On the train home on Wednesday, I had this horrible feeling of loneliness so bad that I even talked to someone I hadn't spoken to in a month. I walk into class, feeling like a loner as people pair off in their own friend groups. Even when we do talk, it's never long enough for it to truly nourish me or make me think that I did anything meaningful.
It's always small talk, usually. It's never anything truly meaningful, which perhaps makes things harder. I understand the purpose of doing so, and I enjoy making small talk with my friends and family. It's always harder with people I barely know and care about, but am supposed to be nice to for the sake of propriety. I feel spiteful whenever I see them talk, thinking, 'dang I wish this whole thing sucked less'. I don't particularly like or dislike them, and that much is reciprocal.
Then, there are the lessons themselves. Three hours of other people yapping. Nothing wrong, of course—I love not participating and not doing anything. I like to think I'm used to the way my lecturer speaks, but on this particular Wednesday, I just wasn't having it.
I had to manage my students' essay submissions. I got so bored in class that I started marking one paper, and it was littered with grammatical errors that it pained my mind to read, even when I wanted to be as forgiving as possible to this lovely girl who tried her very best to give me something original. Plus, God forbid, my supervisor actually got back to me! Emails from him always scare me.
All that aside, I had to go to the toilet during break, and I walked past the professor, and we all know that it's always awkward to walk past your teacher as a student. I enjoyed the Madonna music video and thought it's quite cool. The discussion that followed was painful. I don't like feeling like a burden and not contributing, but I didn't like the feeling of 'butting in' a lot more, so I dissociate and pretend to pay attention when people talk.
I barely remember a thing beyond what I've written here. At least I'm writing in the comfort of my own room after reading a good article on a Saturday morning with music in the background.
—
Take yesterday, then, aka Friday. Thursday was also an okay-ish day.
The research seminar was boring as hell, and I learnt nothing. I was, yet again, marking another student's paper who did reasonably well, and I thought she was too hard on herself. Anyway, Thursday isn't important beyond 'I bought McDonald's breakfast for lunch and I ate it in the auditorium with some undergraduates running amok'. It suddenly rained before the lecture, which was why that day was exceptionally cold.
It was four thirty in the afternoon when my friend and I walked to the bus stop after meeting with our professor over grading matters. It was a sunny day, and by then, I had already recovered from the perpetual angst that is Wednesday. Talking to them makes me happy. They're probably the only real friend I have here at NTU at the moment.
We were going to the Gaia building on the way to the bus stop, and something they said made me happy. A friend of theirs asked how lessons were going and, they said, "Well, I have a TA, my friend, she dresses like a cowboy. She's really cool." They were referring to my cowboy hat, which I agree was massive aura points, but I genuinely thought I was annoying. I'm also happy that they thought of me as a friend.
At some point, after walking, I was refilling my water bottle when I commented, as small talk, that I'm annoyed that graduate students don't have a home-based learning week while undergraduates do. They laughed and said they felt like a 'plebian' in their own class. They know nothing about the subject matter and recounted an embarrassing moment where the professor called them out for not saying a thing "all lesson".
It humbles me, almost. It's a very healing feeling to hear that someone as articulate, intelligent and even lovely as they can feel out of water. I ask them a lot of stupid questions, and they've even helped me write my emails. If someone I admire feels that way about their intelligence, then what does that say about me? I suspect such insecurities never go away, especially when trying something new.
Then, later, as we went home. I saw that they texted me about the stupid home-based learning week and bus crowds. I replied to them as I, ironically, was debating about whether to take a bus home instead of walking. Then, when I went home, they tried to make small talk again about the new F&B thing at our college campus. Unhelpfully, somehow I wanted to show them a book my dad bought and, as expected, they liked it. It's fun to bait them by showing them pretty books.
I don't know what this story means. I suspect it just means that I, yes, have a friend, and also a sobering realisation that I'm not fully alone. Even if this person is my only friend, they're still a friend and they're one of the best people I know.
