by Josemaría Loza
The cold, yet comforting, presence of the room surrounds me, its four tightly-packed walls swathe me while I lay dormant in the five-inch-thick mattress of my room, which every day seems to get thinner and thinner. As the faint yellow streaks shine upon my tanned complexion, I slowly peel my eyes open, gaining focus of the popcorn ceiling above me. Obliviously staring at it, I steadily regain consciousness and stand up, placing my feet on the blue-tiled floor while gazing at the wall in front of me, filled with dark, suspicious splatters. I sit back at the edge of my bed and look up at the infamous red poster “Keep Calm and Carry On” hanging two feet away from me. My eyes have traced these words back and forth, endlessly, until one morning they became meaningless. I later stand up to take three steps to my bathroom; I turn the sink on, splash some water onto my face, then dry it off. Hastily, I walk back to make my bed and head towards the brown door. Vexed by uncertainty, I turn the crooked silver knob and brace; breathe in and out.
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I tiptoe through the laundry room and reach the wooden table that once ignored our stomach growls. Glancing over at the pantry, I open one of the doors and look at the pathetically bare shelves. My body turns to the counter, simultaneously avoiding my gaze to fix upon it, yet the necessity to look overtakes me. I walk across the checkered floor, fixating my attention on the metallic egg basket, and as I breathe heavily, I realize that it is empty. Fervently desiring to surprise myself by opening the old, wooden breadbox, I come to the unsurprising find of scattered crumbs across the base; no soft, pillowy cloud-like bread. Although scarcity prevailed before the pandemic, the current situation exacerbates its effects on our reality. Everything shifts into a state of bewilderment, but soon I remember: school. I pace towards the oval-shaped table, budge the laptop and open up Google Classroom. Before clicking on the meeting, I rub my eyes, as if doing so would conceal the distressed look fixed on my countenance. Decidedly, I click on the meeting as though everything that is troubling me vanishes within the snap of a finger.
Blissfully listening to the questions asked by the teacher, I maintain focus on my work, yearning for a higher education in the near future. While I stare at the bright screen—from the early sounds of the hawkers shouting outside the building, until the dark, starry night—my fingers press on the keys. I sit at the table hearing the screaming in the kitchen; the complaints, the crying, the uncertainty over tomorrow and all the days that follow. Still, I type away task after task, night after night, dancing to the endless symphony of the keyboard. I continue to make the best of my education, seizing every single task, acknowledging how privileged I am. Every single piece of our dignity vanishes for the sake of my education as we timidly reach out to acquaintances for loans, burdening ourselves with astronomical debts. The more I keep pushing myself, the more I keep wondering, “Is this of any use?” My older brother and sister spent countless nights giving up their sleep for their education, but no one ever told them this wouldn’t be a guarantee to college. I saw their dreams slowly approach them, but our empty bank accounts simply turned them into desperate hopes of ever sitting again in a classroom. “Keep going, it’s all worth it”, they whisper in my ear while my fingers continue pressing on the keys, hoping one day for the egg basket to fill, for the breadbox to offer bread instead of the dark void filled by the crumbs of disappointment.
I gently wipe the tears slipping down my cheeks as I click “Submit Assignment” and close the computer. I walk back to the kitchen, droopily crossing the brown door frame. While I put on my furry, giraffe-patterned pajamas, I take off my glasses, leaving a bruise on the bridge of my nose. I lay on the side of the bed with my hands rubbing my eyes, attempting to ease the tiredness, the pain. But soon they start flickering, closing until every single thing dissipates into pitch black emptiness.
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The warm sunlight kisses every inch of my face as I speed down the pebbled path surrounded by fallen leaves on concrete. I pace up to the library, carrying the big, heavy books on my arms with an overflowing backpack hanging from my shoulders. Approaching the glass doors of the building, I stare at myself in the reflection, reminiscing on the memory of mellow, familiar voices telling me how proud they are. My ñaños. Images of them keep invading my mind, reminding me of the journey that led me to where I am now. “Should I go in?” I ask myself, holding onto the thought of my siblings, hoping for it to linger on my mind as if it would allow them to relish my accomplishments like I do. Acknowledging that thousands of kilometers separate us, I look around me, realizing where I stand: a university. I take a deep breath, smell the dampness of the air and close my eyes, slowly regaining that sense of fulfillment and gratitude that overtook me in the pebbled path…
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The pungent, moldy smell from the humid walls creeps up my nostrils, and the sound of the washing machine spinning causes my deep breathing to cease instantly, forcing me into a state of awakening. I peel my eyes open, gradually gaining focus of the popcorn ceiling still fixed above me with its minuscule specks nimbly falling onto my face. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster with a sigh of disappointment, intrigued by the remnants of a seemingly real dream. And so I carry on, bracing myself before opening the door knob of the brown door once again.
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1. Ecuadorian colloquialism for siblings.
About the Author
Josemaría is a sixteen-year-old student from Quito, Ecuador. He is currently attending Unidad Educativa Alberto Einstein school, where he is passionately pursuing his IB subjects in the sciences, humanities, and arts. With a dichotomous nerdy and outgoing personality, Josemaría loves studying, everything from the chemical composition of lipids, the black, feminist figures of the civil rights movement, to Lady Gaga's "Born This Way" song. Equity for all is a passion of his; he seeks to establish greater justice in our society by equating everyone's rights through activism, volunteering, and writing.