Diary Without Pages

Trivia I find Ignored


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Honest Choices

For the last six-ish months, I’ve been learning Arabic. It’s not one of those side projects, or extra credit kind of deal, we’re talking full time, 5 hours a day, 6 days a week. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve even started thinking in Arabic, however clumsily. My professors tell me that’s a milestone. I don’t know, still feels like a shitload I don’t have a clue about.

Since the first time I walked into a school, to the day of graduation, what I studied, what I learned, what I memorized has been predetermined. Anything and everything that I have associated with the word ‘study’ was what I was supposed to study. I learned what was laid out for me. From a syllabus I had no say over. I didn’t hate it, per se, I was good at it. Didn’t really have to struggle much, took it all in stride. Eventually, it did get kind of old. Don’t get me wrong though, I absolutely loved school. And college. But it didn’t even occur to me, until after graduation, that now I had a choice. An actual choice.

I could become an architect, an aeronautical engineer (I became one in a dream I had long time ago, so it sort of stuck in my mind), a doctor (well, not really, I didn’t go to pre-med) or anything in between. So when I did chose, learning a language, I mean, it was my choice, mine. And that more than anything else, made me want to learn, want to speak it more and more fluently, made me want to be so good at it, that I could be happy with myself.

Usually, I don’t really like to talk about myself, I’m more of a people pleaser, so I try to be funny, end up being sarcastic, because I don’t really know how to be funny. But this is an honest-to-goodness diary entry, that I had to write somewhere down, and since I didn’t really want to get a diary just for this, so there.

To all my old, old friends on wordpress, I hate apologizing over and over and over, but every time I write a post, it’s usually been such a long time since the last one that I feel like I have to, like I owe you guys. Even though you probably have forgotten my name by now, I haven’t.


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Chagrin

On a whim, I decided to take on a writing challenge. I just saw a couple of familiar faces on the trifecta home page. And decided this would be my next post. So, tell me what your views on this, frankly hasty, story I came up with. Though if you’re expecting something deep and thought provoking … don’t.

The rules are something like this…

On to the word.  This week we are using Tales From the Rhoen’s suggestion.  We want between 33 and 333 words from (and including) the third definition of the word:
1: generally used, applied, or accepted
2: vernacular <the vulgar name of a plant>
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– Chagrin –
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He saw her before she saw him. The sight wasn’t pretty. The weird girl everyone kept talking about, weird was definitely an understatement.

He had heard before that she was enrolled in his class. But she had never showed up during any of the lessons, so he had just disregarded the hype as an urban rumor.

Pulling himself together, he marched on. He slid the door open. But the moment he entered the class,”OH SHIT!

He saw everybody with their noses in their physics books, and he remembered, today was the grand test the physics teacher had been fussing over since Christmas. “I’m dead.” ,he thought with his mouth dry.

He sat in his usual chair, drinking in the scenery of the breath taking green forest that rose up along with the mountains. Stretched across the horizon, it was soothing as always.

The test began too quickly. He didn’t even have time to skim through the first page.  He sat there, with the pen in his mouth, gazing out the window. If he was gonna go down, he was going down with a smile. He absentmindedly passed a smile to the teacher who was looking at him suspiciously.

Then it arose, writhing inside of him. With a gurgling sound only he could hear. He knew what was coming before it did. He braced himself. Looked behind him, to his shock, he saw the same weird girl sitting, or rather dozing off behind him. He thanked his stars that she was asleep.

I know how to do this. Gritting his teeth and giving himself moral support, he opened it just the right amount, not too tight, not too wide. And then, with the force of a steam engine, the gas escaped his anus. It took concentration and will power to keep the hole open just the right amount so that there was no sound. He sighed with relief. It was over.  

“Vulgar, aren’t you.” came a bored voice from behind.

He froze.


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Teachers…Where is the Respect?

I remember that in 4th grade…or was it 5th? I don’t really remember it that clearly. Anyway around that period I remember that I was home, doing my homework, listening to my sister and mother gossip about stuff I didn’t understand at that time. I finished what I was writing and started packing my stuff, my mother, apparently not too confident in her son’s abilities told me to hand the assignment over so she could check for mistakes. After like 2 or 3 minutes she told that I had made a mistake, I took a look and the word she told me was spelled wrong was actually spelled wrong but with a smug grin on my face I brought out an assignment checked by my teacher earlier with the same word spelled the wrong way.

My mother, intrigued took a look at the page and said flatly,”Your teacher made a mistake.”

It was as if she had told me night was day. Disbelieving I told her,”That’s impossible! Teachers don’t make mistakes.”

My sister, mocking me, said,”Why? Are they not human?”

“They are teachers!! You know….the people who teach? They are not supposed to make mistakes.”

Both my sister and mother went hysterical after that little showdown. I did not believe them until after my teacher had confirmed she was wrong.

This continued on for two or three years I believed that incident was an exception and I believed in their knowledge unconditionally. After that…I guess…I just grew up!

Now, when I remember those times and compare it to the present, the difference I see is respect!

Back then I wouldn’t have dared call my teacher by her first name, even among friends. But now every other guy in college I talk, to talks about their teacher like they are the just filled with crap.

Some of you might disagree, but another difference I see is in the results. I recall that when I was in 3rd grade my percentage never fell below 85. But now the average result hardly crosses 75.

Believe what you will, but these are the facts.

Do You Remember Any Such Incidents in Your Life?