There's no big a difference between breathing in an air of indignant a resolution and cognition and tasting the bitterness of being so impressed with the effect of principles or lies prevailing throughout the remote antiquity. From all the remote antiquity there's been blood people get born with, panting after the existence of future, achievements of goals, and drawing dreams.
For myself, there's always blood I was born with, ideas I am fostered with, willing to push away and liberate.
There's so big a difference between listening to these interrupted tones of the violin, murmuring sounds and praying expelled intentions, which are about to tear out my eardrum and listening to their shouts in the examination theatre which were about to get my brain ventricles destroyed.
I was supposed for my holiday to be walking through mountains of
, practicing the true meaning of being frozen, challenging this season and relaxing at the sight of snow all around. But I guess my circulation is better adapted for summer than for winter, and in my best conditions right now, I take a seat by the oil heater and have a cup of coffee, the best thing I can do, staring. Beirut
" I don’t know what rule on earth does allow them answering phone calls while playing the role of observing for an exam?!!" say I, damaged thoroughly, withdrawing into the hunched appearance of my garments generally.
Those people keep speaking, whilst other students keep asking, other teachers and assistant professors come in, more and more I get into a mess.
Wandering amongst aims to interrupt all that nonsense for sake of enjoying an environment healthy enough to do an exam and amongst supports to stay calm and try to ignore them totally – the thing I can never do- I become, and try to choose the fittest.
The latter aims escalate more vehemently , being buttressed by my point weakness, and tiredly trembling nerves, winning over finally.
As I am drowning into dropping down many dangerous thoughts, inhaling in trends of sun-heated air, that leak through the window, between edges of partitioned curtains, yellowish green, spreading over my exam sheet, the chief of the observers calls out " pay attention, time is almost over!"
In a shock, I realize I almost have fallen into a nap, cursing the only three hours sleep I got last night, I get to check the full number of multiple choice questions in case I might have missed one, and unfortunately find out I've already missed an essay question, pray I didn't discover it, and try by best gathering up my thoughts and start to write quickly.
As time is over, I don’t stop writing.
Somebody I can't recognize well stands next to my chair, I can feel his eyes jumping over the lines, perhaps fourteen seconds till he so violently picks up the sheet saying " go to hell!!! Give it to me!"
I just look at him from back as he continues walking along the line of chairs, and I really am so far unaware of which is closer to happen, heart over-beating, tears shedding or my eyes' angles closure.
I put my stuff , two blue pens, one pencil with a rubber at one end and a pink ruler, into my pocket, and pretend to be busy with my glasses and get out in a hurry.
I walk quickly, I so want to run back home, but running in this community is forbidden for girls in twenties and on, and unfortunately, I am twenty.
I pick up the phone, I so want to call my dad and burst into the repressible crying, but crying, for a silly thing like an exam, is forbidden here in my community, and unfortunately, its said I belong to this community.
Never is anybody aware of each one's anniversaries of deeds redolent of sacrifice. Neither I am.
Nevertheless, I am so aware of my crying not necessarily is for missing scores from the missed question, that huge and -perhaps- deceiving care I have banished so long ago, or let me explain further, I have banished since I first very understood that life is so great a meaning that should never work only for marks, despite marks are the thing –and perhaps the only thing- I can best work for.
That crying was necessarily supposed to be for sake of that " go to hell" I obtained effortlessly.
" I'd better go to an empty a place, I want to be alone for a while" I think. I so calmly drag tails of my skirt , in its indigo and walk off.
Before attempts to think of a peacefully blessed spring break, a war to remember is waged. It’s a single battle a war, a single enemy a war.
No sooner are decisions to accept them despite the big difference between me and them, the huge gap in between us and the no real friendship I find amongst them, are established, than the stark imaginary sociologically based ideas turns into stark persistent reality, that difference is difference, loneliness is loneliness.
Long ago, I had an idea that good manners are indistinguishable a way, or , its born with the same blood and from all the same remote antiquity; but now, I so know, I was partly right, the complete truth is, its important to let good things, including manners, grow up with us, eat the same food and drink the same fluids, so we all together, become complete, not necessarily perfect.
I could never, any once, imagine that someone would tell me "go to hell" one day, and not anyone, he's someone works in a college, teaching students, learning and even researching for scientific subjects. Whilst being a doctor , he's practicing health retrieval,
"How could he!!! How could he do all of this while he, in a simple moment, got me too ill, and practiced the play of hurting me, despite emotionally, while me, doing an exam!" interrupt the engaged pictures I.
I blame myself thousands times for I had, at least, to ask him why he did say that.
I blame myself thousands time for wasting my time with no courage awake.
I bring call back some events of memory, trying not to be so pushed a way I could oppress them or oppress myself.
"He's not the only one I meet here saying or behaving that bad!" I tell myself.
" since first year I came here, to this college, I didn’t like the way everybody behaved, spoken or even thought" thoughts I recognized trough their conversations, writings or even memorizing knowledge. Nothing has changed is absolutely right, but probably its me the one who's changed; I became more patient against their configurations.
I have always thought of expectations, intentions and deeds. I have thought that only choosing the way to do a good deed or having an idea about is enough to make someone brave, whilst the complete truth is to choose the right is an honor, and to start doing right especially by throwing mistakes as away as one can , or by silence, further behind deeds themselves, is the true bravery.
It’s the chain of a consequence of events that leads from the start of life in one end, till the day one's supposed to leave.
It's more a true investigation and analysis that I have the total right to be the one I want to be, I can be, or am ready to be.
Suddenly , my mobile phone rings " I'm at the gate, would you come please" says the driver.
I draw a smile from an ear to ear, end the call, towards the gate, I walk off.