That afternoon, she walks into the house for the first time. It's dim. The ceiling light shone weakly. A thick curtain covered the window. "Good afternoon", they exchanged greetings. She saw a mahjong table in the center of the room. Books, papers, folders, a pencil case covered the green table. Instinctively, she walked over and took a seat beside her student. Question after question of mathematics filled the stale afternoon air. "Do you understand?" "Yes, I do", the student always replies, albeit with a blank expression. That blank expression that fills the face of the dazed, the uninterested, the blur. The mother puts on a surgical mask and gloves and begins wiping down the room. Every spot is kissed by the cloth gently. No area is missed. It's strange. A musky scent filled the house, the corners are dark, the walls black with years of neglect, the sofa peeling from mistreatment. Yet, the mother is prideful in her job that afternoon.
Nothing ever really gets me down, other than when I feel that I am not wanted. One of the saddest moments is when someone isn't happy to see you. Body language tells a whole story on it's own. How pathetic is it that someone you barely know can raise a bigger smile. I hate life in university sometimes. None of the lecturers, professors, doctors, tutors, teaching assistants really care if you do well. Their job is to come to lesson, dictate the information word by word. If you are smart enough to question what you're learning, what you're doing then good for you. If you aren't, then try your best to tread water and not drown in the ocean. For the next 4 years. I don't understand how one can improve and learn from mistakes when tests don't even come back, not even results. Are we supposed to just bumble our way around? How am I supposed to know if I'm doing things right or wrong. Throwing people into tests without any practices just doesn't make an
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