Have you ever thought of what is a good way to live your life?
I'm sure you have.
Maybe it crossed your mind when you sat alone at lunch while the others laughed like they belonged.
Or when your parents argued late at night, and you realized that being an adult didn't make life any easier.
Or maybe when you failed a test you stayed up three nights studying for… and no one cared.
That question—how should I live—doesn't always come in some dramatic moment.
Sometimes it comes when you're stuck in traffic.
When you're pretending to smile during a group photo.
When you delete a long message you were never brave enough to send.
So... did you find your answer?
In the middle of missed buses, awkward silences, stupid fights with friends, late-night regrets, and pointless victories—we get a little closer.
Each time we mess up, each time we try again... we change a bit. And somewhere in all that mess, a part of the answer takes shape.
Did you let failure swallow you whole?
Or did you wipe your tears in the bathroom, step out, and pretend everything was fine… until it actually was?
You know, there was a time when education wasn't about ranks or resumes.
Long before the test scores and PDFs and coaching classes, education was something sacred.
In ancient Greece, a boy would walk beside his mentor, not just to learn logic or rhetoric—but to understand life.
They'd sit under olive trees and argue about virtue, duty, and happiness.
It wasn't about grades. It was about growing up.
In India, the gurukul system wasn't just some spiritual retreat—it was a home.
Students cooked, cleaned, debated, meditated, and studied the Vedas, not for exams—but for meaning.
They were taught discipline and detachment.
They slept on floors, lived far from luxury, and learned that knowledge was not something you crammed...
It was something you became.
Even in medieval Japan, samurai children were taught literature and poetry before swordsmanship.
Because even warriors had to know how to carry silence. How to carry loss. How to make sense of honor.
Education wasn't a race.
It was a rite of passage.
But somewhere along the way—especially after the Industrial Revolution—everything changed.
We needed workers. Not thinkers.
So, schools became factories.
Desks in rows. Bells like assembly lines. Subjects split into boxes, creativity reduced to margins.
By the time the 21st century arrived, we had formulas for everything.
Marksheets. Ranking systems. IQ tests. Emotional detachment.
We measured intelligence in numbers, and forgot that empathy doesn't fit in a scorecard.
And now, in 2025?
We carry the world in our pockets. Infinite data. Infinite distractions.
But somehow, we feel more lost than ever.
We're taught how to win debates—but not how to handle being misunderstood.
We learn algorithms—but not how to deal with loneliness at 2AM.
We study neurons—but no one tells us how to speak when we're spiraling inside.
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People say education opens doors.
But I've seen students standing in hallways, wondering if there was ever a door to begin with.
We graduate with certificates, but still have no idea how to handle betrayal. Or heartbreak. Or simply… ourselves.
Is that really education?
Or just a very long tutorial on how to pretend everything's okay?
Maybe that's why I keep asking…
Because if school is supposed to prepare us for life,
then why do most of us only learn how to suffer in silence?
Well, what am I even complaining about?
It's not like everything can change in an instant, and the system will be changed in a day.
I am just a second year high schooler in Shinagawa High, a Meritrocratic school in Tokyo, akin to a prep school for college.
It's not like the system will be overturned in a night.
This was my thought, just before the upcoming announcement.
The announcement which turned my world upside down.
I think, that would have been the case for all the high school students, all around Japan, until today.
The starting of a new academic year, my second year in high school.
I was a bit late to the assembly meeting, due to oversleeping, and headed directly to the auditorium filled with my classmates, seniors and juniors, who recently joined our school.
I was relieved at the fact that nobody bothered looking at me , as I entered the back door, in the completely silent auditorium.
I stood behind my class's line, a few of my classmates looking at me, but soon lost interest.
Good.
Looks like things have subsided a bit, since the incident from that day.
Now that I looked at the stage, and found out baldy headmaster, along with a bunch of lazy teachers.
Their faces were enough to induce sleep within you.
But the headmaster looked strict, in contrast to his kind, and gentle demeanor.
And thus, two major announcements were made, like two bombs dropped within a certain interval.
"As of today, by directive of the Ministry of Education and Human Potential, Shinagawa High and all registered Tokyo Metropolis High Schools will participate in the new nationwide Psychometric Integration Program. You will be evaluated as a student and as a class with known metrics like academics, non academic, sociablity, etc. Your homeroom teachers will enlighten you further, about this ."
And for the last announcement.....
The headmaster continued.
"From today onwards, no student is allowed to leave the school premises, until graduation."
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