The Perspective of a Quaranteen...

To anyone who, upon reading the title alone, is about to criticise us for being selfish and missing the bigger picture of global health and well-being, let me premise this article with this: I completely understand the mass loss of life and suffering that is being experienced world-wide as a result of Corona Virus. I acknowledge the importance of school closures and just as everyone else is and should be doing, we are partaking in social distancing and self-isolation in the interest of flattening the curve and protecting the vulnerable. However, as a sixth year student in Scotland at the time of this outbreak, I feel that I am among a huge group of people in a particularly unique situation. I am among a group who had plans of prom, passing exams and progressing to University, in the same way that we watched hundreds of students from previous years do. Among a group of people who stuck out a final year in education, preparing for the day of their final paper, aiming to get their last qualifications needed to get to their dream course. Among a group excited to experience their graduation, last day and final farewell to their school experience and therefore, I am a small part of a huge global narrative that has yet to be provided: that of the graduating class of 2020.

The weekend before what would turn out to be my final week of sixth year, I was on a study weekend with the maths department in preparation for the final exam. On the Wednesday that followed, it was announced that all schools in Scotland would be closed by the end of the week and that the plan moving forward was for all teaching to be done online until the exams, (which at this point may or may not have been cancelled, postponed or going ahead exactly as planned,) began. The next two days were like listening to several broken records, among which were titles such as, "Nae Chance Exams Are Still Happening," "Okay Class, Your Second Prelim is Today," and "We Plan to Continue As Normal." These were, of course, constant backing tracks to the rumours of kids being sent home for sneezing in class, teachers who hadn't been in first period and were therefore definitely in self-isolation and the internal panic of every single student who had conditions to meet for university and college, if they were lucky enough to know what they were yet, (shout out to Strathclyde Uni and their infamously late responses.) Finally, on the Thursday afternoon of that same week, whilst I was completing my first "just in case" second prelim paper, I heard the fourth year class next door cheering at the announcement that all SQA exams were cancelled. For a lot of my friends, who had already received their unconditional places at university following their fifth year results, the most prominent worries now were the possibility of prom being cancelled after they'd finally found the perfect dress, or the idea that we would be the first graduating class ever not to get the chance to play pranks on our last day. For me, it was my own unusual circumstances that were the most stressful.

My secondary school experience was not the most linear or straightforward. I started secondary education in the Scottish system, preparing to sit National 5, Higher and possibly Advanced Higher subjects, in that order. However, two months into fourth year; the year I was due to sit the first set of exams; I moved to Asia and attended an international school which followed the English examination system. Whilst back at home my friends sat both National 5 and Higher, I spent two years studying to sit one set of International GCSE's. As a result, when I came back to Scotland for S6, (because I didn't want to go down to S5 and miss prom, graduation and the last day with my friends...oh the irony,) I crashed five subjects, three at higher level and two at advanced. In what had already been a daunting year with a very heavy workload - and a ridiculous amount of communication with universities about why I didn't have highers and what subjects I had taken this year and how did my international grades translate to the Scottish system - the idea that my final exams weren't going ahead anymore seemed like yet another hurdle to jump. Not to mention the cherry on the cake: everything I had rushed home for - prom; graduation; the last day of pranks - had all been cancelled too.

Despite my own very individual situation, I know the premature ending to the year and the cancellation of the exams meant something different for everyone in my year group. For anyone applying to Oxford or Cambridge, who hadn't performed to the best of their ability in the prelims which were crammed into one week commencing the first day back after the Christmas holiday, (I wonder why? It's not like they had family to see or university to apply for or any special days to celebrate..,) the already challenging task of getting accepted was suddenly presumed impossible. For anyone applying abroad and therefore already worrying about closing borders and cancelled semesters and the possibility of differing circumstances from country to country, the unconditional offers were no longer certain, and the conditional offers less so. For anyone currently sitting at a C, who had had encouragement and the faith of their teachers that in the remaining two months it would turn into an A, their target grade seemed totally out of reach. In fact, even for anyone who's university offer remained unaffected by these cancellations, the final two months of their entire school experience had been taken away.

