In my class at the Academy, there were 32 people—11 boys and 21 girls. Across both classes, the statistics were exactly the same, which was kind of funny when you noticed it. Somehow, I ended up being known in both classes, not just for surviving ten subjects, being a gamer, or struggling with math, but for… well, the little things that stuck with people. Everyone had their quirks, and somehow, I managed to stand out without even trying.
Friendships weren't automatic. You had to earn them, piece by piece, through shared classes, study sessions, and the endless rhythm of boarding life. People had different vibes—some confident, some quiet, some loud—but somehow, they were all relatable. Each person was like a different puzzle piece, and our little ecosystem of friendships started forming in those first weeks, through laughter, teasing, shared complaints about life science extra classes, and late-night gaming sessions.
Nicknames were a big deal, at least for the boys. In the first week, almost every boy had one, and I'm not gonna lie—I wanted one too. I was sleepy during some random group conversation in the dorm, nine of us huddled together for some reason, and a Grade 9—let's call him Lethu—looked at me and said I looked like I had just smoked "Negative weed." Honestly, it didn't make sense, but somehow we all understood and laughed. Then, the idea popped into his head. He pointed at me and said, "Let's call you Negative Weed!" They laughed, and for about a week, everyone I encountered called me that. It was funny, awkward, and kind of perfect. Eventually, people wanted to call me that in the academic block but Negative Weed wasn't that appropriate so they made a shorter version, and just like that, I became Negative. From that moment, the nickname stuck everywhere—both classes, dorms, and even in class chats during breaks.
Friendships were unpredictable. Some people left the school mid-year, and it shook the balance. One of my friends, who we called called Batman , left at the end of the 3rd term, and another, Wonderboy, left at the 2nd term. Their absence left gaps, empty desks, and silence where laughter used to live. But even with departures, bonds remained. Lunchtimes, tea breaks, and free periods became our playgrounds, a place to laugh, share music, plan gaming sessions, or just stare at the waves and vent about life.
Boarding life made friendships intense. Living so close, sharing meals, mornings, and study hours, we got to know the small details—the way someone chewed their food, laughed at stupid jokes, or quietly stressed over math. Even though everyone was different, somehow we were all relatable. One person could be obsessed with Minecraft while another binge-watched YouTube during free time, and yet we understood each other perfectly. Those late-night dorm talks, whispers under the covers, and secret laughter over laptops made the academy feel alive in a way nothing else could.
Despite differences, there was a rhythm. Gaming, YouTube, group jokes, teasing during study time, or debating over assignments—we built a balance between survival and fun. I could be the sleepy gamer struggling in math, but still part of every conversation, every laugh, and every late-night plan. That balance of different but relatable personalities made the academy feel like a community, even when teachers frowned on laptops and games.
By the end of the term, friendships had become essential. The academy wasn't just about surviving ten subjects, late-night study sessions, or getting a 73 in math—it was about having people who understood you, who made the grind bearable. Friends who laughed at your nicknames, shared your frustrations, and even teased you in the most ridiculous ways—they were the glue that made life at this academy feel like something more than rules, grades, and waves outside your window.
Even though some friends left, the memories stuck. The jokes, the nicknames, the late-night conversations, and the shared struggles were proof that no matter how different everyone was, there was always something that connected us. That was the magic of friendships at the academy—the chaos, the laughter, and the understanding that even when life felt overwhelming, you weren't going through it alone.