Fátima Reyes, Grade 12
UWC Costa Rica
As always, I left the cafeteria a couple of minutes before class began to make sure I would make it in time. I was headed to Classroom #2, the farthest from the cafeteria where I had picked my usual morning snack at the very end of the academic area.
Earlier that day, I had received an email confirmation that reassured me I was now part of Jess’s English Language and Literature High-Level class. The previous day, I had spent my afternoon running up and down trying to convince our academic director that it was a good idea for me to upgrade my English level and abandon Math HL, despite my placement tests and teachers suggesting the opposite. However, amid all this bureaucracy, I was struggling to even convince myself this whole endeavor was a good idea. After all, what did I even know about Language or Literature? If I had already struggled so hard to keep up with the rest of the SL class, what made me think I would succeed at HL? I wondered what kind of sorcery had convinced me that a former Math Olympiad would be better off in a superior English class.
On my way to Classroom #2, these thoughts echoed in my brain. I tried to appease them by mentally listing all the reasons that had led me to make this rushed decision in the first place, but in vain. Was I just fooling myself? Was this really a good idea? Was I about to spoil my entire IB career to an overnight decision? Before I could come to a conclusion, I found myself in front of Classroom #1, hesitating before walking into its neighbor. I took a deep breath and, nervously, began walking to #2.
I was suddenly stopped by a group of my laughing peers, some of whom I recognized as my former English SL classmates. My heart began accelerating, and my palms sweating as my brain went through every possibility. When the Global Politics teacher entered #2, I panicked. I had carefully calculated every step of the way; what had gone wrong? What could have possibly gone wrong? I anxiously glanced at my wristwatch. 10:34, a minute until class began. I blanked out on the realization that I would be late for my first-ever English HL class. Doing my best to regain some calm, I forced myself to think. English SL had always been on Classroom #2, so I assumed English HL would follow the same rule. I had assumed. I hadn’t checked the schedule, had I? I restlessly took out my phone, searched as fast as I could for the schedule, and Bingo! Classroom #17 it said. Location-wise, the opposite of Classroom #2.
I ran as fast as I could from one end of the academic hall to the other, hoping I would somehow still make it on time. I entered the room as Jess was already giving directions for the day’s class and, ashamed of myself, tried to look for an empty seat. She smiled at me and announced to the whole class, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious already, that her new student was late. I nervously explained to her my problem. Smirking, she turned to the class and asked them if they thought I was worthy of mercy. Every single one of my new classmates, most of whom I still didn’t know, excitedly spoke in my favor, and I was allowed to take a seat.
As I awkwardly took out my notebook and pretended to be cool with the whole situation, my heartbeat restored to normal, and my mind stopped running around. I had just joined a class full of strangers with far more knowledge, experience, and skill with the English language than I ever dreamt of, yet all of them admitted me. At that moment, I felt as embraced as I have scarcely felt in my entire life. It was the kind of warmth you only feel at a place where you know yourself to be welcomed, and I was.
I have no idea what was discussed that day, nor do I care. All I know is that Wednesday, my life changed. Before I even took my seat on Classroom #17, all of my earlier worries had disappeared. I had, undoubtedly, made the right decision.
Earlier that day, I had received an email confirmation that reassured me I was now part of Jess’s English Language and Literature High-Level class. The previous day, I had spent my afternoon running up and down trying to convince our academic director that it was a good idea for me to upgrade my English level and abandon Math HL, despite my placement tests and teachers suggesting the opposite. However, amid all this bureaucracy, I was struggling to even convince myself this whole endeavor was a good idea. After all, what did I even know about Language or Literature? If I had already struggled so hard to keep up with the rest of the SL class, what made me think I would succeed at HL? I wondered what kind of sorcery had convinced me that a former Math Olympiad would be better off in a superior English class.
On my way to Classroom #2, these thoughts echoed in my brain. I tried to appease them by mentally listing all the reasons that had led me to make this rushed decision in the first place, but in vain. Was I just fooling myself? Was this really a good idea? Was I about to spoil my entire IB career to an overnight decision? Before I could come to a conclusion, I found myself in front of Classroom #1, hesitating before walking into its neighbor. I took a deep breath and, nervously, began walking to #2.
I was suddenly stopped by a group of my laughing peers, some of whom I recognized as my former English SL classmates. My heart began accelerating, and my palms sweating as my brain went through every possibility. When the Global Politics teacher entered #2, I panicked. I had carefully calculated every step of the way; what had gone wrong? What could have possibly gone wrong? I anxiously glanced at my wristwatch. 10:34, a minute until class began. I blanked out on the realization that I would be late for my first-ever English HL class. Doing my best to regain some calm, I forced myself to think. English SL had always been on Classroom #2, so I assumed English HL would follow the same rule. I had assumed. I hadn’t checked the schedule, had I? I restlessly took out my phone, searched as fast as I could for the schedule, and Bingo! Classroom #17 it said. Location-wise, the opposite of Classroom #2.
I ran as fast as I could from one end of the academic hall to the other, hoping I would somehow still make it on time. I entered the room as Jess was already giving directions for the day’s class and, ashamed of myself, tried to look for an empty seat. She smiled at me and announced to the whole class, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious already, that her new student was late. I nervously explained to her my problem. Smirking, she turned to the class and asked them if they thought I was worthy of mercy. Every single one of my new classmates, most of whom I still didn’t know, excitedly spoke in my favor, and I was allowed to take a seat.
As I awkwardly took out my notebook and pretended to be cool with the whole situation, my heartbeat restored to normal, and my mind stopped running around. I had just joined a class full of strangers with far more knowledge, experience, and skill with the English language than I ever dreamt of, yet all of them admitted me. At that moment, I felt as embraced as I have scarcely felt in my entire life. It was the kind of warmth you only feel at a place where you know yourself to be welcomed, and I was.
I have no idea what was discussed that day, nor do I care. All I know is that Wednesday, my life changed. Before I even took my seat on Classroom #17, all of my earlier worries had disappeared. I had, undoubtedly, made the right decision.
Image Citation: https://uwaterloo.ca/english/literature-courses
www.unitedworldwide.co