- eight.
Take a bite
ᵇᵉᵃᵇᵃᵈᵒᵇᵉᵉ
——————●———
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
My greatest achievement cannot be that I've had no achievement.
Yes, maybe, but right now, fuck that, because this is so minuscule and stupid but it means so much to me that I'm the master bee at some regional spelling contest and I'm getting paid and I'm meeting other people like me and I'm so young and full of life yet so good at my job and professional compared to these old hags and fuck! my ego boosts and it's bad but it feels so goddamn good. But today? Today comes with something new. Something surprising. Today I meet writers and speakers, like me. Teachers. Ones who somehow found inspiration in places like this. If you can believe it.
That was May. I spent most of my break working, which I didn't hate because I actually like my job, unlike the boring fuckers at my school.
By May 6th, I'm back on campus and I'm, surprisingly, happy. My hopes are high, It's gonna be great, I'm officially an art major. Can you believe it?! Everything is gonna be so good this semester, from my art classes to the diplomates. It's my second semester and I'm excited and hopeful and gorgeous.
The art professor is this old lady who talks like she has been deprived of it since the 80s and, I'll admit, it is a bit annoying but it's art, and art is annoying and happy and angry and beautiful and if I don't calm my excitement down I'm gonna have an aneurysm.
I have to retake bio this semester because I withdrew it last but this time the professor is cool and lively. Venezuelan, short enough to be mistaken by a 12-year-old probably, but nothing a dandy and hopeful Marie can't handle. I'm so happy the joy is seeping through my pores and mixing with the sweat and makeup the Caribbean heat smudges off. It's been one day and I'm gonna paint. Paint! for a class, my very first AP art and design.
By Friday of my first week, I have a four-hour gap because of my English class at 4:30 so I decided to head downtown and get paint but the heat was so awful I think I was fainting on that fucking bus and when I walked on the sidewalk, I could feel the scorching hot pavement under my shoe and I promised myself I wouldn't wear these fucking shoes ever again.
I Ubered back to campus with blisters on my toes and sweat marks on my clothes. Had a can of Coke to try and keep myself alive. I swear Hell's headquarters is right under this piece of shit country.
So my second week was also good. I talked about fashion in class and how high-end couture and Hauté have always been associated with class and socioeconomic positions. I'd forgotten how much I love talking and being unapologetically geeky.
Two boys from my biology class have been coming at me a bit often and suspiciously. I think this is the first time I've gotten so much male attention ever, truly. I look around the dining hall for an empty seat, plate in hand with my big Bambi eyes.
"Here, Marie"
"Over here, Marie!"
"You need a seat, Marie?"
What the fuck? why are all these men calling my name? Now I don't wanna come off as an attention whore; genuinely, I don't know what the hell is happening and frankly, I don't think I'm that comfortable with being perceived like this by boys. If only the girls wanted me like this. How did I get this way? I don't know. I feel like I'm cosplaying a girl most of the time.
But I do end up sitting with two of the boys because, well, I wanted a fucking seat. It was a dull conversation, with nothing in common. They're fun, I'm just awkward. And because I have nothing to do after this, I head to the library to cool down.
