'A Day in the Life of...' - Anthology

A Day in the Life of a Kilbreda Girl  - 

At school under Stage 3

Work or study, exercise, shopping for supplies and medical care/caregiving: the freedom permitting keys which I, along with the rest of us, have been granted. Thankfully, I regularly use a key on the premise of “study” to step out into the world. It’s 7.00am on a Tuesday morning and although I do miss the 8.20am alarm I had set during the first remote learning period, I oblige to an early wake-up call if it allows me regular social interaction. That is, social interaction that doesn’t involve my incredibly annoying family. I step begrudgingly out of my cosy, warm bed and begin to get ready. 

My morning routine remains mostly as if the curse, as I like to call it, never occurred at all. I speedily get changed, make a coffee, chug said coffee, brush teeth, put up hair (no brushing) and race out the door in an attempt not to be late for what, under the new circumstances, I consider to be liberation, or commonly known as school. However, I can’t rush out of the doorway until I’ve grabbed my blue, disposable mask. With this and the hand sanitiser in my left pocket I am now ready for school: stage three edition.

I get dropped off at the train station and here’s where I can really begin to notice the difference of school: stage three edition. Firstly, all other people are, also, wearing a mask. Gone are the days of thoughtless smiles in passing moments and now come the days of awkward eye contact that I always hold for a moment too long. Some more changes become present whilst riding the train. The voice in the speaker proclaims the “Coronavirus” and the importance of “social distancing”, “getting tested” and “wearing a mask”. Another abnormality are the Coronavirus posters planted throughout the carriage restating what the voice just said. The last noticeable difference is the certain lack of students on the train because year levels 7 to 10 are participating in remote learning. To my bitterness, they are probably still sitting inside their cosy, warm beds. 

At school I am greeted, not by friends first, but rather a laser temperature gadget and large bottles of watery, green hand sanitiser. Despite having felt zero symptoms of the Coronavirus, I still feel slightly nervous that my temperature will be too high, and I’ll be whisked away like the “sock-guy” in Monsters, Inc. However (and to my relief), I am told to go on through and after taking a pump of the sanitiser I proceed to see my friends. The hallways feel desolate without over half of the school community present but I’m happy to be seeing something other than the four walls of my bedroom. I meet my peers with eyes instead of smiles and even though nothing is exactly as it was a few months ago, we chat and laugh as if everything had remained the same. 

Classes go by and all is well until around the beginning of fourth period. This is where the mask begins to make itself uncomfortably known. The stuffiness of every breath I take becomes increasingly apparent and the fabric starts to itch in a way it hasn’t done previously today. I understand the importance of the mask and remain strong until I find myself taking a sip of water every five minutes just to get a moment without it on. Now, this is where the true beauty of recess and lunch are felt. Never before did I appreciate having a break to eat in the way I do now. The glorious multiple minutes of being able to remove my mask, breathe open air and talk easily is a liberty I’d never been grateful for and will never take for granted again.

Soon enough, the school day begins to conclude, and I ride the train, once again, back home. In the afternoon, I find myself wishing I could invite a friend over to study or that I could organise plans for the upcoming weekend. Nevertheless, I am confronted with the all familiar surroundings of my house and family. To escape (and procrastinate homework), I pick up my book and read, watch Netflix and scroll through TikTok. I use my last “key” for today to go outside, on a walk with my little dog. I walk to the beach and hear small waves coming back on forth on the shore whilst the sun begins to set in the cloudless sky. Surrounding me are many other dog-walkers of all ages who also looked for some freedom from their houses. In this moment, despite the separation, I can feel a unification among us. I head home, accepting the reality that I have to repeat all the same actions tomorrow but feel content watching my dog waddle along.

Eliza Patterson

Year 11