I don’t know if this counts as a confession, but it feels like… I’m always just barely hanging on, you know? Like, I’m supposed to be the adult in the room, the one with all the answers, but secretly I’m just faking it till I make it. Or maybe not even making it, just… faking it. It’s about the tech stuff, mostly. All these new apps and smartboards and whatever else they dream up next. I’ve been teaching for, what, almost fifteen years now? I went to art school, for crying out loud. I wanted to paint. My parents were all "practicality, mi hija," so here I am, shaping young minds, which I DO love, don’t get me wrong. But now I have to be a tech wizard too? It’s too much. The younger teachers, they just… glide. They talk about "integrating multimedia" and "flipped classrooms" like it’s second nature. I see them setting up elaborate digital projects, and I’m just there, trying to remember if it’s Ctrl+C for copy or Ctrl+V. I’ve actually written down sequences on sticky notes, hidden them inside my desk drawer. Like, “to project the screen: FN+F8.” It’s pathetic, I know. My brain just doesn’t work that way. I remember art history dates, poet’s birthdays, the chemical composition of acrylic paints – but keyboard shortcuts? My mind goes blank. It’s like a different language, and I feel so… obsolete. Like an old-school typewriter in a room full of laptops. The other day, one of the kids asked me to help them with a presentation, something in Google Slides. I just froze. My heart started POUNDING. I could feel sweat trickling down my back, even though the AC was blasting. I knew the basic steps, the ones I’d memorized – "click new slide," "insert image," all that. But they wanted to do something fancy, with transitions and animations. I just… stared. And then I laughed. A little too loud, a little too long. “Oh, you kids and your fancy digital wizardry!” I said, trying to make it sound like I was charmed, not terrified. “Let’s just stick to the basics for now, eh? A strong message is more important than all the bells and whistles.” The kid looked at me, a little confused, a little disappointed. I felt like such a FRAUD. It’s always this weird tightrope walk. I’m good at the teaching part. I can engage the kids, make them think, make them laugh. I can explain the complexities of Shakespeare or the beauty of a Mondrian. But then they ask me to upload their assignments to the online portal and I just… crumble inside. I spend hours fiddling with it at home, watching YouTube tutorials, muttering curses under my breath. My husband, bless his heart, tries to help, but he just sighs. He says I’m being dramatic. Maybe I am. It’s just this constant fear that one day, it’ll all come crashing down. That someone will figure out I’m just pretending. That I’m not as smart, not as capable, not as… modern as I need to be. I don’t know. Maybe I should just embrace being the "old school" teacher. The one who uses chalk and actual books. But then what? What if they decide I’m not keeping up with the times? What if I get passed over for something, or worse, pushed out? I need this job. The benefits, the stability… it’s not the art career I dreamed of, but it pays the bills. So I keep memorizing those stupid shortcuts, keep smiling, keep pretending I know exactly what I’m doing. Sometimes, late at night, I just sit there staring at my laptop, wondering how much longer I can keep this act going. It’s exhausting, to be honest. But what else can I do? Just throw in the towel? Not yet. Not today. Gotta go practice how to share a screen. Wish me luck. It’s CTRL+SHIFT+S, I think? Or is it ALT+S? Ugh.