Human wisdom seems kind of fake at night.

School just let out late—rugby training ran over again, coach yelling about line speed while the floodlights buzz overhead. Locker room smells like sweat and instant noodles from someone’s secret stash.

I’m supposed to be wise now—captain on the pitch, dissecting TOK in class, balancing hits and hypotheses. But wisdom? It’s not the clean stuff from textbooks or WeChat motivational posts. It’s knowing you’ll get flattened in tomorrow’s scrum and still stepping on the field. Knowing friendships crack under exam stress and still texting “你好吗？” anyway. Knowing the IB path is brutal, the planet’s heating up, yet we keep grinding like it all adds up.

Smart enough to build rockets and rugby tactics, dumb enough to ghost a friend over a misunderstanding or doom-scroll Xiaohongshu at midnight.

One more practice. One more sunrise over the smog.