Day by day went repetitively toward December. Classes attended, events held, final exam coming. Everything said, heard and done was forgotten. Buried, at least. But the feelings remained, if not accumulated.
I met her in classes. I said hello, she said hello. We exchanged words. But words mostly only about the respective class. "Have you done your homework?", "Have you read the assigned classic text?", "Do you happen to have extra papers?", "What is your score?" . . . and in no time, things went back to normal. Not that we had openly confronted each other. Aside from the selection, we were somewhat friendly.
But the feelings remained . . .
Desiree and me were used to healthy competition in our classes. It was motivating. We playfully criticized the one with lower score so we could be on fire for the next examination. It was our way of communicating. Critics are supportive, so we sometimes applied it on other life aspects.
. . . if not accumulated
Slowly we learned: behind the critics were killing intention.
"You got B, Aruna? What a shame!"
"If only you paid more attention, you won't have to bother other people in class, Des."
"You really wanna wear that outfit? You'll humiliate yourself."
"At least I know more than talking sugar-coatedly; unlike you."
"Do you wanna be with Mazmur, Na? You need a lot of work on your body and face. You're pretty, but everyone wants prettier."
Supportive, my ass.
[M]