It was very easy to focus on our own stresses that week. Moment to moment, in our heads at least, it wasn't a global pandemic. It was our dream university moved out of reach. It was the money we'd paid for a prom dress down the drain. It was the studying we had done made irrelevant. It was the pranks we had planned on the last day not taking place, (let's just say it's a good thing we never found the tannoy code...again.) It was hundreds of questions that no-one knew the answers to and nobody to blame. However, despite all the personal circumstances and changing plans and "what if's," - somewhere among the stressing about the future - there was a common sadness about what was happening now. Now was sitting in the SS Hall for the last time. It was walking past the same people in the corridors every day for the last time. It was taking our seats in our teachers' classes, like we thought we'd be doing for the next two months, for the last time. It was the last time submitting an essay, the last school test, the last time phoning each other for help with homework. It was the last fire alarm, (though we could never be sure,) the last game of Kingball, the last race to Subway, the last joke around the lunch table, the last time using the keyboard or the guitar or the drums. It was the last day, the last class, the last moments - and way before we were ready for them.

On the last week, expressing her sympathy for us, one of my teachers described the end of sixth year as a 'rite of passage.' The graduation service and the prom and the last day isn't just to graduate or just to take pictures in a dress or a suit, (or on a staircase..,) or just to cause trouble around the school. It's what the year groups before us for years have done to celebrate the end of six years spent together. We have a mass to be together and wish each other luck for the future. We sign shirts and take pictures with the people we've known since we were five or eleven or thirteen or sixteen. We give cards and say thank you to the people who have taught us and taken care of us for six years or four years or one year. We spray silly string and take off our ties and wear shoes with a white badge on them to enjoy the last, (and only,) time that we can get away with it.

However, for the Class of 2020, world-wide, the end of our school experiences played out very differently. Our final week began without us knowing and our last few days were spent sitting tests that may or may not have been crucial, worrying about the lack of control we suddenly had over our own results and trying, in the middle of it all, to appreciate whatever we had left of school. Although there are luckier students who have moved their prom date and managed to schedule last minute graduation ceremonies - whilst some of us are already imagining the day when we sit down in an interview and when asked about our sixth year results, all we manage to say through the haunting flashbacks is, "Corona Virus..." - we at the very least had an ending to the year that will never be forgotten, even if it's not in the way we imagined.

So, to our teachers - we're sorry we didn't get the chance to say thank you for teaching us. Thank you for marking our essays, regardless of how late they were. Thank you for showing us how to answer the same type of equation hundreds of times, if that's what it took. Thank you for taking us on trips, thank you for being patient, thank you for laughing with us. Thank you for wanting us to do well. Thank you for letting us cry and be stressed, with everything happening recently especially, and for still encouraging us at a time when you've also been stressed or worried.

To my classmates - I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to say thank you for the experience. Thank you for the laughter and the same jokes that lasted six years, even if they weren't funny the first time. Thank you for the support and the shared confusion in classes, we were definitely all in it together sometimes. Thank you for the stories we prayed no-one told the teacher, but someone always did. Thank you for the drama performances, (still don't know my lines,) the PE classes, (sorry boys we're still claiming 3-0,) and the mundane everyday.

And to the Graduating Class of 2020 - be it high school or university, and regardless of what school you go to, what country you're in, what exams you're worried about, what university you want to go to or how the last few weeks have changed your plans - we're sorry we didn't get the ending we wanted. But, whether it's a rescheduled prom, (or turning up in dresses and suits to the next gaff,) or because after this year you're not ready to leave the house for months anyway, or it's still wearing your leavers hoodie until May, just to get your money's worth or because in the time we've been given you might actually work out what it is you want to do - I promise we'll find something good in this situation. We're all in it together - for the last time.