The fair had ended, and so had the exams. The once buzzing corridors now held the familiar calm of routine. Streamers were taken down, booths dismantled, and the hum of celebration faded into echoes. But for me, everything felt different.
There was a quiet shift inside me—subtle but certain.
For days after the results were posted, people continued to greet me in the hallways with smiles and light applause. "Top one, huh?" "Congrats, Carmela!" "You really aced it!" Some were genuinely happy; others, maybe less so. I'd been here before—admiration laced with envy, whispers behind backs. I knew how fast applause could turn into murmurs of doubt.
But this time, I wasn't the same girl. In my past life, I had basked too much in fleeting praise, relied too heavily on external validation. Now, I simply smiled, said thank you, and moved forward. The real challenge wasn't topping exams or winning quiz bees. It was consistency—day in, day out. The daily choice to stay true to the life I was trying to rebuild.
Still, something lingered in the air. A tension, maybe. Or was it just the lull that always followed an intense season?
During homeroom one morning, our adviser, Ms. Beltran, clapped her hands to get our attention. "Now that the fair and exams are behind us, let's shift gears. Next week is Career Week."
A few groans echoed in the room.
"I know, I know," she added with a small smile. "But this is important. Especially for you students who are figuring out what your strengths are."
Career week. I remembered it from before. A week of personality tests, mini-interviews, workshops, and guest speakers. Back then, I didn't take it seriously. After all, I was only in Grade 8. What did a teenager really know about the future? But this time, I knew better. Every small decision rippled outward. Seeds planted early bore fruit later.
During lunch, I found myself under the old acacia tree near the back of the school building, flipping through the career orientation guide Ms. Beltran handed out. Suggested fields, personality types, skills assessments. It was overwhelming. How could a single path define everything?
I let out a sigh and closed the pamphlet, leaning back against the trunk. The wind stirred the leaves above, dappling the grass with light. It reminded me that life wasn't linear. Even trees had branches.
A familiar voice broke into my thoughts. "You look like you're trying to solve the meaning of life."
I turned to see Coleen walking toward me, holding two juice packs.
I smiled as she handed me one. "Maybe I am."
She sat beside me. "You're thinking about Career Week too?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "It just feels… big. Like whatever I choose now sets everything in motion."
She nodded thoughtfully. "My mom wants me to be a nurse. I think I want to be a photographer. But I don't even know if I'm good enough."
I glanced at her. "You are. I've seen your pictures. The way you capture moments—it's more than just clicking a camera. It's storytelling."
Coleen blushed slightly. "Thanks. I guess I just don't want to disappoint anyone."
Her words hit a familiar chord. "Neither do I."
That night, I pulled out my journal—a quiet ritual I'd kept since my rebirth. A safe place to put down thoughts, reflections, and goals. I opened to a fresh page and wrote:
What do I want? Not for others, but for myself?
I didn't answer it right away. Sometimes, the question mattered more than the answer.
Career week kicked off on Monday. We started with a personality quiz—one of those multiple-choice things meant to tell you who you are. The result said I was "a curious thinker with strong leadership qualities." It was accurate, if a bit vague.
We attended career talks hosted by alumni—some who became teachers, others who ran small businesses, one who worked in agriculture. I listened closely, jotting down ideas. I wasn't thinking about fame or prestige. I was thinking about purpose.
I signed up for a creative writing workshop on impulse. Back then, I never would've dared. But now? I wanted to explore the parts of myself I'd once ignored. We were asked to write a short story based on a memory. I wrote about a girl staring at the sunset, wondering if she could change her life. It felt raw. Honest. Freeing.
At the end of the session, the facilitator, a published author from the next town, approached me.
"You have a natural voice," she said. "Ever thought about writing more seriously?"
I blinked. "I haven't… not really."
"Well, maybe you should," she said, handing me a flyer for a local youth writing contest. "Sometimes, our paths show up when we least expect them."
After school, I stayed behind to help sort the career orientation materials in the guidance office. Ms. Beltran passed by and paused.
"Carmela," she said warmly. "You've really come out of your shell this year."
I smiled, surprised. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm just… trying to make the most of things."
Her eyes softened. "Keep at it. The effort you're making—it shows."
As I walked home that afternoon, the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and gold. I remembered sitting at this very path years ago, heart heavy with regrets. And now, here I was again—but with clearer eyes and stronger steps.
The weekend brought a youth gathering at church. A quiet, soul-refreshing evening of worship, group sharing, and a short talk about identity and calling.
"God doesn't make mistakes," the youth leader said. "Even your failures, your heartbreaks, your second-guessing—they can all become part of your purpose."
Those words stayed with me long after I got home. I stared at the ceiling in my room that night, thinking about the second life I'd been given. I couldn't waste it. There was too much I had to do—people to encourage, paths to explore, wounds to heal.
On Monday, the list of students recommended for the academic scholarship application was posted. I scanned it with bated breath.
There it was. My name.
I stared at it for a long moment—not with disbelief, but with a quiet pride. In my past life, I had chased recognition for the wrong reasons. Now, this felt different. It wasn't about being better than others. It was about becoming better than I used to be.
I glanced around and saw Jasmine near the board, her eyes wide. She wasn't on the list.
She turned and tried to mask her disappointment, but I could see it in the way she gripped her folder.
"You'll get there," I said gently. "This isn't the end."
She gave a half-smile. "Thanks. It still stings though."
"I know," I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But the future doesn't happen all at once. We build it one decision at a time."
And I meant it. Because I was doing just that.
As I walked back to the classroom, the corridor quiet around me, I felt something settle inside me—not certainty, not yet. But resolve.
I didn't need to have it all figured out. I just needed to keep showing up, keep growing, and keep walking forward.
Because this time, I wouldn't run from my past.
I'd use it to build my future.