I get it, there’s a uniform, but come on. Where’s the individuality, the funky hair accessories, the hairstyles that suit the face, not just the fashion?

“Where did you say you’re from?”

The girls clustered near my desk — around half the class — are wide-eyed and curious. A few rows behind me, the rest of the class gather round another desk, where two girls, one dirty-blonde and tall, the other her dark sidekick, are holding court.

I’ve been a member of tenth grade — sorry, Year 10, welcome to England — at Peninas Bais Yaakov (PBY to insiders, apparently) for all of one hour, and I hate the place already.

It’s just so… same.

Everyone looks the same. Matching navy-blue sweaters and pleated skirts. Matching low ponytails. Around half of the girls wear glasses, and yup, they look like they’ve bought the frames at exactly the same store.

Is this what high school is like? I get it, there’s a uniform, but come on. Where’s the individuality, the funky hair accessories, the hairstyles that suit the face, not just the fashion?

I look down at my own navy-blue ensemble. Uniform, ugh. It feels weird and foreign, though admittedly, without any of my own clothes — no sign of the suitcases, and it’s been a week since I arrived – everything feels weird and foreign on me.