Examinations and tests have always made me nervous. There is something so definitive about them that sometimes makes it hard for one to divorce one’s self-esteem from the outcome. Perhaps it’s the time constraints, the insatiable urge when it comes to trying one’s best remember almost everything or the fear one anticipates when it comes to telling friends and family about one’s grades that give such a prickly rush of emotions
The last nine months have felt like an absolute blur to me. I stopped working and decided I was going to fully dedicate all my efforts to learning something new. Anticipating the exams ahead, to feel less guilty about my results, I attended every single class – the only person in the group to do so. I asked my husband to not get me any gifts for birthdays and milestones during the course time because I slowly started to equate deservingness only to being successful in the final examinations. It was a slow and steady obsession that has resulted in suffering from burnout way before they commence.
This behaviour is not singularly about examinations and tests but more so about the unspoken pressure that seems to be encrypted in our DNA as young children growing up in Guyana. Almost everything was a test and had to do with proving ourselves to be constantly good enough so as to secure top spots in schools and classrooms. Through both subtle comments and public torture, students are constantly forced to learn in ways which chip away at their sense of self. They are force fed teaching ideals and strategies that seem to work only for learners who tend to have a knack for repetition and the desire really to never colour outside the lines.
Growing up I remember dreading Saturday Maths lessons at a certain popular establishment. When one could not remember one’s tables as the class did the Saturday drill of saying them in a rotating fashion one was called to the front of the class and beaten with ruler-like pieces of wood carved out from barrels. My palms always stung and were rosy red because the mere fact of knowing there was a potential to be punished made me even more afraid and my mind would constantly go blank when it was my turn.
Then I remember going to Maths lessons in a different place a few years later where there wasn’t any physical violence but the teacher found it suitable to mention to my sibling, that I had started out well but as soon as I started to “dress up’’ (not go to lessons in my school uniform) I started to lag behind. She had somehow viewed this as the main contributing factor.
Society adores a certain type of student, one who can only fit perfectly into the mould that requires no extra work and manoeuvring, perhaps because it is all we have ever been taught to know and accept. These memories have not only returned to haunt me but also to remind me that learning shouldn’t be associated with fear and shame. It shouldn’t leave you feeling less than and certainly it shouldn’t make you feel like punishing yourself and depriving yourself of things that made you happy before.
Conversations around examinations shouldn’t be framed using language that makes one feel as if they’re the last hope or straw because honestly they aren’t. They can either be redone or serve as a deciding factor towards your next goal to be achieved.
