A Journey Towards The Uncertainty

It had been eight long years since I began attending online classes. It all started because I wanted to escape the darkness that had enveloped my elementary school life.

I had become a shut-in starting in the 5th grade, and after that year, I transferred to a new school that offered online classes. I attended there, becoming a faceless online student isolated from the world.

My parents would leave food at the door, and I would retrieve it when they were gone, eating in solitude. I was hiding from the world, and I continued this way even when I moved on to high school.

After my graduation from grade 6, I entered high school as a 7th grader. I never attended my graduation ceremony in person. My parents were there, dressed in their formal attire, while I joined virtually, wearing my graduation robes.

I was committed to being an online student, and it was in the midst of this journey that a deadly virus struck, affecting the entire world.

For four long years, all students attended classes online, a situation that was increasingly frustrating due to the background noise from some students who had transitioned from onsite to online. Many of them forgot to turn on their microphones, and the worst part was when they left their cameras on.

I despised this intrusion into my privacy. I yearned for freedom and privacy, not to be under constant surveillance. Don't get me wrong, I understood the need for a camera during exams or oral recitations, but making it a daily requirement was unbearable.

I wanted to keep my face hidden, not because I wanted people to wonder about how I look or pass judgment on my appearance. I didn't want anyone to look at me. I was done with being the subject of conversations, done with standing out, and done with their criticism and judgment. I shut myself in because I despised being open to anyone.

During those years as an online student, I developed a passion that gave me a reason to live—watching anime, reading manga, and delving into light novels and online novels that were not published physically.

These four things were my sources of happiness and, at times, sorrow. They allowed me to escape the darkness of the real world.

After completing grade 10, the virus had not disappeared entirely, but humans had developed vaccines and achieved immunity. High school students returned to normalcy.

As for me, I transferred to another school, an esteemed institution known as Nuestro University, which had both high school and senior high school programs.

My parents enrolled me, and I didn't pay much attention to the university's appearance. When I enrolled, I kept my gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

The only time I looked up was when I interacted with the registrar, as I needed to maintain the facade of a typical high school student.

Finally, the treasurer instructed me to head to the academy building to get my student ID picture taken. My parents remained at a distance, as the line was meant for students only.

I took a seat in a line of chairs, each student vacating their chair and moving to the next as they progressed. As I waited, I observed my fellow students.

Some of them were taking selfies, chatting on social media, or even snapping pictures of their shoes touching the floor to announce their enrollment on social media.

The line consisted of both university students and high school students. University students appeared more mature, while high school students seemed younger, energetic, and always had a smile on their faces.

I, on the other hand, kept my eyes fixed on the floor. Their faces remained nameless to me, as if they had the potential to transform into monstrous visages with moving mouths, capable of unleashing judgment and discrimination upon me.

As I reached the last chair in line, the sea of students surrounding me felt like a tidal wave of curious eyes. After a brief yet interminable wait, a college student, a cheerful young man, emerged from the third door, looking positive and full of life. I got up and made my way toward him, my heart pounding like a drum. 

The room behind that door was quite different from what I'd expected. Inside, there were two computers neatly arranged on the table.

One computer was occupied by the young man, who seemed to be a recent graduate; his black hair and confident demeanor gave him away.

Is he new in this university? I wasn't sure, but one thing was certain: in this room, the air was so cold, it sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but wish I'd brought a jacket, even though outside, the scorching heat dominated the world.

I cautiously sat down, my eyes on the vacant computer in front of me. It was a sleek, modern machine, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation as I considered the unknown journey ahead.

I could see the form on the website, patiently waiting for me to fill it out.

The young man was the first to break the silence, a friendly smile on his face. "You see the form there? Now, sign it with your name and contact number, and leave the email blank. We'll send you a new email tomorrow. Also, add your parents' names and their contact numbers."

"Okay, sir," I replied, doing my best to conceal my anxiety. 

I began typing, the clicks of the keyboard echoing through the room, the form taking shape as I entered the required information. 

"Remy Lim"

I added my personal phone number, my parents' names, and their contact numbers. Once I completed the form, I clicked the submit button, my finger hesitating just before the decisive action.

The form displayed a message: "The form is submitted. Please inform the moderator or owner of this form." 

I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing. How had I reached this point in my life? What would this new journey hold for me? But the young man seemed uninterested in my thoughts, lost in his own world, likely listening to music. So, I interrupted him with a simple "Sir..."

He paused the video and looked at me with an inquisitive gaze. "Are you done?"

"Yes, sir. I'm done," I replied.

"Okay..." He stood up and made his way to me, the chair creaking as he leaned in. His presence was both calming and overwhelming.

He exited the website and opened drawing software, a digital canvas that now connected us in a unique way. "Just draw your signature here."

He handed me a sleek blackboard and an electronic pen, explaining how whatever I drew on it would be mirrored on both computers. As I began to sketch my signature, the gravity of this moment hit me. 

Once I had completed my signature, I handed the electronic pen back to him, our eyes meeting briefly.

"I'm done," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He saved my signature, naming the file "Lim_SignatureStem11." With that task completed, he exited the software, returning to his own computer.

As he prepared to take my picture, he told me to smile. I managed a smile that felt foreign to my lips. It was a smile I hadn't worn in the six years I'd spent in isolation.

A flash of light filled the room, capturing the moment. He asked me to check the picture. As I looked at my face, a smile that felt lifeless in my eyes, I nodded, assuring him that it was acceptable. "That's fine. Thank you, sir."

With that, I turned to leave without saying goodbye, thinking that perhaps I could escape the room without further ado. Yet, before I could exit, I heard him call my name one last time.

He seemed genuinely concerned, possibly wondering why I hadn't bid him farewell.

"Remy!"

I turned to face him. "Yes, sir?"

"Um... Remy, are you an onsite or fully online student?"

"I'm a fully online student, sir."

"Okay... it's more fun to be an onsite student, you know. Maybe next semester, you'll change your mind."

"Will I? Well, goodbye, sir," I said, determined to make a swift exit.

With that, I closed the door, leaving the encounter with the young man behind. He called my name one last time, but I ignored it.

He might have sensed something amiss, but I didn't want anyone to know about my situation. It was my problem, my burden, and I didn't want anyone's sympathy or pity. I was me, and no one could truly understand.

As I continued to walk and met my parents, who had risen from their chairs, I couldn't help but wonder if today marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life or merely another chapter in the isolation that had come to define me.

On our way back home, my mother finally spoke, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

"Remy...?"

It felt like they wanted to reach out to me, to connect, as if they thought this was the right moment to reconcile. Yet I replied coldly, "I'm going back to my room, mother."

"Remy!" My parents protested, but I paid them no heed. I shut the door loudly, locked it, and lay down, lost in my own thoughts.

"It was indeed an exhausting day..."

"Getting enrolled, huh?"

"Will I endure it? For how many years? Will it eventually drive me to the edge?"

"How would I end it, then?"

My mind was overrun with questions, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear.

I decided to close my eyes, hoping that when I woke up, my mind would be clearer. Tomorrow, the school would send me an email account, and I would wait for it, the unknown future looming on the horizon.