Istood with my friends in a line. My heart was hammering like anything, my hands cold and clammy, my head buzzing with excitement and nervousness at the same time. I earnestly listened to the names of the house captains and the prefects being announced, but in my heart I wanted it to end because then the head girl would be announced. I so wanted it to be me

I had made countless posters badges and bracelets for the campaigning. Instead of having lunch in the lunch time, I had gone from person to person, asking them to vote for me. I had shouted at the top of my lungs the slogan, “East or West Maryam is the best! Vote for her and your year will be best.”

I had tried my hardest to convince people to vote for me, now all I had left was hope.

“Guess who the head girl for the year is?” teased the announcer.

A heavy silence descended over the contestants, one that was full of hope and anticipation, of fear and of nervousness.

A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead and my heart came to my throat. It felt as if a wool ball was wedged in my throat, making me unable to swallow or to speak. I waited.

The seconds seemed to stretch like decades, the wait too painful. I prayed that the name which would be announced would be mine with my head bowed, but still I braced my heart for the impact the announcement would have on me.

The announcer teased for a minute or two before finally announcing the name of the head girl. I felt bewildered as my friends pushed me out of the line. I walked shakily to the stage and climbed it. I could not believe that I was the head girl of the school. The head of the council body. The student that was respected and liked by everybody.

As I looked at the huge crowd clapping for me, I simply felt like I was flying. It was my dream come true.

The oath-taking ceremony took place the day after the announcement, so before the oath, I was given the gown of the head girl. In it I raised my right hand and pronounced that I would fulfil my duty with honesty and sincerity and would honour everyone, my fellow students and my teachers.

I was given a gown laced with a golden piping. This proved my importance, as gold too is a very important metal. I absolutely loved it. It would flutter as I would walk with my head held high with pride, the golden piping catching students eye as it shimmered it the daylight.

I enjoyed the respect I got in and out of school. At home, my family members praised me and at school everyone looked up to me. They thought I was an inspiration as well as someone they could get motivated by. I had power. I could talk to the school principal and convince her to do anything. I could order around other council members and ask them to do anything. But as days passed, I realised that with power comes responsibility.

I was given countless responsibilities along with my studies. I had to maintain the discipline at the school. That included checking students’ uniform, nails and hygiene, keeping an alert mind for bullies and bad words floating around the corridors and, lastly, shouting at the top of my lungs for the students to move smoothly and quietly while going and coming from lunch.

Whenever there was an activity in the school, I had to look after the registrations and help the participants with their projects. Whenever any delegation from another school came to visit, I had to give them the tour. I had to organise functions and presentations.

But the most difficult part was fulfilling the students’ demands. I could be often seen convincing the principal for a bonfire, a party or a field trip. As I ran up and down the flights of stairs managing the school, my energy and the excitement drained out of me as I realised that with a position comes burdens.

I found it impossible to cope up with my studies. My marks dropped, and I could no longer focus on lectures as I was always worried about something or the other going on around the school which I had to take care of. These reasons forced me to think about giving up my gown, whose weight I could no longer bear.

One day I found myself in the principal’s office telling her I could no longer be the head girl.

“Why dear?” she asked, her concern clearly written on her face.

“Ma’am, I cannot do this. I feel overburdened all the time. I cannot cope with my studies and the responsibilities that come with this gown. I want to give this up,” I confessed as my head bowed down with the shame that I could not fulfil the responsibilities I had myself asked for.

I expected the principal to be angry, to try to convince me to continue with my position, but instead she did something which I had not anticipated.

She simply put her hand on my shoulder and forced me to look in to her eyes, “I think you are very brave for telling me this, for confessing to me so straightforwardly and you should not be ashamed. It is humane to feel overburdened. Can you handle it for a few more days so I can find a solution for your problem?”

The next days were like all the previous ones. The same duties, responsibilities and the same burden, but it was lighter somehow since I had unloaded my heart’s burden.

A few days passed and the principal called me in her office. Beside her stood a junior I knew well. The principal told me that from now on she would be my apprentice and would help me in my duties. I nodded my head doubtfully, as I was not sure that this would help. But my doubts vanished away in to thin air as she proved to be very helpful and responsible. Now I felt that I would be able to do this and at the same time ace at my studies.

But I had learned two powerful lessons. First, that with power comes responsibility, that when you ask for power, you should be prepared to accept the responsibilities that come with it too. It is other peoples’ right that you fulfil your responsibilities with the power that they have given you and trusted you with.

Secondly, that sharing your feelings with someone can help you a lot, both physically and mentally, as the other person might have the solution for your problem. Not only this, but it also lessens your burdens and makes you feel better emotionally. These two lessons that have learnt from this experience have always come in handy in my life.

Published in Dawn, Young World, May 9th, 2020