When I started SS1 in a new school around 2011, I knew my popularity was poised to soar like a NASA rocket launched into space.

Because my father taught at least five of the teachers during their undergraduate days, including the Principal and the school guardian.
The expectation was for me to excel, especially in mathematics, just like my dad did. I even made a strong impression during the entrance exam, scoring the highest score among all the candidates.

But from the moment I set foot for resumption, it all went down like a waterfall.

When the CA results started trickling in, the signs that this was going to be a bad first term started showing.

At the end of the term, my maths and further maths results glared at me in glaring red ink, a parade of F9s marching across the sheet. It felt as if there was more red on my result sheet than blood flowing through my veins.

I can't recall my dad's reaction to the result, so it won't matter here, anyway.

The holidays were over as soon as they came, and we began the second term.
This time I came determined to slay these giants on my way. I prepared, read, took notes, and any academic advice you can remember.

At the end...

The result was no better. F9 was dancing in red robes in the Maths and Further Maths column again.

The school's policy started racing through my mind: if you fail math or English by the third term, you'll repeat the class. Failure to make it again the following year means you are not fit for the school.

This was the moment I started asking myself, "Was I going to repeat the class while my mates move ahead? A whole son of a mathematics lecturer failing maths,"

I kept wondering what others were doing so that they could get excellent grades.

After all, we are all in the same class, the same teacher, and the same schedule.

What was missing?

These thoughts followed me everywhere I went during the holiday.

Then we resumed the third term. This time again, I came prepared.

This was the last chance. I was entering a boxing ring with mathematics and only one person must come out alive.
I told myself, "I must come out alive. Nothing must stand in my way"

From there, I dissolved myself in mathematics textbooks. During Geography class, I was solving equations.
Break time? I was breaking down mathematics formulas. Siesta period? Not interested. I wanted to see my mathematics book.

Tests came. Exam came. The results were dished out while hot.

My heart was already running above the speed limit. My hands trembled uncontrollably.

My eyes quickly stared at my mathematics grade. And there it was...

C5 staring back at me.

My brain whirred with calculations, attempting to comprehend the grades before me. I actually had 75A for the third term, but the cumulative with the previous terms brought it down to C5.

"Conditional promotion to SS2" was the comment by the class teacher at the bottom of the result sheet.