Call me by my real name

September

I shoved my headphones on and walked into the crisp autumn air.

September.

With a bag on my back and suitcases that come above my waist trailing beside me, I looked forward at the cobble-stoned pathway – the trail to my new home. As my bags jostle and teeter down the path, I can feel the wind pushing back my scarf from what should've been a position secured by the reductionist's laws of physics and gravity. It falls over my shoulder and onto my back. It's uncomfortable. It's not supposed to be there.

But I carry on forward to the receptionist desk in an attempt to look collected and calm.

"Kaylie Paik. I'm a new student here. Block D."

The receptionist takes a quick glance at me and starts typing up my name into the system. "Wait here, I'll get your key." As she leaves, I try to straighten out my scarf, put it back in its place. I pull my suitcases closer to me as if trying to minimize the space I take up.

I stand slightly to the side of the queue in an attempt to not block anyone's way and lean onto the right side of my leg so as to look bored and send a message: I'm waiting. The guy behind me nervously shifts up the queue and we make that annoying, awkward eye contact you make when you both know that you're in the same boat but don't really know how to approach each other. (Or well, it was like that for me. The guy behind me just struck up a conversation like it's no big deal, a few seconds after the suffocating silent social interaction.)

"Same dude. Same." I nervously laugh, since that's what you do when someone tries to empathize with you. You laugh.

"You're new here too right? What's your name?"

"Kaylie."

"Jared."

Cue: another pair of awkward smiles with too little teeth.

"What course are you?"

"Psychology. You?"

"Experimental physics."

"Wow. I heard that's such a hard course. You must be so smart." Note: I accidentally said this with too little emotion to make my compliment sound genuine, so I paired it with a set of impressed eyes and a smile and hope that it works. "Yeah. I guess it's pretty tough. But psychology is even harder isn't it? You guys have to write and read so much." He's right. If you put it like that, I don't really know why I chose this course. "I mean, but I'm really interested in it... so I guess it's worth it?" He laughs at my question. He does it in a way that makes you look at him. It's not good-looking, charming, or attractive in any way, it's just refreshing. He laughs like a kid, throwing his head back a bit and covering his open mouth with his left hand. You only really see or hear about these gestures in YA novels. Those stereotypical guys with strikingly handsome green eyes and wavy chestnut hair, throwing their head back while laughing and then coming back up to look at you with a gleam in their eyes. Fuck off. Nobody fucking laughs like that. They spit, they snort, and they fucking roll if it's funny.

But nonetheless, the guy standing behind me defies these reduced laws of behavior (I think, I wouldn't know because I haven't started the course yet) with his refreshing laugh. I conclude in my head that he's weird.

The receptionist comes back with an envelope with my room key in it and instructions on how to use it. "Bring it back once you have your student ID card and we'll pair it to the room keypad so you can open the door using your ID." I nod and thank her. As I quickly make a start moving out of the queue and towards the doors with my huge-ass bags, I hear the guy behind me clear his throat. "I'm Block D too. Want to go together?"

Let's stop there.

Okay, so to this question, a normal person would probably say "Sure", "Okay", "Sounds good" or any other positive thing since you're supposed to make friends at college (oh wait no, they call it 'uni' here). But here's how I responded:

"Good."

Good?

Good?

Good?

What's good is the fact that he still went with me after this confusing response.

Who the fuck says 'Good' in response to 'Do you want to go together?' Kill me now.

He finishes getting his key and heads towards me. We make that deafening, sickening, throat-clogging eye contact again, but with a smile featuring forced muscle movement, and walk towards the doors together. I should've just done this alone. We walk in silence for a bit before he clears his throat again -- does he have a cold? "What room are you?" I think he's trying to fill up the silence. "D423. You?" I ask out of courtesy, not because I necessarily care. "D436. We're on the same floor." "Oh my god, yeah." I try to sound enthusiastic with a brighter smile than what I should've aimed for.