My Multiple Suicides
I received my exam results last week. I was still away and waited for the SMS (“text message” – I prefer the latter term, but the former is shorter and has generally adopted into the South African tongue) in trepidation. I counted off the minutes to midnight, but then eventually accepted the reality that I would have to go to be in stead of waiting up nervously. I needed the sleep for the next day and message only came around two in the afternoon.
My situation was not admirable: my Maths papers were a nightmare and I was completely unsure of whether I did sufficiently in my Applied Maths paper to pass. My best-case scenario, apart from a complete miracle and total collapse of the academic standards of the University of Stellenbosch, was that I would pass Applied Maths but have to rewrite at least one of the Maths papers at the end of the year. But I had already made peace with having to repeat a subject next year. So is life.
Then my cellphone (“mobile”) vibrated and sounded off. I read the message. My phone is one of the first colour-screen models and has an infuriating lag when opening messages. The message opened, and I had to blink a couple of times to focus and discern between the abbreviations and numbers. It was close – very close – nauseatingly close – but I made it. I subdued myself and checked again. Unless my friend had a sick sense of humour, I was in the clear. I considered the former situation seriously, but then embraced the relief. I live again. Another trigger pulled; another empty chamber.
This was, however, not the first time I’ve been in this situation. More or less the same thing happened at the end of last year, which makes this my second terrible exam in a row. Experience teaches one, however, not to have hang-ups about the past, but to look forward and try to improve oneself (I did have one minute improvement).
Ever since the end of the third quarter of my grade 10 year, I’ve had times like these. Granted, my academic expectations and achievements have deteriorated considerably, but the process of powerless waiting and worrying remains the same. At least I’ve learned to deal with the whole thing better (I now have an entire untouched array of procedures, threats and begging techniques I can draw from in the event of a failure).
I feel like a cat with nine lives. When I survive a situation as I just have, I know I’m still alive, but one of my lives have been lost. This is all fine and everything, but I’ve lost count. This is bad. But that is only one analogy. Whether it is dumb luck, destiny or divine intervention, I don’t know how I’ve survived so far. I don’t deserve it. Really, I don’t. A man is only allowed so many cock-ups. But here I am. I can sleep peacefully and breathe out a pledge to work harder next time so I can avoid such an experience next time.
Just like I did last time. “Click”.
My situation was not admirable: my Maths papers were a nightmare and I was completely unsure of whether I did sufficiently in my Applied Maths paper to pass. My best-case scenario, apart from a complete miracle and total collapse of the academic standards of the University of Stellenbosch, was that I would pass Applied Maths but have to rewrite at least one of the Maths papers at the end of the year. But I had already made peace with having to repeat a subject next year. So is life.
Then my cellphone (“mobile”) vibrated and sounded off. I read the message. My phone is one of the first colour-screen models and has an infuriating lag when opening messages. The message opened, and I had to blink a couple of times to focus and discern between the abbreviations and numbers. It was close – very close – nauseatingly close – but I made it. I subdued myself and checked again. Unless my friend had a sick sense of humour, I was in the clear. I considered the former situation seriously, but then embraced the relief. I live again. Another trigger pulled; another empty chamber.
This was, however, not the first time I’ve been in this situation. More or less the same thing happened at the end of last year, which makes this my second terrible exam in a row. Experience teaches one, however, not to have hang-ups about the past, but to look forward and try to improve oneself (I did have one minute improvement).
Ever since the end of the third quarter of my grade 10 year, I’ve had times like these. Granted, my academic expectations and achievements have deteriorated considerably, but the process of powerless waiting and worrying remains the same. At least I’ve learned to deal with the whole thing better (I now have an entire untouched array of procedures, threats and begging techniques I can draw from in the event of a failure).
I feel like a cat with nine lives. When I survive a situation as I just have, I know I’m still alive, but one of my lives have been lost. This is all fine and everything, but I’ve lost count. This is bad. But that is only one analogy. Whether it is dumb luck, destiny or divine intervention, I don’t know how I’ve survived so far. I don’t deserve it. Really, I don’t. A man is only allowed so many cock-ups. But here I am. I can sleep peacefully and breathe out a pledge to work harder next time so I can avoid such an experience next time.
Just like I did last time. “Click”.
posted by phantom-99w at 16:14
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