IBing
The IB exam starts with a train of heavy and complicated introductions which made my eyelids fall to the bottom only leaving a ray of space for me to look at the examination room. It is always hard for me to keep myself awake all the time, especially in a chilly morning in May. The extra 45 minutes in the morning not only extend my time for sleeping but also let the sandman to stay with me for a little bit longer. But what should I do? The hypnotic voice with the accompany of the rain create a melody of the cradlesong. “no!” That’s the last word I said before I lost conscious, although I know talking is not allowed right now.
The first thing I saw after I open my eyes is the phone laying beside my pillows with alarm ringing like saying “You need to wake up...You need to wake up…” “Thank God! Is only a dream!” I whispered to myself. On the other side of the room my roommate is snoring like a troll. Is May third and I am going to go to my second but not last IB exam of my life which is about poetry. I am quite confident about this one because I always have a feeling that I should be a troubadour in the ancient time. There is no specific reason to explain where this kind of feeling comes from, but I think it can be attribute to the optimistic and mysterious confidence personalities I have. Holding the pen on my hand like a knight going to a duel I walk into the test room. Solemnity and holy is what you can see on my face. Yes! I am surely well prepared. “Sir you can not entering the room from the window!” “Oh! Sorry! I am getting down. Just one second! Let me clear up my emotions. No! I am definitely not too nervous!
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