I had the habit of skipping class because it was way too easy. 

In senior year I had a class that was basically independent studying - we could do all the work online or at home, therefore, I didn’t take it seriously. The teacher didn’t care if we decided to work in the hallways, and thanks to that, I had the chance of slipping out of the classroom easily. 

After skipping once, I became addicted to the feeling of it. Whenever I pushed open the emergency door to exit the building, I felt so powerful. I would look around to make sure nobody was sneaking up on me, and then I would go to my favorite cafe to enjoy a little drink. 

Skipping class became a sign of rebellion as if skipping one class makes me better than the curriculum we are forced to be taught at. I was falling into a trap and believed it would take me to a better place. Perhaps it did, perhaps it did not. I never got caught, and that brought me joy. To this day, I still think about it, and I feel happy every time I’ve reminded myself how much I weighed in my heart when I did so.