[Sunday, October 29, 2023 at 21:34]
It's my first time owning a diary, so I'm not sure if there's a specific way I'm supposed to go about this. Is there some sort of format to be followed or something like that? This is something my father bought as reward for my miraculous graduation from primary school, after all. I want to do this right. Others start with "Dear Diary" usually, should I have done the same? That just sounded so weird when I tried it in my head though… Just in case, I'll start with some quick self-introduction. Kinda.
Some might say a diary is a rather lousy gift. I probably might have agreed had I not asked for one with my own mouth. Since I can be honest here, I guess it's safe for me to admit that I've never ever wanted a personal diary. I don't even like writing. I mean, don't I write enough already during classes and when doing homework out of classes? It's just that Dad really wanted to give me something despite holes being the only thing filling his pockets. Pointing it out would have dampened his spirit for sure.
He was so ecstatic at the idea of finally giving me something since… Ah, I can't even remember when I last received a gift from him…or anyone else, now that I think about it. On the other hand, asking for something too expensive (when he already had to find the money for my school materials) could have caused him to make a terrible decision: borrowing. We're already neck deep in debts. We don't need more. Seriously. We do not!
So, although I was heavily relying on prayers and hope to raise my chances of passing, I still went ahead and declared how much my life would be a thousand times so much more of a dream if I could get a private journal once I passed my finals, which were more than half a year away, at the time. I already knew Dad was thinking about what to give me. But then again, it would be weird if I didn't. The man is an open book.
This time around, he wanted it to be a surprise. But Dad and secrets aren't exactly compatible. His emotion-betraying facial muscles aside, I soon got random confirmation of his plans popping up all around. He asked the neighbours what they get their kids usually, and that overly-friendly auntie next-door just had to appear while I was waiting for the van, one morning. "You lucky little chimp," she said, winking like a broken doll, "so confident about your results, eh? I'm sure this time your efforts will be well rewarded~" That's her way of sounding "mysterious". Telling me directly that Dad's working on a present wouldn't have been too bad either if she was going to say those "cryptic" words with that knowing look on her face, in the first place. The little face-to-face left me with some secondhand embarrassment. I think it was worth it, though, because it allowed me to see her daughter's face twisting in the backdrop—additional proof that Dad was indeed planning a surprise.
As fun as it was imagining that pest green with jealousy, her mind reeling to figure out whether my gift would be better than hers, I couldn't let things escalate. Dad was working so hard on finding the perfect gift, I figured I could help out a little.
I learned very early on that money wasn't on our side, so I stopped asking for unnecessary things, even going as far as rejecting all of Dad's attempts at getting me toys on Christmas. After so many years, he surely wanted to choose something that would shoot me straight onto the moon. That's the thought that gave me the idea to cook up some unspoken long-time longing for a diary. Before second term started, I found myself expressing a never-seen-before interest in maintaining a journal. The reason? A fictitious classmate of mine's equally fictitious skills in journaling.
As promised, Dad presented the so-desired diary—which he personally chose and with extreme care, by the way—on the day I received my results. He even got one with lock and keys because, as he says, I should be able to write whatever I want without having to worry about privacy. Dad even attached a congratulatory card with it. The pressed flowers, wonky handwriting, interesting (?) message, eye-scorching sense of aesthetics, definitely self-made. I'm definitely keeping it as bookmark.
Now that that's out of the way, on to my results.
It was weird. My last paper was on October 16th. Normally our results come either end of November or first week of December. Since I'm a final year, mine should have been in December. At least, that's what I was expecting based on last year's result distribution timing and what I heard when I asked around about other final years' before me. Strangely enough, we were called to come one week after my last exam. I'm not joking. We were actually called in on the 25th! I'm saying "called" but we were really asked to come via letter. Since when did my school start sending letters to the students' homes to hand over report books? Obviously I was confused. Then, realizing how I was a repeater, my heart dropped.
That was it. We were being taken aside because I failed my exams. Again. School was over for me. My hopes of getting a decent-paying job and helping Dad? All gone. Life would be tough from here on out. Dad would end up with more worries. I was a failure—both as a daughter and a student.
Yeah…my brain worked fast and ran far, but common sense had a hard time catching up. So I spent the time it took us to reach school on foot calling myself all the synonyms of stupid and useless I could come up with. Once I'd run out of ones learnt in school and everyday life, I started creating new ones.
That was a massive waste of mental effort.
I got the diary with a congratulatory message. Clearly, I passed. I was so relieved when the teacher said this that I didn't even care anymore that I wasn't receiving it from the one who'd been teaching my class this entire year. I completely forgot that I was the only student there and that too in the Head Master's office instead of a classroom. Miracles did happen! Even for someone as slow as me. Who cares if I barely got passing marks in all subjects. The only thing that mattered was that I wouldn't be expelled from school. Everything wasn't lost just yet. I decided right then and there that I would work even harder to keep up with my peers in secondary school. We were currently late October, and school resumed in January. I would spend my months of vacation going through all my books and copybooks. Back to basics holiday!
Yeah, that didn't work out the way I wanted. The fire of determination had just been set ablaze in my heart that this teacher (whom I was seeing for the very first time in my life) told us the school I got would start on the 31st. Of. Freaking. October!
What kind of school starts its first term in October, here? How does the school calendar year work? When do exams begin? Do we have end-of-year holidays? No, better yet, why the heck does it have to be a school I've never heard of and located in a whole different city entirely?! It suddenly dawned on me then. Maybe I got my results early because the school assigned to me starts earlier than others and is so far away? Was I given priority because of this? Wait, does this new school of mine specially cater to kids behind on their studies? Slow learners with basic foundation so bad question papers cry when their pencils make contact with them?
Sigh. Those are the types of questions currently going around my head now that I'm on my way to that unknown place. It's better to think about useless stuff like that than focus on Dad. I don't want to spend the rest of the journey wondering how Dad will cope in that empty house all by himself. He's also losing days of work to accompany me there. He'll lose even more travelling back. How much will be cut from his pay? Will he even have enough to eat then? I guess there'll be some savings, since I won't be there. But it leaves me questioning whether he'd even be able to stomach anything without me by his side. He's such a big guy already and can't take care of himself. I don't even know how he's still alive to this day, honestly. That's why I ended up using this diary before time. As much as I hate writing, it might come in handy as a distraction. Only… I initially planned to use it in school to record some fun experiences to share with Dad the next time we meet.
Looking at the dark circles on that peacefully sleeping face of his on my shoulder…
Will he be alright?
Haaa, that's why I didn't want to think about anything else. We've been on the road for three hours already, and I still can't seem to attract the sandman. I should just go back to daydreaming about how much weirder that school might be up close.
A school that starts on the 31st of October, it sure leaves enough room for imagination, haha.