I sit in my classes, surrounded by the British voices of other students that drone on and on about things that make them feel smarter than me, and silently mock them for their sheer naivete in believing this is their defining moment in life. Grad school. As if this is any more important than undergrad, or high school, as if this is the moment where they shine to the bitter disappointment of all the bullies they had while they barely made it through adolescence. And I, hoping to God that grad school isn't the highlight of my life, spend the entire lecture wondering how I ended up in the same classroom as these robots.
In a classroom littered with the minds of tomorrow (what a frightening thought), the men voice their opinions wholeheartedly, the older women (the I'm-not-too-old-for-school ones) find a moment or two to share their worldly experience (usually about the birthing process), and me and M throw in an occasional original thought, cynical as it is, about what it is that we're discussing that day. That's it. The other "girls" in our class scribble down notes as if every worded thought of the professor is a little gold nugget to be saved for a day when they will be asked for their opinion on something. As a previous science student I've had my share of note taking, but considering my programme does not have any exams I feel the need to listen, not scribble. What a waste for these people. As it happens, me and M talk in class whenever we feel the need to discuss something (related or not), and get the dirty looks from the bespectacled mafia (also know as the other students). We are not in high school. His notes are online. Take the sticks from out your asses people, the world will not end if you don't catch one sentence. As the most colorful, opinionated, bold, and vocal in the whole room, me and M are probably hated. Whoopee. Like I care. The thing is I survived high school as a popular, intelligent, athletic, well rounded girl and as a woman, graduate school is not the place where I will break. They can look at me, and judge me, feel smarter than me (because they take notes, and live in the library) and hope I flunk out never knowing that I've made it out one of the hardest universities in the world. Sorry if I'm not so impressed with your degree from Wolverhampton University (come on!). I don't need to flaunt my intelligence, I'm secure enough in my abilities that I'm fine staying quiet in class. And if I don't stay quiet it is not to announce that I'm smart. Honestly, I could give a shit. There is more to life than the few hours spent in a lecture hall. The class has been permeated with a bunch of drab, gray and khaki people. Boring to the point of comatose, and I look around hoping for a sign of life. All I hear is pen to paper and I'm forced back to M.
Yesterday, during a lecture about globalization, M leaned over to me and told me she absolutely hated all the people in that class (immature, but true enough). They are relentlessly pompous and if it wasn't rude to fall asleep during one of their speeches about "development" I would. Suburban, or in their case countryside England, does not give you much understanding of the third world. Stick to Yorkshire pudding. M's comment was followed closely by another stating the girl next to her was a cunt (harsh word, wouldn't have used it myself, but that girl is a prima donna prime bitch...my words). I do believe she may have heard M and then spent the next class they had together staring at her with evil in her eyes (despite the Virgin Mary bracelet adorning her wrist...what would Jesus think?). The dirty look, or dirty staring as it evolved to, shook M up. We met up afterwards (I'm not in that class) and she was very distressed and upset about it. I asked her how she handled it and she told me she just ignored it. You have to understand my surprise. M is a very vocal, outspoken, loudly opinionated woman of 30 years who has been to law school and is uncaring of others opinions. She argues and does not care who hears what and does not mind awkward situations of her own making. I believed, wholeheartedly, in her strength, and ability to defend herself. It seems that although I am more subtle than she is, less willing to be loud and the "quieter" friend next to her, I was stronger when it came to self defence.
I get angry when I'm attacked. I shake, my stomach rolls and my eyes get cold. My face changes, my voice alters and there is hell to be paid. I have the tolerance of a saint, but if you send me over I will give you the wrath of hell. Pacifism is fine for the everyday, but that doesn't mean that I haven't got another side to me. But apparently, M, does not. It was a shock to see her so upset and all I could think was, "just stare at the bitch back!". Intimidation tactics are so obvious. If you have real balls you'll come up to the person, but most people wouldn't dare, which is why they give you bad looks. Staring back is an unexpected surprise response for them and that will stop them right in their tracks. They're too scared to do anything more than look.
For all the friends I have, for all the people I like, I am willing to handle my share of enemies. Sure, it's very hard for me to dislike people, and I think most people would like me, but most isn't all. I'm prepared for that, even if M is not. The Bespectacled Mafia are people who probably don't like me. But who cares? I didn't like them first. It is because I had already decided they weren't "my" kind of people that I don't care if they don't think I'm their kind of person. There are billions of people in this world. I will love many, hate many, and defend myself against many more. I am ready to take that on. I survived high school, I can survive grad school however many gray and khaki people I have to get through. So my world isn't colorful when I have to get my education, thank God for me my whole world isn't my education. The rest of my life is brilliantly colorful, and that's where I reside.
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