Through my pre-college years, I would always be named a Model Student in school. I’d earn good grades, be a class officer, land writing jobs in our school newspaper, compete in some sports tournaments and be credited for my refined behavior. Name it—I’ve done everything in the right and confident way. For this reason, I became every teacher’s dream. They treated me like their most-prized possession and I savored every moment of it.

But after quite some time, I realized that I was missing belongingness. Despite the limelight, I found myself outside the circle trying to conform, trying to fit in. My being exceptional in school denied me the acceptance into the "cool crowd." Back then, the popular people were the troublemakers and I was motivated to belong to that little society. Nothing would stop me.

In my junior year in high school, I had a Chemistry teacher—Miss Ceredon—whom everybody loathed. She was a friendly-looking lady with brilliant eyes and pink chubby cheeks, but the sweetness of her appearance was the opposite of the bitter classes that we had with her. She’d give us 500-point quizzes on lessons we haven’t even tackled and would deduct 100 points from our score if we didn’t spell her name correctly. I won’t say I didn’t hate her. Like the rest of the class, I found her too much to handle. The only thing that set me apart from the rest of the students was that being a Model Student, I managed to hate her in a not-so-obvious way.

Yet, I was still determined to belong. One day, weeks before the school year ended, I did something for a change. It was my ticket to the "cool crowd." Miss Ceredon was then busy scribbling notes on the board. With her back to us, I tore a crisp sheet of paper from my notebook, drew a mean caricature of her which emphasized her round chubby face, proudly signed my name on it, and passed it to the yawning person seated next to me. It wasn’t a perfect drawing, but it was good enough to send the entire room (the "cool crowd" included) roaring in laughter. I couldn’t have been more contented. My mission was accomplished.

Humiliating her in front of the class wasn’t part of my plan. I only wanted to show my classmates that I too could be as naughty as they are. But to my surprise, my artwork made its way to the teacher’s table, like some dried autumn leaf swiveling slowly to the ground. Alarmed by the growing uproar, Miss Ceredon noticed the page on her table. She reached for it, brought it to her chalk-dusted face, and stopped breathing at what she saw. She stared at the paper intensely that she could have drilled holes on it. Her fingers trembled like an earthquake, her skin flushed out of blood. Then without uttering a word, she turned to my direction.

I will never forget how she looked at me that day. Her face wore an empty expression which I was left to figure out. Her eyes were cold, lips were flatly sealed. Whether she was disappointed or furious or both, I could only guess. But I felt stupid. I have just hurt somebody who respected and trusted me much. For the first time in my life, I did something horrible in exchange of the glory, and I admit that I wasn’t happy at all.

My guilt was unbearable. For the next few days, I tried writing a letter of apology. I managed to compose one, but never succeeded in giving it to her. Shame was eating me up. Up to now, that letter is hidden in my treasure box, with all the guilt waiting to pour out.

After that incident, Miss Ceredon never spoke to me again. The year after that, I learned that she resigned from her post. Now, five years later, my foolishness is only magnified. Coolness, as it turned out, isn’t measured by the number of troubles that you make, but by the confidence that you have of yourself. I was so driven to conform to a society that never really existed that I ended up offending another.

Today, in my heart, I’m still sorry for what I’ve done. I still do well in school, but I have stopped dreaming about fitting in that "cool crowd." I now have found my own circle and there, I need not exert effort to be accepted. I just need to be me.