The time I'm thinking of was the morning of my IELTS test, about three years ago, in Kathmandu. Ironically, it was the one day I'd planned to be early. The test started at nine, and registration closed at eight thirty.
I'd set two alarms and prepared everything the night before, but I made one big mistake: I relied on a ride-hailing motorbike instead of asking my brother to drive me. The first rider cancelled after ten minutes. The second one got stuck behind a political rally that had blocked the main road through Baneshwor, and the traffic simply stopped. I could see the minutes ticking away on my phone, and at eight twenty I was still about two kilometres away.
I felt pure panic, the kind where your heart is in your throat and you can't think straight. I'd paid a lot for the test, and my university application depended on the result. In the end I made a split-second decision: I got off the bike and ran. I ran the last two kilometres in formal shoes, carrying my passport in a plastic folder, and arrived at eight thirty-four, completely soaked in sweat. The staff were strict, but because I was only a few minutes late and the queue hadn't finished, they let me in.
Looking back, I learned two things. One is to always have a backup plan for important days, and the other is that staying calm matters. I was so flustered during the listening section that I missed the first few answers. Now, for anything important, I leave an hour earlier than I think I need to.