It's the last day of school. I'm having trouble telling my batchmates from my students. This is what uniforms do -- we're all of a sudden all the same.
And we all have subtle ways of rebelling against conformity. Some girls let fall one jumper strap. Some girls lower the waist of their skirts to get that hip-hop look. I let down my hem so that my skirt almost touches my socks. Under my skirt's hem, written in steady print letters, 3 inches high, in white correction pen, is my first declaration of teenage love: "I Love Teejay."
At the same time we're careful to stay the same. Our blouse ruffles must be fluffed up. Otherwise they would look like pleats and only girls from St Scho Marikina have pleats instead of ruffles on their blouses.
Everyone's just hanging out. Under the Acacia, the field, the canteen, the corridors. I go here and there. Then it hits me. I'm bored. There's nothing for me here anymore. I feel so disappointed and let down.
A little sadly, I make my way to Gate 1 and wonder why I even still fit into my uniform. I love it but after high school no one should be required to wear a uniform.
The pretend world should end when high school ends.
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