By MARAH SAYAMAN

My academic endeavors intoxicate me to the point of numbness.

I wish I were talking of the usual paperwork–the exams, term papers, problem sets–when I say “academic.” I know fully well though that I could not put a claim on the pressure of keeping excellent grades on my CRS account. It would be safe to say that my efforts would mostly amount to a three. My semesters, after all, are packed with cramming nights, and my exams plead for mercy at every correction mark.

These, however, are not the reasons that make me wish I were numb. My academic endeavors are not exactly limited to books and lessons. If ever, they might border on adventures, the kind that makes your nerves burn until they are over. While other people share the same feelings for exams, I have always identified it with conflicts that arise inside the classroom. Unfortunately, most of these conflicts involve me.

In elementary and high school, I have crossed the paths of teachers often. I was criticized for sitting Indian style on armchairs and even for writing on my palms. Some have noticed me for mere appearances: my hair or my dilapidated ID. Even knowing the right answer to the teacher’s questions failed to save me from the humiliation of intense interrogation in front of my classmates.

I thought that somehow my luck would change in college. My hopes for a better learning atmosphere led me to take the UPCAT. In my eyes, UP was redemption. I wanted it to be, for it was the only college where I took an entrance exam.

Moreover, everyone has his own story of liberation in the country’s premiere university.

The university is legendary in matters of freedom. In UP, you can wear outrageous clothes, complain about the lesson, and join rallies. The environment will facilitate intellectual engagements such as debates. UP subverts, UP rebels. UP was a dream because it was a haven of free will.

However, after a few months in the university, my theories were crushed to a pulp. Numb was the state I wished to be in. I wanted to spare myself the pain of destroying the paradise I formed in my mind.

The rigors of my academic pursuit have robbed me of confidence in the institution I hoped will educate me. Just thinking of the word “pursuit” bothers me, for it implies a chase, a race for something that is out of your reach. If that is the case, we may all be hamsters running in a wheel to impress our master, the venerated academe. We wait to be fed by the glories of our unos, we are slaves to the whims of our spectators.

I am not ranting on the basis of personal assaults I received throughout my years in school. I have grown used to the insults, but I have not accepted them. How could I concede when I know that learning and freedom are intertwined. Besides, I do not mind getting the dreaded tres or singko. What I mind is when class rules and decorum cheat me of opportunities to learn. They are, after all, the first things that induce numbness. ●

Published in print in the Collegian’s February 13, 2009 issue with the title “Academic Blunders.”