I always sat at the front of the classroom because I didn't want to stare at the back of someone else’s head. It wasn't considered cool to sit at the front, so I always had my pick of seats. I usually chose one near a window, allowing me to gaze outside and drift into thought during dull lectures. Thankfully, I didn't worry about that with this class. Philosophy was my major, and I had the same familiar professor.
However, after a few weeks, I regretted sitting near the window because the morning sun shone directly in my face. Every morning, I would get up and draw the blinds, trying to shield myself from the glare.
I didn't have any friends at university. Everyone seemed to know each other from high school, clustering in their groups, smiling and laughing. I sat silently at the front of the class, usually fidgeting with my phone, pretending to be busy. Not growing up in town and being several years older than everyone else, I felt like an unknown anomaly drifting through the halls. Another faceless student in the crowd. Just another number.
Relating to these fresh-faced twenty-year-old’s was impossible. For them, university seemed like an extension of high school. They either hadn't settled into their disciplines or were unbothered by deadlines and grades. It didn't seem serious to them yet—they were still discovering themselves as adults. But I knew who I was and what I wanted. I was dead serious.
I worked a full-time job, saving my extra income for my education. Determined not to have any student loans or debt, I worked five days a week and attended school on my two days off. Living alone, I had no social life to speak of because I was too busy. Busy and alone
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