I heard my classmate’s description about his TOK class. It’s seems horrible situation, but I learn something from him. Why do I try to find the real freedom? I ask myself，I try to remind myself that this is nothing more than the “boiling frog” phenomenon.

I am G11 student, life very busy with IB, homework, IA and TOK essay. Sometimes I feel stress and anxious, like my mind full of worry about grade or future university.
Last month I start read some simple book about Buddhism, not very deep one, just basic idea. The most thing attract me is “impermanence”.

Everything change, nothing stay same forever. Like my bad score in math test, it feel terrible now, but maybe next month I improve, or even if not, it will pass. When I think like this, I feel less pressure. Before I always think “I must get 7 in every subject or I fail life”, but now I try accept that good and bad both come and go.

Woke up to that weird hazy sunlight again — the kind that makes you question whether it’s actually morning or just the city refusing to let the night go. Coffee tasted bitterer than usual, probably because I stayed up way too late scrolling through random threads and pretending I was “researching.” Lies. I was just avoiding thinking about tomorrow’s to-do list.
Yesterday was one of those days that felt long in the moment but blurry now that it’s over.

School dorm lights are off, but my phone glows under the blanket. Rugby bruises throb from afternoon training—coach screaming about commitment while I nod like I’ve got it together. Now the brain won’t shut up. Replays every missed tackle, every half-assed TOK comment in class today. “Why didn’t I speak up?” “Captain should be better.” Then it spirals: uni apps, predicted grades slipping, what if I bomb the EE? What if the team loses because I’m distracted? Round and round, no exit. Energy drains without moving a muscle. Body’s here in the bunk, mind’s already run a marathon through worst-case scenarios.

Feels stupid. I’m not sick, not injured bad, just… tired in a way sleep won’t fix. Overthinking eats hours I should spend reviewing notes or stretching. Instead I lie here, heart racing over nothing concrete. Friends in the group chat post memes about “lie flat,” but I can’t even do that right—guilt for not grinding harder kicks in. Perfect little loop: think too much → feel drained → think about why I’m drained → more drain.

One less loop tonight. One more breath.

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.

Trying to balance leadership and actually learning feels like juggling while the floor is moving.

Rugby practice ended at 5 p.m., but my brain’s still on the field.

Cleats still muddy by the door, shoulders sore from tackles, lungs raw from sprints. Coach pulled me aside after: “You’re captaining next game—lead by example.” Everyone expects it: calls in the scrum, motivating the lineout, staying late to review plays. It feels good—being the one who holds it together when someone drops the ball or misses a hit. Team chats explode with memes and hype. I reply fast, keep the energy up.

Maybe balance isn’t equal time. Maybe it’s knowing when to let the scrum collapse a little so the mind can build something lasting.
Tomorrow I’ll lead again—have to. But tonight I chose one selfish page of reading. No playbook. Just thoughts.

One breath between hits and hypotheses.

Only the occasional car hums past on the 101, headlights cutting through the blinds. The page loaded, spun for a second, then: “Your submission has been received.  No confetti, no sound, no one texting “you did it.” Just silence and the faint buzz of my laptop fan.

I should feel free, right? Three thousand words turned into six thousand, rewritten six times. Supervisor comments in red ink that made me want to disappear. Late nights in the library café, surviving on iced matcha and sheer stubbornness. CAS hours, TOK essays, mocks, predicted grades breathing down my neck. And now… done. One less thing chaining me to this desk.

But the high never came. Instead, a weird hollow opened up. Like finishing a marathon and realizing the finish line was just another starting block. University apps still pending. Predicted 38? Maybe 40 if miracles happen. Still comparing myself to that kid who got 45 and posted it everywhere. Still wondering if “good enough” will actually get me anywhere.
Closed the laptop. Walked to the balcony in socks. Cool air, city lights smudged by marine layer. Brewed instant coffee I won’t drink. Sat there thinking: this essay might gather digital dust in some IB server. But I wrote every word. I cried over sources. I hated it, loved it, survived it.

Not a grand victory. Not the end of the world. Just… over. Tomorrow I’ll probably panic about something else. But tonight, I let myself breathe. One less weight. One more sunrise coming.

Thought about death again tonight. Not the dramatic kind, just the quiet one that sneaks in when everything else is too loud.

Balcony door cracked, cool air mixing with leftover coffee smell. Phone dark for once—no scroll, no notifications. Just me, the hum of the air conditioner, distant freeway drone like white noise for insomniacs. Mind wandered to how fragile this all is: one wrong heartbeat, one bad intersection, one silent night that doesn’t end. Not scary exactly. More… strange. Like realizing the game you’ve been playing has an exit you can’t see.

Remembered my friend’s last call—voice thin, saying “don’t worry, it’s just like falling asleep.” I nodded through the phone, but inside I panicked because what if it’s not? What if it’s nothing at all? No fade to black, no dream, just… off. Switch flipped. All the small things I chase—better job, more likes, another coffee run—suddenly feel like scribbling notes on water. They’ll vanish anyway.

But then a car passed below, headlights sweeping the street, and for a second I felt oddly grateful. Grateful for the ache in my back from bad posture, the half-finished draft on my laptop, the way the city light catches dust in the air. These tiny proofs I’m still here, still running the loop.

Death isn’t coming tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. So I’ll keep breathing this borrowed air, keep typing nonsense, keep feeling the weight and the wonder of it all.