The Red Blazer Anonymous

I confess, at the age of eight, I did not know how to spell my name. I confess, at the age of twelve, I did not know how to comb my hair. I confess, at the age of sixteen, I was not ready to lead three hundred people.

A couple of weeks ago, on a Monday morning, a ray of sunlight hit my bedside table as I yawned. Getting out of bed, I walked down the narrow hallway; I saw a brown photo album placed on a wooden table in the living room. As I flipped through the pages, pictures from 2010 caught my attention- bold and bright. I saw the eight-year-old me, sitting on a white bench under a big black bell. In the picture background, I saw one of my seniors wearing a Red Blazer with a white badge pinned on the front pocket. It boldly read "Head Girl."

I was taught that the color red signified maturity and coming of age in our educational institution. Since then, it was embedded in my psyche that you would also possess an equal fervor in fulfilling and feeling responsible once you were cloaked in the Red Blazer.

As I flipped through the album further down the memory lane, I stopped at a picture of my mother. At the age of twelve, the trauma of nearly losing her to cancer drowned me in sorrow. I became academically weak. My mouth would...