Error 404: The word, The Will, and possibly myself (let alone my future) not found

My black screen glared at me as if I owed it some respect.
I typed. Backspaced. Ripped through the cycle again like I was having a silent argument with myself.
The blinking cursor became too arrogant, as if it knew I didn't have the sentences.
"Embarrassing," it taunted.
And that was when my fingers finally came to life.

Two days ago, I took my ATC exam. I took it. I reluctantly went through that experience.

But let's begin at the start.

A couple of months back, I opened up my ever-dormant college email — not really hoping for much — and there it was: a shiny, enigmatic acronym waiting in my inbox, "AAI ATC."

Of course, I clicked on it with one purpose in mind: discover the full form. But the more I read, the more curious I became. A couple of clicks down, I discovered that I could apply for free.

So I applied. Because who doesn't enjoy free things?

No pressure. No expectations. Just a passing "why not" moment recorded and forgotten.

Until, weeks later, I received an SMS and a no-reply email respectfully reminding me that I actually did have an exam looming.
And a date.

I wish I could say I studied intensely, gave it my all. I wish I could say I entered the exam room full of determination.

But in actuality? Scattered effort at best.
A couple of hours scattered here and there — between being ill, updating my resume, and getting through the traumatic train rides between the states.

I still went.

There was a girl my age sitting right next to me; she was crying.
Head buried, the rough worksheet pressed close, jaw locked like she was trying to keep a complete breakdown in.

And truly? I admired it. She seemed like she wanted it. Like she tried.

While I was just... existing. Drifting somewhere between working and toasted.

And then it occurred. I became stuck on a word.

One. Single. Word.

It consumed five whole minutes of my time. I gazed at it, manipulated letters, scratched, and rewrote — and still couldn't seem to get it to appear decent.

The word? Embarrassing.

Yeah. That one. I couldn't spell embarrassing — while actually experiencing the definition of it.
A little poetic. A lot humiliating.

And that moment really epitomised the entire exam for me.

I didn't freak out. I didn't cry. I didn't dramatically spiral.

I simply... floated. I drifted through questions, seconds, and a strange fog where I wasn't doing horribly, but also knew I wasn't doing well.

Until I sat down to write this, I believed I had given my best.
But now?

Who am I kidding? That girl gave her best. I just... survived to the end.

I wish there were a shocking twist here, “Universe? Please take lessons from EK!“
No shocking revelation.
No "I learned so much," takeaway.

TLDR: I gave the exam. I forgot a word. I left feeling a little hollow.

But I did show up.

And perhaps I'll show up again — next time with fewer typos, fewer symptoms, and a bit more fire.

Or perhaps I'll still be the girl who can't spell embarrassing —
But at least this time, I'll know I’ve lived it before.

Author Note:

I'm just someone trying to do the things — prep for exams, not burn steel utensils, and remember how to spell. If you’ve ever floated through something important and only realized it afterward… hey, same! Let’s survive the next thing better.

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Signing off with spellcheck turned on and expectations turned down.