It should be obvious to everyone by now that students are dealing with a tough new rule: no phones in the classroom. Yet, it feels like I’m the only one willing to admit just how much this policy is messing with our lives. My struggle of being separated from my beloved device and the harsh reality of having to focus in class seems to be a battle that only I myself is fighting. How is no one going through the same pain that I feel?
After rolling out of bed this morning, my first instinct was to grab my phone. Per my routine, I skimmed through all the notifications I missed in the past eight hours. In the blink of an eye, an hour had passed and I had five minutes to run to school. Time really flies when you are having fun.
During the painstakingly long sprint to class, all I could think about was the impending fate of my phone. Just as I had expected, we were forced to give up our cell phones at the sound of the bell, stuffing them out of sight into the dark confines of our backpacks. My fingers itched at the thought of the unread notifications that I’d have to wait an excruciating hour to finally see.
In class, I tried my best to focus, I really did. But how could I concentrate on algebra when my mind was racing with anxiety at the thought of lost Snapchat streaks? The teacher was going on about equations or something—but I wouldn’t know because I was too busy plotting my phone heist. Maybe I could pull off a sneaky move during discussion time, or somehow connect with my phone telepathically? I was willing to do anything to feel that familiar warmth of the screen again.
The same feeling continued to increase drastically throughout the rest of my classes. Every class I held out hope that at least one of my teachers wouldn’t be like the others, but fate had other plans for me. They all announced that they would now be just a little bit more strict on the phone policy, but I knew that they really meant for an instant one way ticket to the GLC if they saw even just a sliver of my phone.
Lunchtime was the only thing keeping me sane. Finally breaking free, even if just for a moment, of the shackles of the No Phone Rule, I pulled out my prized possession in order to quench the ever-increasing thirst to scroll. My friends and I huddled together, chatting and expressing our resentment with the new policy.
Or at least we tried to. We weren’t used to talking in real life yet—seriously, how would you even talk without emojis? How are we supposed to go about our days without sharing every little moment on our Instagram stories? We tried to make small talk, but without Instagram Reels or TikToks to send around, there was no hope in salvaging the conversation
When the final bell rang at last, I lunged for my phone, anxious to reconnect with my lifeline. I snatched it from my bag in a flash, diving straight into my notifications and messages. I could finally scroll again! The dopamine rush was instant, a wave of happiness as I flicked through my alerts, tuning out everything else.
Sure, teachers may say that phone-free classrooms help us focus, but it really means giving up our very own happiness. They take away our essence, our digital lifelines. They encage us in a dim world that feels upside down. So here I am, wailing with my case in hopes that at least someone can recognize the terrible agony we are suffering.