How To Write An Essay

My sneakers crunch the rotten leaves beneath them as I walk along the street; the same sneakers have an odd stain from when I squashed a berry that fell from one of my neighbor’s trees last week. It still hasn’t come out three washes later. I look up at the sad sky. I think it will rain soon, but you can never be too sure. A storm can avoid or purposefully target you for various reasons at any moment. I try to stand still and, with one eye closed, stare at the clouds and see if they are moving, and they are. The wind must be strong up there. Alright, maybe it will rain. I sigh in relief as I wipe the sweat off my forehead. It was way too hot for August. The clouds are luminous, penetrating my pupils despite their darkened canvas. I force my eyes shut and blink rapidly several times, feeling my lids water. That wasn’t a good idea, yet I kept doing it. Having robbed myself of my vision, I don’t see my dog circling my legs, wrapping the leash around them, giving me too little time to avoid the embarrassing face-off with the hard concrete. I ground my teeth and, with an annoyed groan, I pick myself up. I hope no one was watching. I’ll go home, I think to myself. It was time to do so, either way. My dog had gotten just as bored as I was.

The inside of my house feels like the one of a furnace; even the walls are sweating. Great, I think. I unleash my dog, throw my shoes off, and turn on the TV. “Weather alert: An unexpected heatwave hits the country. Many cities are red-coded with high temperatures, especially southern regions. Torrents are also expected for these locations. Beware of strong winds, lighting charges…” Just as I thought. I live in the south. I snorted, irritated by my exponential luck (including living on the top floor and only having a thick piece of plasterboard and paint over my head to protect me from any anomalies) and the living room temperature. Brilliant. I have work to do, I suddenly remind myself. The essay is due in a few hours, and it isn’t going to write itself.

Time passes and, thirty minutes later, the page is still empty. I always found it curious how my brain suddenly ran out of fuel the moment I had to be productive. And the fact that the heat has gotten increasingly more uncomfortable didn’t help with my motivation. I groan and lean back on my chair, fanning myself with my hands. Doing so, my eyes fell on my dog lying around on the carpet. “You have it so easy,” I say out loud, and its head bounces up at the sound of my voice. I think I might be the only crazy person who talks to their dog as to a human being. At least my dog knows how to listen and doesn’t interrupt me. I bolt my head back up and leave myself hanging over the ominous white paper. “Explain why you chose to attend this school,” it reads. Why did I choose to attend this school? To put the blame on my parents and say they want me to have a future would be the easy way out, but I can’t work out a page and a half from this. To play the stereotypical card and say “I want to achieve great things, and I know this establishment will help me reach my limits” is too dull and somewhat untrue. Why did I choose to attend this school? Well, for starters, it is close to my home, and therefore I don’t have to wake up too early, but I can’t write that either. My phone buzzes. I take the device in my hand and the screen lights up, as I see I have a new message I should probably respond to or at least take a look at.

what are you doing?

losing my mind with the essay, what about you? I text back.

you haven’t done that already??

I had to walk my dog.

it’s been due for several days.

I pursed my lips. so what. I have to walk my dog every day.

that’s not an excuse.

It’s not. I groan and put the phone away. Why did I choose to attend this school? “I didn’t want to find a job yet and wanted an excuse to avoid work.” I laugh. I can’t write that either. “I chose to attend this school because it is a prestigious place that helps people become great people.” Someone successful. And isn’t that what everybody looks forward to in life? Succes? My parents have done so their entire lives, and now I am drowned in their comments on how I have to be better than them and not waste my youth on childish dreams because I am going to regret it by the time I am a full-grown adult with a family. I’ve kept myself from telling them that I already wasted what can be called the debut of my youth by staying on the sidelines of anything interesting that has been going on around me, because interesting often means risky. Me and risk aren’t buddies. This might also be why I’m having a hard time deciding what I should do with the rest of my young years. And why I hardly want to get involved in anything – for example, this school. I sigh as I feel droplets of sweat gathering around the roots of my hair, hanging off my forehead, and sliding down my temples and my cheeks until they finally reach my chin and fall onto the table.

I remember I saw two old men playing chess on the side of the road when I was on my walk. They never spoke a word to each other or lost their concentration when any curious person batted an eye in the direction of their game. It was like watching a worldwide tournament, where everybody was silent, even at home, shrinking with suspense as the wooden pieces showed their dance around the board. As I walked past them, I heard a short cheer, followed by what I could make out to be a handshake and the clack of the wooden objects as they struck each other and the board. After exchanging a few words as they rearranged the game, a new match ensued. And, after that, there was silence again. I wish it were that easy in life as well – you lose the game, you shake hands, and then you get up and try again. But it’s easier said than done. I wipe my face with my palms, but it doesn’t help because the sweat keeps building up on them. As if it heard me, the sun started to shine even brighter, bouncing off every corner of the room, reflecting on the dirty floor I needed to mop but didn’t, the books I was supposed to read but didn’t, and what was supposed to be the essay due in one hour. I groan. I could tell everything was against me at that moment. Everything, from the sunshine, the rain, the heat, the texts, the essay, to that goddamn school and everything else I have failed to succeed at. “Go away,” I almost want to shout at the window, but I don’t because that would make me a crazy person – like I haven’t reached that stage yet. I am talking to a wall.

The burning light on the top of my head and the heat of everything around me make the space feel like an interrogation room. It’s like everything in this room knows my secrets, my fears, and my shame. I lied. It’s not shame I feel, although I am sure I should feel it with the little I struggled to achieve. Anger. It’s the anger that I achieved so little and struggled so much for a tiny piece of merit, whilst others go out and aren’t invisible. Some people happily blend into the background, staying on the sidelines and watching from the crowd. It turns out I am and I am not one of them simultaneously. I crave the feeling of victory, but not the attention. I don’t know what to do when people acknowledge me. And it seems like, whenever I try to do something for myself, it always backfires on everyone else present.

At this moment, I feel like I am stuck in the middle of the desert. Not even a desert. A wasteland. The sun blinds me so much that I can’t see my hands on the paper in front of me anymore. The air feels so dry that it refuses to go into my lungs, making me dizzy. I feel like a lost traveler, looking for an oasis, but, with each step closer to my destination, the only things I see are mirages. How did I end up here in the first place? Why did I choose this? The simple answer would be ‘I don’t know’; the guilty answer is ‘I know far too well.’ I chose this because I didn’t know what else to do. I chose this because I knew it would be out of the ordinary, and it would somehow maybe push me out of the bubble I have conveniently shut myself inside of, because I can’t overcome the fact that I will have to put myself out there someday. And now, since the decision has to be immediate, I feel doubtful of my capability to stick to my word.

As I say this, I can feel my mind getting a bit clearer. The sandstorm looks to have passed as well. I try to put my thoughts in order, breathing deeply, and a thunder erupts outside. I was right, I say to myself. I look back at the paper, much less ominous now, and stare at the title. “Explain why you chose to attend this school,” it reads. Why did I choose to attend this school? It's such a silly question. I smile faintly, taking the pen in hand, and begin writing.

“I chose to attend this school,” I begin writing, “because I want to risk.” The pen then flows smoothly on the rough surface of the paper, trailing my thoughts and intentions around the page, and it only stops forty minutes later. With a deep sigh, I drop the instrument and look at and through the paper. Who would’ve thought writing an essay was so easy? It turns out, sometimes, you just have to fake it till you make it.

Outside, the storm rages on, and only now have I realized it. Who knows just how long it has been there, hiding behind the sad clouds and crushing heat, waiting to unleash in the form of thunder, lightning, and rain.

Oh, how nice it is when it rains! It makes the weather of August much more bearable.