What advice would you give to your teenage self?

Ah, the age-old question. The one people love to ask as if we could just time travel, drop a bit of wisdom, and fix all our teenage mistakes. But fine, let’s play along. If I could sit my awkward teenage self down, I’d probably start by sighing deeply and then say, “Buckle up, kid. You’re not gonna like this.”

First of all, stop stressing over school. Seriously. It’s not designed for you — it’s designed for the system. You know, the same system that acts like memorizing the periodic table is more important than, I don’t know, figuring out how taxes work or how to cook something other than instant noodles. School claims it’s “preparing you for life,” but that’s rich coming from a place where the biggest survival skill they teach is how to write an essay on symbolism in Lord of the Flies. Because nothing screams real-life preparation like dissecting why a fictional conch shell meant democracy.

And oh, homework? Oh, it’s so valuable. Because obviously, the best way to help kids learn is to bury them under five hours of worksheets after they’ve already spent eight hours in a classroom. Genius plan. Because in adulthood, your boss will totally say, “Hey, I know you just worked all day, but here’s more work. And I need it by tomorrow. Or you fail at life.” Oh wait — that actually happens. Touché, education system.

Let’s not forget how school rewards the best memorizers, not the best thinkers. Got a good memory? You’re golden. Actually curious about how things work? That’s adorable, but we don’t have time for that. Stick to the syllabus. Ever wonder why the kid who could copy-paste the entire textbook ended up valedictorian, while the one who asked, “But why?” got sent to the principal’s office for being disruptive? Because thinking slows the machine down. Can’t have that.

And oh, the career quizzes. Pure comedy gold. “Answer these 10 shallow questions and we’ll map out your life’s purpose!” Yeah, because that’s totally how it works. Forget self-discovery, passion, or trial and error — no, a scantron knows you better than you know yourself. I bet that’s why half of us are stuck in jobs we hate, wondering where it all went wrong. Spoiler: it went wrong when a middle school quiz told you you’d make a “great data analyst” because you said you liked solving puzzles once.

But the real punchline? It’s not you — it’s the system. It’s designed to be one-size-fits-all, which, in reality, means it fits no one properly. Like those cheap, stretchy hats that somehow manage to be too tight and keep falling off. And yet, you’ll still meet people — oh, they’re everywhere — who are so proud of this broken mess. They’ll look you dead in the eye and say, “Well, it worked for me!” Yeah, Greg, congrats. You peaked in high school. But maybe — just maybe — the world doesn’t revolve around people who memorized all the state capitals in record time.

And here’s where it really gets spicy — if you struggled in school, they made you feel like the problem. “You’re not trying hard enough. You’re lazy. You’re distracted.” No, Karen, maybe I just didn’t thrive in a system that treats creativity like a disease and rewards blind memorization. But sure, blame the kid.

So, teenage me, here’s the deal: Play the game just enough to get by. Fill out the forms, pass the tests, smile at the teachers. But don’t, for one second, believe that this is what defines your worth. The system doesn’t want thinkers — it wants bubble-fillers. And life? It wants survivors, creators, people who can solve problems that don’t come with multiple-choice answers.

One day, you’ll realize the real education starts the moment you leave the classroom — when you get to ask weird questions, chase ideas that actually make you excited, and, most importantly, laugh at how absurd it all was.

And if you ever bump into someone who still praises the system like it’s flawless, ask them to explain how mitochondria being the “powerhouse of the cell” has helped them pay rent. Watch them blink. It’s priceless.