caught up, rested, and human (draft)
There is that quote again to remind me that it is suddenly March. Almost like a ritual, I see and repost that Sylvia Plath line on my feeds annually as if once a year I am an embodiment of her. After a split second, I am back on doomscrolling and watching fifteen-second videos on my phone that could barely keep my attention.
March for me used to mark an ending and beginning. Recognition day at school means that the academic year has ended, and the fruits of our labors will finally be reaped. A gold medal for every subject aced, some ribbons for awards that seemed less significant, but would still make me upset because what do you mean I once again get an academic award — best in oral communication — while other kids were hailed most kind, most obedient, most punctual? That day would usually end in proud smiles, the proudest one an eight-year-old could muster, and a dinner outside. No goodbyes, no see you next year, no I’ll miss you!
Summer starts immediately after that, still in March. Upon writing this, I realized I no longer remember where I used to spend my time when there wasn’t school to worry about. Those months leading to June seemed like fillers — a quick blur. I’m certain that I’ve spent the majority of those days inside the house. I had no friends outside of school, after all.
It’s funny because throughout the years I’ve made her wishes mine, albeit for only a mere three seconds, I’ve never truly craved to be rested and caught up until now. To say that I am tired would not be enough, and it would also be seemingly illegal. My days have dragged on since junior year, continuous and unending.
This is an unfinished draft of an unpublished piece originally dated March 25, 2025.