Our journalistic journey began in a room numbered 514. It was a room without windows, like a confining box. The fluorescent lights energized and invigorated us to write to the best of our literary abilities. It certainly didn’t drive anyone crazy. Going outside was like entering a new world with a strange light in the sky. I believe it’s called the sun.

This year, we’ve been banished to a room numbered 902, which is far on the outskirts of campus. The building sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of asphalt that separates us from the outside world. Our interviewees travel across the sea like explorers of old to share their knowledge with us. Like little ants, the poor students scurry back and forth across the anthill that is our campus.

The sun, which was foreign to us when we lived in room 514, now shines blindingly through our large windows. The overbearing light is intolerable, and we recoil in its burning presence. Tall ceilings give the room a grandiose air, almost as if the room itself is looking down on you. 

The 900 building is the most recently built on campus. For this reason, it is like the new kid who is out of place in an already-established group of friends. It reminds me of the black sheep in a flock of white. 

The rest of the asphalt is covered by the portables, the lowliest of classrooms. The portables are small, with low ceilings and a depressing atmosphere. Our new building might not be desirable, but at least we haven’t been relegated to the worst of the worst.

As the humble children we are, we accept that we have been brought down to the status of pariahs, far from the bustling center of campus. We accept that the vast distance that must be traveled to the bathroom requires a ten-minute break from our academic rigor. We accept all our suffering because no room is perfect, but still we humbly ask that you give us bathrooms in the 900 building. 

In the middle of a timed essay or a Calculus test, the desire to urinate creeps up slowly until it overwhelms you. The timer ticks down. Should I go to the bathroom and waste precious time, or should I risk it all and get to writing? These are the questions that a student in the 900 building unfortunately has to ask.