In my family, I was always the "little weird girl." They could never predict my reactions or what I would do next. Whenever I engaged in debates on tough topics, they were always surprised, yet they pleasantly accepted me. I was like the sugar in the sweet cake, adding an unexpected touch to their lives. My educational journey, from the very first class to the final year of higher education, was not easy. To clarify, I belong to that group of people who call themselves "artists"—those who reject rigid systems and cannot be confined within closed circles. I am a free woman, eager to explore everything in a short period. Alright, I’ve talked enough about myself —let's dive into my non-fiction story. That was just the opening! So, picture this—it's my final year of high school, and boom! I move to Djerba. It's Not exactly my idea of fun, but hey, life happens. Cue the frustration and a touch of melodrama. I was bummed because I didn’t want to move, but it had to be done. After failing that year, I made this epic promise to myself: "Next year, I'm gonna crush it and make my family proud!"Fast forward to the middle of that year... I wasn’t exactly what you'd call "focused." Honestly, studying was kind of a backburner thing for me. But then, the final week hit, and suddenly I transformed into this study machine—14 hours a day for two straight weeks! I mean, who needs balance when you can just cram like a maniac, right? Then came the exams. I was understandably nervous, with a little voice in my head saying, "What if this is another failure?" (Ah, the drama.) Oh, and did I mention this was all happening during the COVID-19 pandemic? Yep, talk about timing. The Ministry of Education decided to reduce the program due to the virus, given the risks and the occasional absence of teachers. Lucky break, right? So, with a little less to study and a lot of support from my professors and parents, I took the exams under pretty decent conditions. After each exam, though, the self-doubt would creep in. "Wait, what if I answered that wrong? Did I really just lose a point over that?" Classic overthinking, but hey, at least will be passed! As I awaited my exam results, I kept nervously reassuring myself, "Don’t worry, you won’t fall into the zone of control!" For those unfamiliar, the "zone of control" is the last place any student wants to be—it's when you score below the passing grade, like a 9.00, and have to plead for a re-evaluation to bump it over 10.00. The idea of ending up there terrified me. But then I’d laugh it off, trying to stay optimistic: "Maybe you’ll pass without needing that nightmare."
Still, the doubt lingered. Did I really write down everything correctly? Could I have missed something crucial? Despite the fear creeping in, I reminded myself of how hard I’d studied. Whatever happened, I had done my best, and I could be proud of that. So, instead of endlessly revisiting each exam in my mind, I decided to enjoy my summer and (try to) forget about it.
Then came the fateful day—the results were in. My nerves were shot, but I kept telling myself, "It’s just a moment, it’ll pass." I tried to stay calm, though it felt like I was preparing for a battle with fate.
At dawn, I grabbed my motorcycle and headed straight to the beach, where my friend had set up a tent. It felt like I was running away—literally escaping from my family because I needed to face my results alone. If things went badly and I ended up in the dreaded "zone of control," I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. I’d put on a brave face when I got home, pretending everything was fine. Classic me, right?
Sensing my anxiety, my friend decided to distract me the best way he knew how—by pushing me into the sea! After an hour of swimming (and trying to forget the looming results), we returned to the tent. Suddenly, my phone exploded with notifications. What? How did everyone know already? I hadn’t even checked my results!
Panic set in as I realized I’d left my 3G on. Frantically scrolling through the flood of congratulatory messages, I was desperate to find out what had happened. Finally, I saw it—the first message read "admis(e)" in French. I’d passed! Relief washed over me, and I let out the loudest scream, so loud that everyone on the beach stopped and stared. But the question still remained: how had everyone known before me?
Moments later, my sister called. Apparently, in my rush to leave, I’d left my login details in my room. She had, of course, taken it upon herself to check my results and spread the news to everyone. So, while I wasn’t the first to know, at least I could laugh about it in the end!
Oh, and my final score? A 12.00! Not bad at all—and I was beyond grateful to God for sparing me the horror of falling into the "zone of control." The thought of having to fight for extra points still sends shivers down my spine, but hey, I made it
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