The Space between before and after - my IGCSE Mock exam experience

The Space between before and after - my IGCSE Mock exam experience

Before the Mocks

The days before my mock exams felt strangely contradictory. They dragged endlessly, yet time itself felt tightly constricted. There was so much to study, so much to revise - and yet the festive season blurred the edges of my focus. My surroundings were full of celebration, but my mind was at war with itself.

I had to be strong.

I had to do this.

Focus, Dhara. Focus.

That inner voice became my constant companion - sometimes encouraging, sometimes exhausting, but always persistent. Slowly, as the holidays drew to a close, the panic softened. The chaos of revision began to organise itself into something manageable. Confidence crept in, cautiously but surely.

By the time the exams approached, I felt ready - not fearless, but prepared.

Let’s tackle this head on. I can do this.

During the Mocks

The papers came rolling in, one after another, as exam timetable slots were crossed off day by day. Some papers were disasters - moments where I wondered what the point of revising even was. Nothing seemed to help. Other papers, surprisingly, felt like a breeze. The inconsistency was unsettling; every exam carried its own emotional weight.

The pen hovered, trembling slightly, above the pristine white of the exam paper. Every second felt like a hammer blow against my temples - a rhythmic pulse of mounting inadequacy. The ticking of the wall clock, usually a background hum, transformed into a mocking metallic taunt.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Around me, the frantic scratching of other students’ pens sounded like a swarm of locusts devouring my last remnants of confidence. I stared at the prompt until the black ink blurred into illegible squiggles, the letters dancing away like water striders on a pond.

My throat constricted, swallowed by a dry, sandpaper heat. I gripped the edge of the desk - the wood cool and indifferent to the sweat pooling in my palms. A single bead of perspiration traced a slow, agonising path down my spine, an itch I couldn’t scratch in the suffocating silence of the hall. The harder I reached for the missing word, the further it receded into the grey fog of my mind - a transparent yet impenetrable wall between my thoughts and the page.

Then, suddenly, the student behind me cleared their throat - a wet, raspy sound that shattered my concentration. Heat prickled across my neck. My fingers tightened around the plastic barrel of my pen until my knuckles turned ghostly white. Pressure built inside me like steam in a sealed kettle, whistling behind my teeth. I wanted to shove the desk away, to let out a primal roar and break the oppressive stillness - but I remained frozen.

The air grew heavy, thick with floor wax and stale anxiety. I looked at the clock again. Ten minutes had vanished into the void of my paralysis. Frustration became physical - a bitter, metallic taste at the back of my tongue. With a jagged, desperate motion, I forced the pen down. The ink bled into a dark, ugly blotch - a perfect reflection of the chaos within.

After the Mocks

The last paper.

Done and dusted.

I breathed out a deep sigh of relief, the kind that feels like it comes from your bones. All I could think of was my bed. Yet when the weekend finally arrived, it felt strangely empty. Something was missing - a quiet void where stress had lived for so long that its absence felt unfamiliar.

I was happy. I could finally relax, watch my favourite programmes, go out, and rest. But my mind refused to settle. Thoughts criss-crossed relentlessly.

Did I get that right?

Was that answer wrong?

The urge to pull my hair out lingered, stubborn and unresolved.

Eventually, I realised that the mocks weren’t just something to survive - they were something to learn from. I sat down and wrote what I still needed to work on. I reflected. Not with fear, but with honesty.

The exams were over, but the growth had only just begun.

Dhara Shah 11N