Farewell Files Pt.1 (The Beginning of an Unpaid Internship)
In 9th grade, we were supposed to host our seniors’ farewell—that was the whole point.
The big responsibility given to us as juniors was to organize and manage the entire event for our seniors. And because of that, the inevitable moment came: the responsibility distribution sheet.
We all knew it was coming since the start of the year, but still acted like it was some distant myth that wouldn’t actually happen to us.
Until it did.
The moment the teacher walked into class holding that sheet, the entire room shifted. Not loudly, not dramatically—just that collective internal realization that says: “Oh. Today is the day.”
She placed it down casually, like it was just another piece of paper.
But for us? That sheet might as well have been labeled: “Choose your level of suffering.”
• The Sheet of Doom (official school edition) •
The categories were simple on paper, but emotionally complex in execution:
- Decorations
- Anchoring
- Invitation cards
- DJ setup
- Games coordination
- Seating arrangement
- Volunteering
instantly, the class unlocked its true skill: 'professional responsibility avoidance.'
People started discovering completely new personality traits:
“Ma’am I can’t do anchoring, my voice changes under pressure.”
“I think I belong in volunteering… permanently.”
“DJ setup sounds like electrical engineering with emotional damage.”
One guy from the back summed it up perfectly: “Bro I just came for attendance. Why is life assigning me tasks?”😅
•The Rule •
Then came the rule that broke all remaining optimism:
“You must write your name in at least two sections.”
And that’s when survival instincts kicked in.....
People stopped thinking about contribution and started thinking about damage control.
- Volunteering ✔
- Volunteering ✔ (safe zone secured)
“Anything easy ma’am 🙂 (this smile is a cry for help)”
“Can I just choose silence and avoid everything?”
Someone whispered: “This is not a form. This is a trap disguised as responsibility.”☠️
And honestly… accurate analysis.
• My turn (a different kind of approach) •
When the sheet reached me, I wasn’t panicking like everyone else.
Not because I was fearless—but because I actually liked this kind of thing.
Events. Speaking. Execution. Structure.
So I wrote:
Anchoring ✔
Invitation cards ✔
No overthinking. No escape strategy.
Just simple logic:
If I’m good at speaking → anchoring makes sense
If I have good handwriting → invitation cards make sense
While others were trying to minimize responsibility, I was just selecting where I could actually contribute properly.🫡
For me, it wasn’t about avoiding work.
It was about doing the right kind of work.
The part nobody could ignore
And then there was one more reality I couldn’t escape...
I was the house captain.🤌
Which sounds important until you realize what it actually means in school events:
unpaid, always-on, unofficial event workforce.
Even if I didn’t write my name anywhere extra, it didn’t matter.
Captains don’t really get optional participation.
We get participation.
We don't have a choice ..
Decorations? ⚜️“Captain, just help a bit.”
Anchoring? 🎙️“Captain, backup please.”
Zombies attacked?🧟“Captain, come fast.”
Basically, we weren’t just part of the event.
We were part of the system that made the event function.👏
The unpaid legends of school life.
Not officially everywhere.
But practically everywhere.
• Teacher reaction (silent judgment arc) •
When the sheet went back, the teacher looked at it with that familiar expression.
Not angry. Not impressed.
Just the classic:
“I gave you structure and you still found chaos.”
And then she said it:
“If it is uneven, I will assign roles randomly.”
And suddenly the entire class rediscovered fear.
Because “random assignment” in school doesn’t mean randomness.
It means: “You will be placed exactly where you didn’t expect yourself to be.”
Final state of the class:
At this point:
Volunteers had accepted fate🫥
Anchoring candidates were questioning reality😑
DJ setup group was spiritually preparing🥲
And captains like me… already knowing we were part of everything anyway😭
But oddly enough?
I wasn’t stressed.
I wasn’t avoiding it.
I was actually ready for it.
Because for once, I wasn’t trying to escape responsibility.
I was just stepping into the parts where I could actually perform.
And in a room full of panic and avoidance…
That felt like a different kind of clarity.✨
•The anchoring twist (a.k.a. when the entire school program got redesigned) •
So, funny part.
When I went for the anchoring auditions, I was expecting a normal school process—
- stand
- speak a few lines
- maybe get selected for a small part of the program.
Instead, I was told:
“Oh sorry darling, there’s no anchoring slot left.”
And just like that, it felt like my anchoring role ended before it even started.
But then my class teacher stepped in.
“She’s really good at speaking. At least give her a chance.”
And that “chance” was the moment everything escalated into unnecessary event restructuring.
• The audition that turned into a program redesign •
I spoke. That’s it. Just did what I normally do...
And suddenly I notice teachers doing that silent look exchange: “Wait… this is actually good.”
Then comes the sentence that should never be said casually in a school environment:
“Let’s give her the entire anchoring.”
Not a part.
Not a segment.
The entire anchoring responsibility.
Like school logic had decided:
If you’re good at something → congratulations, you now own it permanently.
And I immediately said:
Because there is a difference between: doing anchoring☠️🫡
and becoming the anchoring department.
The real twist:
Here’s where it gets even more school-coded.
There was literally no anchoring slot left in the program at all.
So instead of squeezing me in somewhere…
They decided to change the structure of the program itself.
Not remove anything. Not reduce anything.
Just: “Let’s adjust the entire event.”
The unexpected expansion (music + performance segment)🎙️
And this is where it became something actually exciting for me.
There were already students preparing a performance segment—singing, guitar, beatboxing. Extremely talented people.
Two singers. Both of them played guitar. And an another kid did beatboxing.
And the songs weren’t random either—it was a proper mix performance. One of the songs included “Night Changes” by One Direction, along with other mixed pieces for seniors.
So instead of forcing everything into existing structure, teachers did something wild:
And honestly, the part I was most proud of wasn't getting selected.
It was the fact that there was no place left for me in the program at all.
The schedule was already finalized. The anchoring was already divided. Everything was supposedly set.
Then I spoke...
And instead of telling me, "Sorry, maybe next time," the teachers basically went:
"Well... let's just create something."
A whole new segment was added to the farewell. Performers were grouped together, a music showcase was introduced, and an entirely new anchoring section appeared out of nowhere.
Not because I demanded it.
Not because I was a captain.
But because the teachers thought my speaking deserved a place on that stage.
And I won't lie—that felt pretty amazing.
Schools usually make students adjust themselves to the program.
For once, the program adjusted itself to me.🤌😎
I walked out of the audition room feeling ridiculously proud of myself.
As I was leaving, a boy who had been turned away earlier stopped me.
"How did you get in?"
A fair question.🙂↕️
I explained that there were no anchoring slots left, I auditioned anyway, and the teachers ended up creating a new segment for me.
He stared for a second and said,
"You're really lucky."
Or maybe years of speeches, debates and competitions had finally decided to pay rent
Looking back, that was probably the last peaceful moment of the entire farewell preparation.🥲
The rest is a story for another day.
To be continued...
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