Personal Narrative: Bazinga

It reverberated through the hallways and classrooms of the high school like a primeval monosyllabic chant. Everyone asked it so much that it soon became the newest catchphrase. Forget about “Bazinga”; Move over “Yada Yada Yada .” Even the classic pickup line, “What’s your sign?”, trembles at the mere mention of it. Make room for the king of all mantras. But, I invariably refused to answer it. Even at the smallest reference to the question, I could feel an overwhelming sense of dread flood me. Like a deer, terror-stricken and petrified, in the headlights, I was too apprehensive to formulate an answer correctly. I would do anything else than face the question, “What’s your PSAT score?” And today was the day the all-important scores were released. Of course, today had to be the day! Everyone in my grade cheerfully compared scores with each other, determining the newly established “pecking order” of intelligence. “How’d you do?” they asked one another. “Did your scores go up? My scores went up over 300 points?!”, one would condescendingly proclaim. Through the whole ordeal, I attempted to stay quiet, hoping that if I avoided eye contact, no one would approach me about my pathetically low score. Mere 1490. “Don’t worry

How could I, with my measly 1490, ever compare to their incontrovertible perfection? The answer was simple: I could not. Consequently, I deemed myself beneath them, underneath them, inferior to them. No matter how sedulously I toiled at the obfuscations that lead to “success”, they seemed to reach effortlessly “success” I craved. I felt as if they were incredibly quintessential while I was pathetically subpar. But, how could I have let myself think in such a manner? These brooding thoughts were based on the fundamental principle that a score defined me as a holistic person. I was not my talents or passions; I was not myself. I was only my score, my