The boy finds it oddly amusing, this habit of narrating his own story. A few days pass. Four, he thinks, have passed since his last introspective spiral. In these four days, much has changed within him. What usually felt like drifting through life has, for once, become focused, filled with reflection, and yes, even frustration.
Anger and the Opinions of Others
He had felt a surge of anger, strange and unexpected, toward the opinions of others. People had said things were difficult this term, that the exams were particularly tough. But why should that mean he must struggle too? A familiar thought resurfaces, one that annoys him: people's opinions are so biased. Each time he lets others' struggles define his expectations, he feels weighed down. Maybe, he considers, this term felt easier simply because the teacher changed, not because of anything else.
This thought lingers, but he reminds himself it's beside the point. He realizes that, regardless of others' perceptions, his task remains the same. Whether easy or hard, he still has to learn, to push forward. Why waste energy speculating? With a newfound sense of self-determination, he makes a promise to himself: he will be more cautious about the opinions of others in the future, seeing them for what they are: subjective, often unhelpful, and not a reflection of his own path.
The Post-Exam Indulgence and Regret
After his exams, the boy indulges himself, spending a whole night and day in carefree relaxation. It's a celebration, a release from pressure. But, returning from this brief reprieve, he feels a pang of regret. He thinks maybe he should have shifted back to learning mode sooner, that perhaps he would have been better prepared for what's next if he had just tightened his focus a bit earlier.
He brushes this regret aside and begins to prepare himself anew, printing out his study materials, trying to ease himself back into the routine of learning. But it doesn't come as easily as he'd hoped. He realizes that his mind, still clinging to the remnants of indulgence, isn't as eager to dive back in.
A New Resolve and Waning Time
He wakes up the next morning with a quiet determination. Once again, he looks within, seeking some clue about why he finds himself in these cycles of action and inaction. He resolves, however, that today will be different. He's happier—more motivated, even—but as the hours slip by, a creeping dread returns. The realization that time is running out gnaws at him, and a renewed determination rises within. He must work toward his goals, and he must do so now.
He catches himself smiling at the humor of it all—how he's always on the edge of some new revelation, always narrating his struggle as if he's watching himself from afar. But today, he promises himself, he will break the loop and act.
The boy feels like Aristotle for five full minutes. Suddenly, he's filled with a sharp clarity, convinced he's cracked the code of his own mind. Maybe he's even reached some grand insight about human nature itself. Everything feels aligned; his thoughts are rational, his ambitions perfectly clear. If only people could see me now, he thinks, a modern-day philosopher with a razor-sharp mind.
He grabs a pen, ready to jot down this newfound wisdom, eager to capture it before it slips away. But as he writes, the words don't seem as profound as they did in his mind. His sentence trails off, confidence fading as quickly as it came. He reads it over, hoping the magic might come back but it's gone.
The boy sighs, puts down the pen, and accepts the truth: Aristotle for five minutes, just an average boy again.