Ah, winter break — a magical time when alarm clocks are banned, pajamas become the uniform — and the most pressing question I face each day is, “What should I play next: Fortnite or Valorant?”
For two glorious weeks in late December and early January, I transformed into a nocturnal creature, thriving in the moonlight while annihilating opponents in online games and snacking like a true champion. Sports, thankfully, kept me from becoming one with my couch, and my sleep schedule went from “8 hours a night” to “whatever hours I can scrape together before lunch.”
But then, something cruel happened — good things never last — school was starting again. And Post Winter Break Syndrome (PWBS) began.
The night before the first day back, I stared at my phone’s alarm app in horror — the first symptom of PWBS. How was I supposed to wake up at 7:45 a.m. when I’d been sleeping way past my usual bedtime? My biological clock laughed at me as I set the alarm.
The night soon came and went. The sound of my alarm jolted me out of a deep sleep and I had instant flashbacks. Disoriented, I stumbled out of bed by muscle memory, while trying to form thoughts to figure out if it was still 2025 and if I was still in my home. My body protested every movement, as if saying, “this is not what we trained for over break.” I couldn’t decide if I was more upset about leaving my warm bed or about the fact that I’d have to sit through a full Red Day — even having a seventh period as a senior. It was both.
Walking into school, I saw it in everyone’s faces: the thousand-yard stares that define the essence of PWBS, the yawns that could swallow small objects and the general vibe of, “Why are we here?” The teachers tried their hardest to maintain high energy, as if they’d been training for this moment their whole lives. Meanwhile, I was using all my brainpower to stop myself from falling asleep on my desk. Unluckily, my brain — reading and comprehension ability — was still out of the office on break, as I was expected to read chapters of notes for environmental science and participate in lively discussions about philosophy in AP Lang.
Things got much more interesting by lunch, all my friends had endless things to talk about their break or how messed up their sleep schedules had become. Everyone shared stories of staying up until 3 a.m. or later and playing games all day every day, revealing the lack of structure of their break. We laughed about how our “gaming grind” had prepared us for literally nothing useful at school. It was a shared misery, but at least we could bond over it.
When the final bell rang, I stumbled home like I’d just survived a zombie apocalypse. As soon as I stepped through the door, I collapsed onto my bed, fully clothed and slept. I woke up feeling like a new person — a person who still had homework to do but had regained the will to live. Unfortunately, the lingering effects of PWBS followed me and seemingly my friends too. After my nap, my friends texted me to hop on video games again, teaming together with little concern for the thoughtful amount of homework my teachers left.
By the end of the first week back, my body reluctantly started to adapt. I began going to bed closer to midnight, in a good way. But the transition wasn’t without its casualties: My gaming hours were drastically reduced, and my late-night snacks became a distant memory. I mourned the loss of my freedom and nothing-to-do-ness of the winter break but not so much the schedule and habits that carried over.
As I’m writing this, I’ve fully adjusted back to the school routine, but the memories of winter break linger. Sure, my days of all-night gaming and noon wake-ups are over — for now. February break will be here soon, and I plan to embrace it with even more dedication to doing absolutely nothing.
