Well, something happened. Something.




I had spent the whole week mulling it in my mind. At best it felt like a joke that happened over Halloween, foul eggs over heads and ah well-diddly-doo it‘s just misfor-tune. At worst it felt like a nagging frustration, and after awhile it was everything the flustered facets of life that come even if you don’t call for it. Sometimes I go WTF and sniggered (because, if you look at it, it’s pretty darn funny). Sometimes I go WTF and felt WTF. The sort of trouble that you go whatever with, partly because you don’t care, even if it’s stupidly clung.




But the weirdest part is, when I think of it, is that I haven’t really felt angry. Frustrated and jived up, yes, but angry… erm, no, and it’s starting to feel like an anomaly. These were the things in life that made you feel angry, the ones that punches you like an uncalled swing of the fist in the midst of the crowd. I mean, by right, if you’re in my shoes, you’d most likely be feeling pissed. I’m not pissed. I’m strangely calm. I’m just wishful that idiotic things like this wouldn’t come, and damn me if it isn’t idiotic; I think the thing that frustrated me most is the fact that this is downright the stupidest damn thing ever.




This was what happened, and I’ll lay it straight down on the table; I’ve gotten into trouble with a lecturer.




I hear the ay caramba! It felt a little familiar. Very familiar. *CoughTMJCough*




But here’s the real punch line; I haven’t done anything.




It didn’t mean I didn’t do anything wrong. I had played Hangman in class and wasn’t being too subtle about it, but I wasn’t being anywhere near distracting either. But I had played, and I think to her (the lecturer’s eyes), that was enough to land me under the neon limelight. She probably didn’t have a good day, because she went on an outburst. The type teachers get when they’re agitated, when they felt they weren’t appreciated well enough; it was almost standard procedure (my apologies to teachers worldwide; such generalisation don’t do your dedication justice, but for that we have teachers day and a genuine thank you if you’ve been great).




And then the lecturer had yelled at me, and shouted that I’ve been demoralising and disrespectful, and that I still have the gutso to smile through all that (I’ve been looking up at her with my head rested on the table, and by heavens I didn’t know she was staring at me, hinting that I’m the one, I’m the one, and suddenly I was accused of smiling). And then she said that anyone who doesn’t enjoy this could’ve just signed attendance and leave. And then she shouted for me to leave. I left.




And suddenly I was back in Form 3, looking up at Puan Faridah, her eyes bloodshot and brimming, overflowing with maddened craze that that was strewing her hair, roughing her voice, and her pupils just told me, shouted at me, I’ve got the authority, kiddo; I’ve got the crown and the throne and the position and if you’re going to do something, DO IT. I DARE YOU.




I remembered feeling a little angry, and a little shaken. After that it felt pretty funny (I was smiling? Dear goodness gracious was I really smiling or do I look like I was smiling or maybe I should just really shaved the moustache). After that I was alright.




Here was the simple explanation that I’ve realised after my exit from the class; she was having a bad day, I wasn’t being a helpful student, and it was just a big misunderstanding, the bit about smiling and being deliberately oblivious and disrespectful. It was all a bloody misunderstanding. I can live with that. Maybe it’ll blow over. Maybe I’d apologise.




But it didn’t end.




The next day was her tutorials. I went in and kept the low profile (it isn’t hard; my profile, aside from the bulk minus the height, is physically low already. I’m generally more prone to daydream or doodle away than to be participating in class). I got a nice wallop of a jibe at me, which I just smiled to myself. Leave it be, and it’ll die down. Most battles are won without fighting.




And then I went out of class to answer a call. What happened in the class after that was, according to classmates, the lecturer stating that I seemed like a very successful businessman, leaving class to answer the phone so often (turns out that it was the first phone call that I had in her class that I tried to answer, and somehow once was a couple of times). Kelvin wasn’t happy with the jibe and left. I went in and got yelled at again. And then she said I got an attitude problem. And I might get a letter from the dean for disciplinary action. And she hadn’t been unfair, she hadn’t sent me out of the class yesterday (apparently, I left on my own account after she ‘hinted’ who she was displeased of), and that why people like me had to go and ruin her day and trouble everyone and disrupt everyone’s studies…




The only thing I said to her was, “excuse me?” when I entered the class and she asked (yelled) if she should apologise to me.




Oh, right, I hadn’t even made a single retort. I’ve officially pissed someone off by doing nothing at all. Someone pass me a cert. I’ve graduated.




Then I thought I’d go and just apologise, because this is getting ridiculous and my friends are starting to get the heat (great friends as they are, they stood by me… thanks). I called her a few times but she refused to look up. I dragged Pauline out and left.




I won’t meet her until next Monday. I don’t know how I’m going to manage in class without another episode.




You see, back during TARC and the TMJ incident, I had brought it upon myself. I had launched a personal catapult, yelling Fire in the Hole and dove head-on like a brainless moron. At least, back then, I could justify to myself that the trouble I got myself into, I got myself into. My shit is self-collected and scattered around to be stepped. This time, the shit was knee deep and I sat right into it.




I don’t know. Now I’m in a dazed limbo. I’ve gotten my pals in trouble; they had stuck up for me and they’re getting the heat. I don’t know if I should really just walk up to her and call her a paranoid bitch. I felt that I could swallow the shit and go and apologise, provided she’d listen. The biggest part of me now is saying Fuck it, you did nothing wrong, she can’t do jack-shit. But it’s like I said, really. The reason why I’m aggravated is because this happened while I did nothing to incur it.
Ah, yes. Injustice. That’s always a hard thing to stomach. Wherever, whenever.
I think I’ll do that. I think I’ll Fuck it, I did nothing wrong, and she can’t do jack-shit.
Whatever.

*********************
I think, kind reader, you deserve an apology.
I finally got this incident out of the system. For a better use of a horrible analogy, it feels like after one’s done the end bit of diarrhoea, felt shaky for a day or two, and then felt the lightness of the body after a purging. Right. My apologies again.
The trouble of being a writer is that, at the light, sight and blight of everything, one will feel the need to write it down, limn it, mull it over and over and then leave it out in the open. At the end of it, even if one is not particularly satisfied or proud, at least the thing’s out of the system.
I got this out now, finally. And I’m feeling like I’m kilograms lighter.
Thank you, and Goodnight People.