It was the day of my Common Entrance exam. The day that would decide my future, they said. It was my chance to get into a good secondary school, and my parents had high hopes. I was prepared, or at least, that’s what I thought. But then, just before I left the house, something terrible happened.
Beans.
Yes, beans. The very beans I had eaten for breakfast.
Now, let me explain. I didn’t just eat any beans. I ate beans the way my mother cooked them — spicy, with a lot of pepper, onions, and palm oil. She said it was "good for the brain." Well, that was a lie. Because those beans didn't just fuel my brain; they set my stomach on fire. And little did I know, that fiery breakfast was about to change everything.
I woke up that morning feeling confident. I had studied (sort of), and I had already imagined myself walking across the stage to shake hands with the principal, proudly accepting my acceptance letter into one of the best schools. I felt ready, and it didn’t hurt that I had a good night’s sleep… or so I thought.
My mother, as usual, had prepared a hearty breakfast. “Beans! Beans are good for the brain!” she declared. I remember her saying that with the kind of passion that would make you think she had invented the beans herself.
“Eat it all, it will help you do well in your exam,” she encouraged, placing a steaming bowl in front of me.
I wasn’t a fan of beans, but I ate them anyway. I had learned to endure things in life. As I forced down spoonful after spoonful, I tried to ignore the rumbling in my stomach. The beans were hot, and the more I ate, the more I felt like I was swallowing fire. But I figured it would settle down, and I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. Plus, what else could I do? Refuse beans?
I finished the bowl and set off for the exam hall, feeling full but not quite right. My stomach was already starting to do weird things. Little did I know, this was only the beginning of my problems.
At the exam hall, the tension in the air was thick. Kids were quietly flipping through their papers, trying to review last-minute formulas and facts. I sat at my desk, feeling the heat in my stomach intensify. The feeling was not good. I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on the exam paper in front of me, but my brain wasn’t cooperating.
As the invigilator called for the start of the exam, I glanced at the first question. I couldn’t read it properly. My brain was foggy. I thought, “Wait, what did I just read? Was that a question or a riddle?” I blinked a few times, trying to clear the confusion, but my stomach had other plans. It was like a storm was brewing inside me.
I clenched my stomach, trying to focus. But then, disaster struck.
Suddenly, the first rumble hit. A deep, low growl from my belly. I froze. It was like a warning. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I ignored it, and my focus went back to the exam paper. I had to pass this!
But my body was not having it. The rumblings started to get louder, more aggressive. It felt like my intestines were staging a protest.
Rrrrrrmmmbl.
Everyone around me froze. I could see their eyes move towards me. Some looked confused, some were clearly trying not to laugh. I tried to ignore them, but then the worst thing happened.
The smell.
It wasn’t just a rumble anymore; my stomach had turned into a machine pumping out foul gas. The kind of gas that you can’t hide, no matter how hard you try. It wasn’t even a polite one. No, this one was loud and proud. A full-on attack. I could hear it escape, and the entire room went silent.
I looked around, panicking. The other kids were trying to pretend they didn’t notice, but their eyes were watering. One girl even whispered to her neighbor, “Is that… him?”
I wanted to crawl under the desk and disappear, but there was no hiding it. The invigilator looked at me, then at the clock, and then back at me with a disappointed face. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. Everyone was staring at me now, and the smell wasn’t helping.
I tried to get back to my exam, but it was too late. My stomach was in full rebellion. The rumbles had escalated, and with every passing second, my situation got worse. My brain couldn’t focus, my body was no longer in control, and I was trapped in the most embarrassing moment of my life.
I couldn’t even remember what the questions on the paper asked. I began to sweat. My hand was shaking, and I felt like I was about to cry. The pressure was too much. The beans had won.
Rrrrrmmbl.
“Excuse me,” I muttered to the invigilator, raising my hand like I was in some serious classroom dilemma. She walked over, looking at me like I was about to confess something terrible.
“I need to go… to the bathroom,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“You should have gone before the exam,” she replied, with a strict voice. “No bathroom breaks during the exam. We have rules.”
“Please,” I begged, almost pleading. “I can’t hold it.”
She stared at me for a second before sighing and waving me away. “Fine, go. But make it quick.”
I ran to the bathroom as fast as my legs could carry me. It was a race against time — my time in the exam and, more importantly, the time before I could completely lose control.
I barely made it. As I entered the bathroom, I collapsed onto the toilet, breathing heavily. I thought about what had just happened. How had my stomach betrayed me like this? How had beans, of all things, ruined my future?
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I was too late. I had missed too much time. The exam was almost over, and I hadn’t even attempted half of the questions.
I walked back to my seat with my head down. The remaining time felt like torture. As I tried to scribble down random answers, I couldn’t help but think of the beans. They had ruined everything. All the studying, the hard work, the hopes for a good result — gone. Just like that.
At the end of the exam, I handed in my paper, not really sure if I had written anything correct. I felt empty inside. I knew the result was going to be terrible.
The next few weeks were a blur. I avoided talking to anyone who asked about the exam. I kept telling myself that maybe, just maybe, I had done okay despite the beans. But deep down, I knew.
When the results finally came out, I was not surprised. I had failed. Completely. The marks were lower than the number of beans I had eaten that day.
My mother was disappointed, of course. “But I made beans for your brain!” she said, looking at me like I had betrayed her.
“Mom,” I said, “It’s not the beans. It’s me. And… maybe the beans.”
We both laughed, though it wasn’t really funny.
After that, I made a promise to myself. I would never eat beans before anything important again. And from that day, whenever someone asked me about my biggest failure, I didn’t mention the exam or the embarrassment.
Instead, I just said, “I failed Common Entrance because of beans.”
THE END
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