Boredom

Another secondary 4 essay. I realize I'm a closet emo - all my entries so far have been nothing but depressing and featuring scary guys in deserted alleys. I have more, but I don't want this blog to appear like an outlet for my inner anguish and moodiness. So I'll suppress it for now and post something less saddening, although it's still far short of a happy story.

Essay question: Write about one occasion when you felt extremely bored.

My fingers drummed rhythmically on the table. My left hand fiddled unconsciously with an eraser as I stared blankly at the plain whiteboard. The words "Self-study: 2.30 to 4.00pm" loomed in front of my dreamy eyes, filling my mind over and over again with dull, lifeless thoughts. Thoughts about home, about play - anything and everything that self-study periods did not comprise of.

My eyes shifted up lazily to gaze at the wall clock. The drone of the tick-ticking of the second hand lulled me... I snapped awake from the emptiness, frustrated. I fidgeted restlessly in my seat, eyebrows tightly knotted; my down-turned mouth gave a severe expression but I was actually annoyed by the extreme boredom that surrounded and trapped me.

I heard pencils scribbling furiously; a feetfoot tapping continuously somewhere behind me. The sounds of paper rustling and pages flipping were constantly throbbing in my ears. My frown deepened, but there was nothing to distract me from the intrusion of noises in an almost completely silent classroom.

There was a faint cought and I looked up, glad that it kicked away my initial instinct to scream out in rage and run away from this place of sheer torture like a mad hyena. The teacher coughed again, this time more forcefully. My mind was suddenly filled with a sadistic point of view - the fact that I was not the only one suffering in the classroom comforted me and calmed my senses down. I studied her awhile more and gradually lost interest in her steady, grey, marking routine. A few ticks, and she flipped a page. A few more ticks, and the page was flipped again. She was like a black-and-white video that kept rewinding and replaying a monotonous scene; her face was expressionless, no other part of her body moved except for the occasional cough.

Looking away, the more colourful scene on my desk caught my eye and I started observing them like a scientist observing a change in a chemical reaction - only I wasn't looking out for anything in particular. My stationery lay, peacefully resting on my desk, leading my vague, drowsy mind to imagine what it would be like if I were one of my pencils or pens, just lying and waiting to be used all the time. But the word 'boring' drifted into my head like a poisonous wasp dancing across the room, sadistically cheerful. I rejected that idea, immediately wary of the eternity of boredom that would await me if it was even plausible in the first place.

My physics textbook was open and welcoming, but the sight of the tiny words and complex diagrams made me keep my distance, like how one would naturally avoid a poor, disfigured soul trying to gain acceptance. Pitiful, but creepy at the same time.

The sound of a chair pulling back abruptly signified a change in the atmosphere. The teacher got up and strode swiftly out the door. Suddenly a green light lit up in my head and my senses powered up, alert. Aware of the opportunity that was practically dragging me towards it. My heart raced - this was my chance. Hurriedly I stuffed my books and stationery into my bag, oblivious to several heads rising up to look at the commotion I was making. I clumsily stood up, knocking my chair against the table behind me and with big, purposeful steps I escaped from the prison of boredom and advanced towards freedom.

Teacher's comments: Gd but still a little brief! Nice way of holding onto the tone of the boredom in your writing!
I got a "star for class" on this essay, which my teacher (or me I can't remember) typed out for the class. And I have to admit, this is, I feel, one of my best essays in the whole of my secondary 4. Because it was purely descriptive, and the whole essay revolved around one scene and occurred, as my essay mentioned, between 2.30 - 4.00pm. It was so boring it was interesting, to me. And yah, I realize all my essays are brief, and even now they're still brief, if not briefer. I don't have a very long writing span. The last time I tried, the longest story I wrote lasted about 7 pages, and I never completed it. I lost all traces of it when i reformatted my comp some years ago. It was the most committed I'd ever been writing a 'long' story, inspired by, guess what, Grand Theft Auto. That's right, it was a story about the mafia, of working for the boss on assignments, of chasing cars and escaping from the cops. And there was a love story in it as well. I wonder what would have turned out if I finished that story. A pity, really.