Ah, the great day in which the rest of the world doesn’t do anything special in particular, but which is still the most important day of my year has arrived! Yep, my birthday! It was last week but I was far too lazy to post on the 27th of February, so I’ll post now. It shall be a post describing the despicable first week of the new semester, containing some thoughts regarding my new age and a very important reminder about the reasons I am still torturing myself physically, emotionally and lastly, mentally in the university I hate more and more each semester.
Okay, so I’ll begin with the first week. Oh my God, I almost snapped! Seriously! Uni hasn’t made me so angry for a loooong time. Maybe because until this wretched semester (which will burn a hole in my soul until June comes), I’ve always been lucky in the teacher department. Not anymore! Be it Karma or just another cosmic joke, this semester, my luck basically ended once and for all. I can’t describe the hatred I feel for some of the so-called “teachers”. And it’s not fair. I mean, I don’t even care about this stupid school, I just want to finish and get it over with, so why do I have to suffer? Cosmic _|_ to me, I guess.
So after a week of pouting, cursing, making threats, I was sure my friends had had enough of me. Hey, I wouldn’t have blamed them! But come Friday, and everything changed. Not even sleep could help me forget the pain of lame education and I was still angry the entire day, even as I was preparing to meet them for my B-day dinner (we have this custom of feeding the rest of the group on our birthdays, which is awesome!). Now, I’m not gonna lie, the presents helped a lot! I DESPISE getting presents. Mostly because I rarely get what I want and most of the times, it feels like there was more money spent than an actual interest. Not this time. Probably because of the fact that my friends are wonderful, smart and they really know me. They feel my soul and I almost cried when I opened my gifts. Everything mattered to me, everything from the bottle of whisky cream (yes, I do drink, mostly socially) to the superb metallic sculpture symbolizing my star sign to the immensely heart-breaking collection of highschool photos. Awww. Such times. The company was great, the food was…out of this world (must eat the veal in Gorgonzola sauce next time!!!) and I realized (well, actually, I was reminded ) that they are the reason why I’m still in my lame university, where I have to ignore all the mumbo jumbo that over-rated egomaniacs spew out in order to “inspire us”.
I don’t give a spit about your god complex. Okay, you’re the smartest, the most wonderful, the brilliant gods of technology and computer science (which I hate, by the way!). So what the hell are you still doing here? Why are you teaching in this backdrop of a country? You think the university is so prestigious and magnificent? It is, sure, following the almost nonexistent standards of this wretched country. I’m just saying…I respect the superior IQ of SOME of my teachers, but I could never appreciate a smart person (aka nerd in their time) who sucks as a human being. But there are some teachers who I really like, and if they ever fail me, I won’t hold it against them. One of them is a prominent figure in my school and I respect him for his mind, humour (sometimes scary, but infinitely entertaining), for his interest in his subject and in us, meaning, you actually know at least SOMETHING after you pass his subjects, and for the fact that he actually TEACHES, a strange, alien activity that is seemingly forgotten among most of my respected teachers. He writes on the damned board, you have something to look at, and something sticks with you, no matter how lame, stupid, bored or sleepy you are. Unlike other wonderfully designed classes where a student is meant to sit down, usually on a horribly uncomfortable seat which hurts your spine in three different locations, staring aimlessly at an enormous PowerPoint slide or a pdf/word doc, supposedly absorbing the unique brilliance of the words thrown at your face. Up to this very moment, the only teachers I did not abhor were the ones who taught old-school style, and they were the only ones I would not have hated for failing me. Strangely, none failed me. How bizarre indeed…
Anyway, back to me. A week has passed since I turned 20 and I have to admit I had expected it to be deeper, more poetic, more dramatic. Don’t get me wrong, the first two weeks of this dreadful semester were pretty damned dramatic for me, but not in a good way. But I don’t know, maybe maturing in age is overrated. Yet somehow, a small part of me can’t help but being excited. My age’s prefix has changed. I am no longer in the 10-19 decade. I have surpassed most difficulties of a young person’s life, like the passing from sweet, sweet childhood into awkward puberty and teenage rebellion. I have been through enough exams to last a lifetime (unfortunately more are coming, but ah well, I don’t think I’ll ever be surprised again), and I’ve had to face most of my fears (opening my heart to others, my first love and my true love, letting go and accepting change, my fear of needles <you simply cannot imagine what that does to me>, my fear of loneliness and of the dark, talking in public, etc etc etc). These years were anything but boring, they were so full of memories, so full of joy, of laughter, of tears, of dreams and some of those dreams have come true and, like the dreaded exams, more are coming. I have never been able to classify myself as an optimistic or a pessimistic. I change according to my mood, but I really don’t want to believe that life sucks. Yeah, okay, I know the saying: Life sucks and then you die. But before you reach that abyss you cannot escape from, there are so many elements that can cast light upon all that is sucky and definite. I know that when my friends will read this, they will remember how I freaked out this week, sometimes at my breaking point, because of some of the teachers who pissed me off. I know you don’t like to see me like that, guys, and I’m sorry, but you know me, and you know what it is that bugs me, but I won’t go into that. The bottom line is, though I may accuse and scream, and get rough and violent, and though I may close my eyes on all that is given to me by your presence alone, not to mention your friendship and love, I would never turn from you and you are the ones who help me deal with everything that pains me. I love you so much for that.
So I am looking forward to the next decade. Supposedly, our bodies mature fully at 21 and our personalities mature completely at 25. Since I consider myself fully perfect already (duh, like the gods of old), I think I’ll just work on giving up KFC, so my innards don’t mature into dust and rocks by the time I turn 40. Anyway, hopefully, this little blog will still exist when I’m 30, and I’ll be able to write about my next major milestone, hopefully with a little mini-me jumping around and hitting the keyboard randomly, while speaking in fluent English, French and Na’vi. Just imagine…
