Who Do You Think You Are

It was the fifth semester at the university, and Jean woke up with the world spinning in slow, nauseating circles.

Normally, Jean was the reliable one. She rarely got sick, rarely complained, and held herself to a standard that left little room for weakness. But as she stared up at the cracked plaster ceiling of her small dorm room, she realized it wasn’t her body failing her—it was her mind. She felt hollowed out, as if months of relentless expectations had scraped away everything inside her.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, her fingers trembling slightly over the screen. She opened her messages, selected her classmate and close friend Galih, and began to type:

“Hi Gal! Morning, I am not feeling well today. I might skip today’s classes. Please let the lecturers know. Thanks.”

She pressed send. The small whoosh sound felt like a massive betrayal, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She dropped her hand, let the phone fall onto the mattress, and closed her eyes.

She wasn't sleeping. Her body lay limply on the thin mattress, but her eyes kept snapping open, staring blankly into the quiet room. Her mind was somewhere far away, trapped in the inescapable loop of her reality. Every single day—from seven in the morning until five in the evening, weekends included—was a continuous march of lectures, assignments, organization meetings, and endless deadlines.

As the former leader of the central student association, Jean was used to being seen. She was the student representative who organized orientation, the one who spoke clearly during open forums, and the person younger students looked up to. But being a public figure on campus was an exhausting mask to wear. People expected her to be sharp, composed, and endlessly motivated. Nobody saw the midnight anxiety, the skipped meals, or the crushing pressure to remain impressive.

For the very first time in her life, Jean thought about rebellion. She was skipping class simply to lie in bed, daydream, and savor a rare moment of absolute stillness.

The stillness, however, was short-lived.

Knock... knock... knock.

The sharp sound against her wooden door startled her. Jean groaned, rolling out of bed with heavy, reluctant movements. She trudged across the cool floor tiles and unlocked the latch, opening the door just a crack with a tired frown.

Standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, was Galih.

Jean gasped in shock. "Gal? What are you doing here? You should be in class right now! I sent you a text!"

"I know," Galih replied smoothly. Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed past Jean and walked straight into the room.

They were living in Kosan Bu Kos—a sprawling, aging boarding house named after its fiery landlady, Bu Kos, where dozens of university students rented tiny rooms side by side.

Galih tossed her tote bag onto Jean’s desk and turned around with a mischievous, tired grin. "You know what? I’m completely done. I am so tired of being the class prefect. I’m skipping the next few classes..." She locked eyes with Jean. "...just like you are."

Jean let out a sudden, startled cough. "Uhuk!" She tried to pull a serious face. "What do you mean? I’m actually not feeling well! I need rest!" she defended defensively.

"Oh, please. I know that look," Galih said, shaking her head as she threw herself face-down onto Jean’s bed, making herself entirely at home. "Me too, Jean. Me too."

Jean stood in the middle of the room, realizing her cover was completely blown. She wanted to keep pretending, but the silence between them grew loud and heavy. The mechanical ticking of the wall clock seemed to amplify the quiet, until suddenly—

GRRRR...

Jean’s stomach let out a loud, pathetic rumble.

Galih sat up instantly, pointing at Jean with a triumphant laugh. "Ah! Lunchtime! Come on, let's go to the canteen!"

Jean’s eyes went wide with horror. "The canteen? Are you out of your mind? We are literally skipping class right now! How can we just stroll around the main building like nothing happened?"

"Relax, I have a strategy," Galih said, holding up a finger with absolute, unearned confidence. "We aren't going to the canteen right now. First, we go to the campus clinic to see the doctor. We get an official medical note. Then, right when the next lecture begins and the hallways are completely clear, we slip into the canteen!"

Jean hesitated. "It sounds dangerous... but fine. I’m starving. But make sure we actually see the doctor! We need that paper!"

"Deal," Galih agreed.

They left the dorm room and walked toward the university clinic. The campus was unique, located far on the rural outskirts of the region. It was isolated—surrounded by rolling green hills, dense trees, and long stretches of empty road. There were no convenience stores nearby, no trendy cafes, and no street food stalls within walking distance. In those days, online food delivery services didn't exist yet.

This meant that whenever students or lecturers needed food, the central campus canteen was the only option available, unless someone had the time and ingredients to cook for themselves in their boarding house. It was the geographical heartbeat of the university—and the most dangerous place for two truants to be.

At the clinic, the doctor checked Jean’s blood pressure, noted her fatigue, handed her a small packet of multi-vitamins, and wrote a brief note. Note in hand, Jean and Galih waited until 1:14 PM to make their move toward the canteen.

As they approached the open-air dining hall, the area was mostly empty, as most students were trapped in their afternoon lectures.

"I think we should wait a bit longer in the shade," Galih muttered, looking around nervously.

Before she could finish her sentence, Jean’s stomach growled violently again.

Galih threw her hands up. "Ah! How long has it been since you last ate, Jean? That is so embarrassing!"

"I was planning to stay in my room all day and rest quietly!" Jean snapped back, her voice rising in frustration. "Then you suddenly barged into my dorm and threw all these crazy ideas at me! Don't you yell at me!"

