School taught me how to do a 9-5 job rather than be a person who

Host: The afternoon light slanted across the cracked window of the small co-working space. Outside, the city buzzed with horns and engines — a restless symphony of ambition. Inside, the air was thick with the hum of old computers and the faint scent of burnt coffee.

The room was littered with sticky notes, half-charged laptops, and dreams scribbled on whiteboards.

Jack sat in the corner, sleeves rolled up, scrolling through spreadsheets on his laptop. He looked like a man trying to balance a thousand invisible weights — the gravity of logic pressing against the lightness of ideas.

Jeeny stood by the window, her hair lit like ink on fire, watching the street below where teenagers passed with headphones, skateboards, and a freedom that couldn’t be taught.

On the wall behind them, someone had spray-painted in faded blue: “DREAMS DON’T GRADUATE.”

Jeeny: “KSI once said, ‘School taught me how to do a 9-5 job rather than be a person who wants to start a business.’”

Jack: (smirking) “Ah yes, the gospel of rebellion, sponsored by Wi-Fi and caffeine.”

Jeeny: (turns) “You mock it, but you know it’s true. School teaches obedience — not innovation. It molds workers, not creators.”

Jack: “And yet, the world runs on workers. Someone’s got to keep the lights on while others chase enlightenment.”

Jeeny: “That’s the tragedy. The lights are on, but nobody’s awake.”

Host: Her voice lingered in the air, firm but sad. The sound of her words seemed to settle on Jack’s shoulders like dust.

Jack: “So what? We throw out education altogether? Start teaching ambition like arithmetic?”

Jeeny: “No. We teach imagination. We teach risk. We teach how to fail and not fall apart.”

Jack: (leans back) “Failing’s easy. Recovering’s expensive.”

Jeeny: “Only if you’ve been trained to fear it. That’s what KSI meant — school never prepares you for the freefall.”

Host: A group of young founders passed by their window, carrying pizza boxes and laptops, laughing too loudly, alive with caffeine and naïve certainty. Their laughter hit the glass like sunlight.

Jeeny watched them with a faint smile.

Jeeny: “See that? That’s education too. The kind you don’t get graded for.”

Jack: “The kind that runs out of money by next month.”

Jeeny: “And learns faster than any classroom ever could.”

Host: Jack shut his laptop, the sound of it snapping closed like punctuation on an argument he didn’t want to finish.

Jack: “You really think everyone can be an entrepreneur, Jeeny? The world doesn’t run on dreams — it runs on systems.”

Jeeny: “But systems were built by dreamers first. Every company, every invention, every revolution started as someone saying, ‘What if?’ before anyone else dared.”

Jack: “And then someone else came along and made it profitable.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And that’s fine. Not everyone has to start the fire. But we should at least teach people that they can.”

Host: The light from the window shifted, catching the edge of Jeeny’s face — her expression a mix of conviction and quiet grief.

Jack: “You talk like someone who’s been burned by the system.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I have. Or maybe I’ve just watched too many brilliant minds turn into obedient ones.”

Jack: “You think obedience kills potential?”

Jeeny: “No — I think it starves it. Slowly. Politely.”

Host: Jack rubbed his eyes, the kind of exhaustion in his voice that only comes from remembering your own compromises.

Jack: “You know, I was good at school. Top of my class. Perfect grades. They told me I’d go far.”

Jeeny: “And?”

Jack: “They never said where. Just… far. Turns out ‘far’ means in circles.”

Jeeny: (softly) “That’s what KSI was fighting. Not education itself — the illusion that following the rules is the same as finding meaning.”

Host: A silence fell, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock and the distant hum of traffic. The air felt heavy — filled with the ghosts of teenage dreams that had been graded, filed, and forgotten.

Jack: “So you think we should all just drop out, start YouTube channels, sell merch, and preach freedom?”

Jeeny: (shaking her head) “No. But maybe we should start believing again. Believing that education isn’t the only way to grow — that curiosity doesn’t need permission.”

Jack: “Curiosity doesn’t pay rent.”

Jeeny: “Neither does misery. But we keep paying that anyway.”

Host: Jack looked up, his eyes catching hers. The cynicism there softened — just a little — like steel remembering warmth.

Jack: “You think I’ve become part of the system.”

Jeeny: “I think you forgot you could build your own.”

Jack: “And what if I’m not brave enough?”

Jeeny: “Then start small. Bravery’s not a leap — it’s a choice you repeat.”

Host: A ray of light slipped through the clouds, spilling across the room. It illuminated the whiteboard behind them — covered in half-erased words: “strategy,” “deadline,” “revenue.” Beneath them, almost invisible, was one faint scribble in blue: “Purpose?”

Jack noticed it first.

Jack: “You wrote that?”

Jeeny: “No. You did. Weeks ago.”

Host: He stared at it — the question mark sharp and lonely, as if waiting for him to catch up.

Jack: “Funny. I must’ve forgotten.”

Jeeny: “That’s what happens when you live by timetables instead of truths.”

Jack: “You sound like a manifesto waiting to happen.”

Jeeny: “And you sound like someone who wants to believe it.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, as if time itself had entered the debate. Outside, the young founders’ laughter had faded into the hum of the city — replaced by the low growl of ambition, endless and alive.

Jack: “You know, maybe KSI was right. Maybe school teaches us to survive systems — but not to design them.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Exactly. And we need more designers.”

Jack: “You really think everyone can build something new?”

Jeeny: “No. But I think everyone deserves the chance to try.”

Host: Jack looked at his closed laptop, then at the window where the city moved like a living organism — chaotic, unpredictable, full of stories that had never been graded.

He smiled faintly — the smile of a man realizing he’d been waiting for permission to rebel.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny… maybe the problem isn’t that school teaches us too little. Maybe it teaches us to need too much — structure, approval, certainty.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It builds safety nets, but never trampolines.”

Host: The sun finally broke free of the clouds, lighting the room in gold. Jeeny’s scarf fluttered in the breeze from the cracked window. She turned, eyes bright, alive with that dangerous optimism Jack used to have.

Jeeny: “You know what’s funny? We call people who leave the system failures — but they’re the ones who end up building the future.”

Jack: “And what about the rest of us?”

Jeeny: “We keep pretending the bell still matters.”

Host: The sound of a school bell echoed faintly in the distance — from a nearby elementary, the kind of coincidence that feels like fate’s sense of humor. Jack and Jeeny both looked toward it, then back at each other.

Jack: (smiling) “Guess class is over.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s finally starting.”

Host: The light flared, the city pulsed, and the air buzzed with the unspoken electricity of choice.

And in that golden stillness — between control and courage — the truth of KSI’s words came alive:

That school teaches us how to follow rules,
but life demands we learn to break them wisely.

That true education begins the moment we question the lesson.

And that to be human — truly human —
is to unlearn obedience,
embrace uncertainty,
and trust that sometimes the only diploma worth earning
is the one you write in your own hand.