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Okay… can we breathe for a second? It’s already December and meanwhile my brain is still chilling somewhere in mid-October. The worst part? I have not revised even half my portions, my pre-boards are this Monday and the boards are waiting for me in February like Kratos ready to kill me. My parents have activated full “Solve. More. Papers.” mode, every relative suddenly thinks they’re an academic consultant and my friends, the same ones who procrastinate with me have magically locked in. And here I am, wondering what the actual hell I’m doing with my life. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being a baby; no exams, no stress, just vibes. But nope. Here I am, trying to stop whining like a baby and man up. (Yes, the irony is insane. My humour clearly needs revision too.) Welcome to my POV of suffering through tenth. Please don’t roast me,  tenth is hard.

It all started on a chill morning of 5th November 2025. I was happily wasting time watching TV, playing Forsaken on Roblox and heading out to play like always. But when I reached the court, no one was there. I thought they were sick. But no, they were all studying?! Meanwhile, I was living in a fantasy world thinking I had infinite time. My father disagreed. He delivered a classic lecture on “not wasting time” and “using it wisely,” which I, of course, ignored. Weeks passed and reality finally hit. The pressure of exams started creeping in like Pennywise and to make it worse, we had a school trip to Kochi. Instead of being excited, I was convinced I would spend the whole trip drowning in anxiety. That’s when everything started feeling overwhelming, like there was no way out.

After the trip, my father was done. He stared at me. No blinking, no mercy. He said that if I didn’t get my act together, he would stop helping me completely. My jaw hit the floor. Panicking, I drafted a fancy timetable to “fix my life”… and abandoned it after two days. My father, already fed up, snapped. The lecture he gave could make even John Wick rethink his choices. I went to my room questioning every decision I have made since kindergarten. For a moment, I genuinely felt like maybe I wasn’t built for this world of exams and expectations. But then something clicked. Guilt, fear, motivation, who knows. All I knew was that it was time to stop messing around.

Time to take control.
Time to stop crying, stop panicking, stop doom-scrolling.
Time to go full X-Games mode.

First things first, I finally decided to follow my timetable. Yes, the one I kept abandoning like a white crayon. And shockingly, it worked. Life suddenly felt organised. Productive. Who knew managing time was easier than wasting it? I also stopped going out to play, partly because my friends were not coming anyway. Instead, I used that time to revise or solve papers, like a responsible tenth grader (in progress). And no, I’m not wasting time writing this blog. This is my therapy. My relaxation. My “let me rant before my brain explodes” space.
If blogging is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Now… my friends. These absolute legends. The same people who would kill me for missing one day suddenly vanished like they joined Ethan Hunt’s IMF team. No warnings, nothing. One day we were playing like the world was fine and the next day they all switched into silent study mode. I genuinely thought they were sick. Turns out, they were grinding textbooks harder than I grind games on weekends. And there I was, standing alone at the court looking like the sad extra in a dramatic movie scene. But honestly? Their sudden dedication pushed me to wake up too. I might roast them, but I owe them for the reality check.

So here I am now, somewhere between panic and progress, trying to survive tenth grade without exploding. The future still looks terrifying with exams and expectations, but at least I’m not running anymore. I’m learning that the goal isn’t to become a perfect student overnight, it is to show up every day and try a little harder than yesterday. Yes, the boards are coming. Yes, relatives will continue their TED Talks. Yes, I will probably cry twice a week. But I’m not giving up. Not now. Not when I have finally figured out how to breathe without spiralling. Maybe the future won’t be as scary as my brain makes it. Maybe I might actually do well. Maybe all this stress will become a story I laugh at someday. Because at the end of the day, hope isn’t getting cancelled; and neither am I.