I spread a Maasai shuka beneath the wide canopy of a Nile Tulip, its yellow blossoms scattered like confetti across the manicured lawn behind the science complex. I lay on my side, one arm tucked beneath my head, the other resting across my ribs. Overhead, the branches swayed gently, dappling my skin with shifting patches of light. I listened to the rattling chatter of a sunbird and a distant metallic whistle that might’ve been a Starling.

And then I recalled every single detail with crystal clarity.

Two hours earlier, the exam had started like they always did. I skimmed through the paper, scribbling brief cues beside each question. As usual, I began with the ones I felt confident about. The plan was to work quickly and return to the tougher sections. However, somewhere between question three and four, I began second-guessing. “Maybe that’s not quite right…” I found myself rewriting and sometimes even correcting answers that had been accurate the first time. By the time I circled back to the difficult questions, an hour and a half had already passed.

“There isn’t enough time to cover these hard questions,” I thought. I started to rush through, but my mind went blank. I couldn’t recall the information or organize the ideas. Minutes slipped by as I stared blankly at the questions. I then started to feel fatigued and to tremble in my arm, which smudged my writing. My left hand felt cold while the right felt uncomfortably warm. My peers began turning in their exam booklets. I looked up and realized there were only twenty minutes left, and I hadn’t attempted several questions.

I had expected to leave the exam room feeling confident and accomplished, and yet, as I let go of that paper, a wave of frustration engulfed me because I had done everything I could. I had attended most lectures and filled notebooks with bullet points and color-coded cues. I had even created sticky notes with questions to follow up on later. Beyond the assigned readings, I devoted extra time to reviewing material, refining biochemical pathways and metabolic cycles, and self-testing to deepen my understanding.

I wasn’t alone either. I studied alongside Moses and Rose, both of whom were remarkably intelligent. Moses enjoyed tutoring, which made sense considering his dream of becoming a lecturer one day. Looking back, I couldn’t imagine what college would have been like without them. However, I dreaded the post-semester results discussions because they always performed better, making me feel so insecure, embarrassed, and like an imposter.

Am I just working this hard to keep up? I’d wonder. Or am I actually capable? It was frustrating that the test scores rarely reflected my true abilities.

During one of the group discussions, Moses leaned forward, reaching for his water bottle. “I blanked on that question about tumorigenesis,” he admitted. Rozie raised her eyebrows in agreement. “Same here. That question caught me off guard, too. I just wrote what I could remember and hoped for the best.” “Yeah… that one was tough,” I said quietly, even though I hadn’t made it that far in the paper.

As we moved on to discuss the next topic, I found consolation in the thought that maybe blank moments were normal, and it never occurred to me to seek help.

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Outside the lecture halls, a different kind of pressure was awaiting. Would I ever feel like I belonged in the work I’d trained so hard for? Stay tuned as I step into the medical world…