The tension between them was raw, fueled by pure physical exhaustion and low blood sugar. It’s a universal truth that people lose their tempers easily when they are hungry and tired.

Galih softened her posture, sighing. "Alright, alright, I get it. Let's just get a meal."

Looking back, it was almost hilarious. They were two of the smartest students in their academic year—Jean, the former association leader, and Galih, the reliable class prefect. Yet here they were, executing an impulsive, terrible plan with absolute clumsiness. Was it pure burnout that had wiped out their common sense, or were they secretly just foolish?

They walked up to the food stalls at 1:40 PM. Jean ordered a bowl of hot Soto Bandung, hoping the warm broth would soothe her raw throat and comfort her heavy chest. Galih walked over to the neighboring counter to order Nasi Rames.

Suddenly, Galih gasped, her face draining of color. She scampered backward in terror and ducked behind Jean’s back, clutching Jean’s shoulders like a shield.

"Gal? What is wrong with—"

Jean’s sentence cut off instantly. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Standing directly in front of the counter, holding a tray, was Mrs. Rose.

Mrs. Rose was the senior lecturer of the Writing Department—a brilliant, formidable woman whose sharp eyes could spot a mistake on a paper from three feet away. She was the exact person they needed to avoid today.

Jean closed her eyes, bracing herself. She expected Mrs. Rose to explode right there—to yell at them in front of the canteen staff, to demand why two students who claimed to be sick were strolling around buying lunch.

But Mrs. Rose didn't shout. She didn't say a single word.

She simply turned her gaze toward Jean, looking at her with a heavy, cold disappointment. Mrs. Rose let out a long, sharp sigh that echoed through the quiet canteen, turned on her heel, and walked away.

No shouting. No scene. Just a silence so sharp and suffocating that it completely stripped Jean of her appetite. The warm broth of the Soto Bandung suddenly tasted like ash.

A moment later, Jean’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out with trembling fingers. A notification from the course portal popped up on her screen:

Announcement - Writing Class: "Please write an essay explaining why you were seen roaming around the campus canteen while officially reported ill. Submit a printed copy at the beginning of tomorrow's Writing Class."

Jean’s entire plan to slow down, rest, and escape reality for a single day was completely destroyed. Instead of resting, she spent the rest of the day and night staring at a blank computer screen, forced to articulate her foolishness in essay format.

The next afternoon, the energy inside the Writing Class lecture hall was suffocating.

The room was dead quiet as thirty students sat frozen in their seats. At the front of the room, Mrs. Rose sat behind her wooden desk.

Jean stood up from her chair, her hands trembling as she walked toward the front. She placed her printed essay onto the desk and bowed her head softly. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Rose..." she whispered.

Mrs. Rose didn't look up at Jean’s face. She didn't acknowledge the apology. She merely glanced at the paper, picked it up, and made a cold, dismissive flick of her wrist, signaling for Jean to return to her seat.

Jean walked back to her desk, her cheeks burning with shame. The atmosphere in the classroom was heavy with unspoken tension. Everyone could feel that something serious was coming.

Mrs. Rose slowly stood up from her chair. She placed both hands flat on her desk and looked out across the rows of students. Her eyes were wide, burning with a mixture of intense frustration and profound sadness.

"Your parents sacrifice so much to pay for you to be able to study here at this university!" Mrs. Rose’s voice suddenly shattered the silence, ringing out with a force that made several students flinch. "They break their backs every single day so you can sit in these air-conditioned rooms and earn a degree! But have you been serious about your studies, or have you just been playing games all day?! How dare you!"

Every single student in the room immediately looked down at their desks, paralyzed into absolute silence.

"Who do you think you are?!" Mrs. Rose continued, her voice trembling with emotion as she stepped out from behind her desk. "Your parents sacrifice everything for your future, but what have you done for them in return? Have you shown even a fraction of that effort? Not even a single meaningful action?!"

She paced down the center aisle, her heels clicking sharply against the floor tiles.

"You don't understand how hard your parents worked to send you here!" she shouted, looking across the bowed heads of her students. "You sit here taking your youth for granted! At the very least, be fair! If they are working hard out there to support you, can't you just study hard here?! Or at the very least—try harder?! Who do you think you are to just throw away their effort because you felt like slacking off?!"

Her words hit the room like a physical blow.

It wasn't just Jean who felt the crushing weight of guilt that day—it was everyone in the room. Although the other students didn't know the exact details of what had happened between Jean, Galih, and Mrs. Rose at the canteen yesterday, they understood the core message loud and clear.

Jean sat at her desk, staring down at her tightly clasped hands, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes.

She had felt so justified in her exhaustion. She had felt that because she was tired, she deserved to throw away her responsibilities, even if just for a day. But listening to Mrs. Rose, Jean saw her actions through a different lens.

Sometimes, we act on impulse, prioritizing our immediate comfort without minding anyone else’s feelings. Sometimes, we selfishly demand a pause from life, completely blind to the silent sacrifices that others are making just to give us the opportunity to stand where we are. And sometimes, we give up far too easily, complaining about our fatigue without ever honestly asking ourselves: Have we truly tried our best yet?