As is in UP’s cycle of hell, it is the finals season once again. To accomplish my mountain of tasks, I need every part of the day planned down to the minute. Any deviation from the schedule could wreck my workflow, and, in turn, make some of my submissions late. Late means deductions, and that is the one thing I cannot afford. One wrong move could cost me the Summa standing that I’ve worked so hard to achieve. 

To paint a better picture of what I had to go through, I had to submit three papers due at the end of the week. On that same day, I had a major exam under a terror professor, and, to top it all off, a presentation in a class where my group mates had essentially ghosted me. I was drowning in tabs. I’d only gotten three hours of sleep, which is double the amount I got the night before. I’d been working all day and night for weeks at this point, yet no amount of time or effort is ever enough. The tasks seem to be endlessly piling up—the moment one task is done, another materializes. 

Yet I persevered. Despite my lack of sleep, I was on a roll. Sure, my skull felt like it was about to explode from the stress and exhaustion, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drunk water, let alone eaten, but I was getting things done. I finished my last paper, finalized our presentation slides with no help from my group mates, and to my immense relief, I was practically done for the night. All I had to do now was study for my exam.

And that is when the worst thing that could have happened happened. 

As I pulled out my notes—fully annotated and highlighted, of course—the adrenaline from a long day of stress faded and I was left with weeks’ worth of exhaustion. I decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes. I’m sure you can predict what happened next.

The next thing I knew, it was 8:17 AM and I had ten minutes to get across the campus before my exam started. I rushed to get dressed, ran to my classroom, and sat down just as my professor was handing out the exams. The next two hours were a blur. I couldn’t recall a thing I wrote, just that I wanted to cry the moment I left the room. 

As the end of the semester approaches, my grades are slowly trickling into CRS and I am filled with dread. I frantically calculate and recalculate my GWA, mentally preparing myself for whatever grade will appear. And, when the fateful day comes, there it is amid my string of 1.00s and 1.25s: a stark, undeniable 1.75. 

I thought I would be devastated, but instead I felt nothing. I felt no sadness when I looked at this low grade, just like I feel no joy when I look at my higher grades. I only wonder, why? Would sucking it up and going another night without sleep have made me a better student than my peers? Or in the end, would it just have been a measure of my obedience, my willingness to sacrifice my personhood in favor of petty academic distinction and competition? 

When I look back on the incident now, rather than being angry at myself, I find that I am angry at the neoliberal education system that has eaten me whole. ●