured sweat and tears into my schoolwork, forcing myself to sleep and eat little and cramming as much as I could. Finally, at one point of time, I felt that I could not take it anymore. I could never attain the A grade that I have always hoped and wished for.

I had to settle for just a pass.

I do not “just want to pass”. I do not want to be “just a mediocre”. I wanted to be good. Not just good but really, very, extremely good. I wanted to excel, knowing that taking up design was the right choice and the right path to my future.

This afternoon, I was disappointed with myself as I boarded the train to school. In my hands were the self-notes I’ve made from scoring through my textbook and notes. I stared blankly at the codes and drawings, my brain not absorbing anything.

I checked the time and found myself running late. Before I knew it, that horrible thought that struck two years ago came rushing back to me today. I thought of skipping the paper altogether.

In desperate times, there is a need for desperate measures. That was how desperate I felt at that time. I was in a slow-moving train, running late for a test, and I could just simply not sit for it.

Then I began to cry in my heart, because at the beginning of the term, I worked so hard—so darn hard for this—and I was convinced then that I will not go back to my old ways of skipping classes, missing tests and dropping out. And here I am, notes in my hands, thinking of running away from it all again. I felt guilty. I felt terrible. I was disappointed.

I felt like I was letting everyone down. Then, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I’m not cut out for this whole diploma thing.