I looked back down at the paper, hands trembling. There it was, circled in blood red: 18/20. My head starts to ache, my breathing gets heavy. I remember the sleepless nights studying.

“As long as you passed,” I heard one say. Passing is not good enough.

I remember the first time I looked down at my paper and saw the 100%. It was joy I had never experienced—an accomplishment, something I did all by myself.

I tried many hobbies: drawing, skating, playing guitar. It always ended with me quitting. I was only good at one thing, and that was school. I always achieved perfect grades. Anything below 100 is a failing for me.

What once was celebrated turned into something that was expected.