Dear Stranger V

Dear Stranger,

I returned to school after a stint with mental illness and people were still bothersome as always. Seriously, people never change. People always have the immense propensity to stay the same and often the more it is impossible to justify a person’s bad behavior, the more their inclination to not change at all.  I cannot understand this. No one can.

I tried to push my forbearance to the hilt but it seemed that my absence from school had destroyed my immunity to momentary human nuisance. My teacher didn’t help either. It was like there was a unanimous conspiracy with the universe to destabilize my mind. For the entire week I could understand why I felt better in my miseries than I did coming to this place.

strange pic

But in the face of all these cumulative sufferings and evil perpetrations from numerous scoundrels, I would rather die with these people than spend half an hour with the family physician if I must tell you the truth. There is something I cannot quite paint about his person. But in the core of my imagination I found him to be quite lousy. I do not think he is a quack or anything but honestly wouldn’t argue aggressively in a court of law. I just felt he was a bit lousy when it came to details. You would imagine a person who had handed to him, the life of another person, would be a lot more fastidious than he was but that would be asking for too much from this sort of man.

It was annoying the way in which my family revered him. He was like a god walking in the tracks of men whose fart was the buzz of life that kept the universe ticking dangerously to the end of its expectancy. Such a sad thing it got to me. The veneration crippled me. You would think everything he touched turned to gold: the wizard of the old order who left relics of gold on earth like an ancient alchemist sea washing away the sins of mankind. One day I would – when my balls of steel have grown to unimaginable size – challenge his tyranny and attempt to jeopardize the very brittle threads that held the seam of my family together.

The coming weeks were a lot better. Projects were choking everyone in the esophagus like a neck tie and pseudo decorum was hovering around college like a vagrant wind. Some of the bad boys had forgotten how to be rebels all of a sudden and the ones who still remembered couldn’t harness enough attention to constitute nuisance. College was a sort of ghost town with pirouetting dormant demons on the loose.

This was my best time of the school year. Only closely challenged by examinations period. I always argued noncommittally that it was the best time of my life, which generally didn’t improve my already solidified weirdo image. But really it was. I couldn’t stand listening to a person go on for eons about a thing or a concept they would have otherwise written in a book. The way I thought about it was, anything that could be understood when written down in words should never ever in a million years be mindlessly repeated with mouths. And the overall organization of the educational system didn’t get this. No one does anything for others and gets it right because everyone wants to do things in a way that it benefits them.

It got weird. I wasn’t the group leader but I found myself in a position where I had to do the most work because I spoke the best English. It is ironic how you have to lay down your life for others because you are near impeccable. And to be honest I couldn’t get used to this situation. Give me a million and one years and I still wouldn’t. I am usually the kind of person who contributes nothing but aggressive criticisms to group projects and who in the end comes to change the project font, patting myself very violently in the head, spreading my chest and nearly dying of exhaustion. It is indeed understandable when you have to work with people who would rather use Times New Roman like we were navigating downhill to the Stone Age.

This was the best and worst days of my life. My group members were left with no other option than to exploit my genius, and I am genius enough to know when people do this. Honestly the best exhibition of sheer genius is to be able to put out of sight the fact that you are one. Because then you are able to get away with a lot of things. A fool always gets away with things, great and small. A genius, on the other hand, is held to great standards, it becomes near foolishness to appear as one. I was a genius for this people. But a momentary one. I soon figured I could get away from everything just by magnifying my mental health disorder. And boy did I over amplify the thing. It wasn’t long and everyone was working harum-scarum to get the work done.

After the project got turned in, I had ample time to embark on road trips with my family. It was a windfall to my entire form of being. I haven’t traveled in years and this was sort of long overdue. But my family found a way to ruin it for me. They almost always ruin things for me. My uncle, who for over ten years had his whereabouts unknown to me, was invited and all he did was chatter with such unattractive gusto I spent half the time glowering at him and the other half wondering aggressively how he hadn’t manage to attract a stand-up comedy show all for himself. But then again he wasn’t funny; put this man in a room full of people and all you would have were people who passed away from stagnated boredom.

It feels so good to write something that is not academic related again. I would go further but everyone who would constitute an audience to my loquacious uncle is fast asleep. He is now talking to me with great enthusiasm. I am bordering dangerously on writing to you and being cryptically rude to the brother of my father – I put it this way because I imagine it erases every sense of endearment between us. The road trip would span for days. I would tell you more about this in subsequent writings. Thanks for your audience. Till next time.

Manuel.

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