Has it gotten any better, “our education system?”

In the back corner of my class, I would sit drenched in sweat, butterflies raging in my stomach, and a desperate urge to escape the education system, even if just for a moment. The mere mention of fortnight exams filled me with hopelessness.

To me, those tests were endless torture, a tunnel with no light at the end. And yet, buried beneath the dread was still a burning determination to excel, to top the class, to hear my name announced as the best student.

I clung to that dream as a faint light, but exams had a way of dimming it, even snuffing it out.

I still remember the sting of one particular test, the shame of standing in 19th place out of 22. In a room full of “intellectuals,” I felt like a nobody.

That was the climax of my burnt ego, the turning point that pushed me to vow: one day, my name would be read among the top three.

I longed for that short walk down the aisle, to claim my prize, a book, a pencil, whatever it was. The gift itself didn’t matter. What mattered was the honor, the recognition, the reputation.

Education, for me, had ceased to be a tool for growth; it had become a battlefield. The smartest survived and earned crowns, while the rest of us outside the top ten were cast as examples not to emulate.

My parents never pressured me about results. They didn’t need to. I was my own fiercest critic.

I pushed my limits, scolded myself for poor grades, and every end of term when my name wasn’t on the list of top performers, sadness and frustration would wash over me. What didn’t I do right?

I carried my hunger to lead and to earn rewards from the education system into high school. I chased school not for knowledge or curiosity, but for the adrenaline rush of hearing my name celebrated.

But to what end? Why did I push myself so hard to perform better, even though I had no idea how these subjects would serve me in life?

In our system, education was compulsory, but excelling was non-negotiable. The classroom wasn’t designed to help everyone learn; it rewarded quick thinkers and left the rest behind.

Imagine a class of 40 students. How could one teacher possibly care whether a slower learner needed personalized attention?

Asking questions was dangerous. Ignorance was mocked. Mistakes were punished. Exams weren’t about learning; they were about shaming.

The education system created an artificial hierarchy: it paraded and rewarded the top ten, while teachers dragged the bottom ten forward to humiliate them.

For me, the system’s cruelty was clearest during the fortnight exams in primary school. They were pure torture; my body would betray me with headaches, nausea, stomach aches, and even diarrhea.

I know I wasn’t alone. How many of us endured the same raft of anxiety, humiliation, and fear? How many of us loved learning but grew to hate subjects because cramming mattered more than understanding?

And I wonder now: of those who topped the charts in high school, how many actually live the life of success promised? And what about those branded as “failures”? How many of them are thriving, running businesses, and shaping their own futures?

Today, I sit in a classroom far away from home, in a different education system altogether.

For the first time, I feel the urge to learn for the sake of learning, not to compete. My classroom no longer suffocates me. Exams feel less like traps and more like challenges I choose to face. My coursework isn’t a burden but a path I’ve freely chosen, one I’m willing to invest in.

Here, I’m not afraid to ask questions, to request a break, to admit confusion. Education is not the enemy.

So why did they weaponize education back home against us? Why did something offered so freely feel like prison? Why did students, even after years in school, pin their hopes not on their education, but on a future elsewhere?

Looking back, I don’t believe the competitive spirit drilled into us was ever healthy. Singling out top performers didn’t make them, or the rest of us, better. It only deepened the divide.

Perhaps it was meant to prepare us for a capitalistic system, but even that rationale is flawed.

Because in truth, we are all gifted differently.