Maze Wanderer




To whom it may concern:

I walk the halls of this institution, absorbing the sounds of progress and excellence as I go. The walls are dripping with dreams and goals seemingly coming to fruition, but behind the drywall it isn’t at all like in the shiny brochures. The floors that I traverse are littered with carved footsteps where the weight of expectations has nailed children down into the planks. The light that filters through the gray colored blinds is inorganic; counterfeit energy purchased from deep within the pockets of overly hopeful parents and opportunist businessmen looking to affix another aggrandizing sticker beside their names. The air that we breathe here is impregnated with the particles of rotten quotas, and privileges that are bestowed upon those with the means to pay for them. It isn’t the perfect ‘get in and get out’ scheme we were told it was as children, but rather a right of passage that beckons us to ‘toil away our youth, wandering from discipline to discipline and getting lost pursuing avenues with blocked exits, only to much later, after depleting our reserves, find that we are left with one remaining door’. If we’re lucky, we might be able to fit into the narrow shoes of adequacy placed before the threshold, and then tiresomely sprint to the other side with a load of tattered books shackled to our ankles, and a lifetime subscription to debt and unfulfilling employment. They say the real world awaits us afterwards, and that it is one in which every road leading anywhere is congested with people of similar aptitude or greater, but I know none of that to say for certain. So to my comrades on the other side, I say: congratulations. You’ve managed to escape from this maze, only to find yourself meandering through another. As for me, I’ll be sitting in this newly refurbished classroom for the time being, rifling through the oh-so coveted sheets of fancy paper they call diplomas gathering dust in meritocracy’s golden file cabinet.


An anxious wanderer in need of new shoes.



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