A few months back in my English Literature class, we did a quick writing exercise. Under strict time constraints, we had to write the first thing that came to mind. We could then share our writing with the class. After which, we were given some more time to develop our “brain-dumps”. I chose to not share my piece, not for any particular reason, but I jut did not. So folded this piece of paper and chucked it into my bag. I stumbled upon this paper under my bed today and decided I would like to share it after all. Perhaps I can create a series of random pieces I write now and then, while passing time. I hope you like it, I do.
Nosi was tired. She was sitting in the third seat, second row from the front, of her Politics lecture hall, trying hard to keep her head from tilting while she dozed. She was exhausted from weeks and weeks of the routine of going to lectures, spitting out essays, taking tests, spitting out assignments, reading article after article, spitting out summaries… “. Either this or we’ll be flipping burgers of a griller at Burger King”, her friends often joke in a half-hearted attempt to encourage her. Why did her brain do that? She scoffed, annoyed at her sudden craving for a greasy, burger filled with abominations greater-than-which-nothing-can-be-imagined, accompanied by suspiciously tasty chips on the side.
I’m quite exhausted.
I’m not 8-5 grind, sweating on the side of the road, working at a construction site – tired. Neither am I 15-25 years spent within the same bland walls of a prison cell doing nothing but the same old thing – tired. I’m not even waking up five times at night to change my newborn’s diaper, breastfeed and rock her back to sleep – tired.
But I sure am tired.
I’m university student tired. Clean hands tired. Well-fed tired. Clothed-tired. But my brain is fried. Not tempura-fried. But over-greased with too many academic papers, viciously peppered with contradicting ever-changing realities and too many clashing flavours of theories that never quite blend… It is dipped in this and that batter of literature and somehow I’m made to believe that I’m seasoning, seasoned, cultured…better, better off?