Friday’s Frustration

Friday is the best day yet frustrating for many to go on, knowing that it’s the weekend next day.

As always, Friday is not only the best day for any student or Monday-to-Friday job holders, as it gives hope that tomorrow is the long-awaited weekend that comes every year for 12 months with each week having one, in total 52 times, which sum up to 104 days, but also quite frustrating for many to go on, knowing that it’s the weekend next day.

(I will be talking about student life as I’m one myself.)

I personally feel it is very tiresome to go on Friday, especially when it takes me an hour or more just to reach — “The Destination of Four Years.” But to ensure my attendance meets the criteria that will decide whether I be allowed to sit in the final-term exams or not solely depends on my presence in the class. Humorously, in that moment I conceive myself to be a person too invaluable to be without — you can say “Shadow in Eminence,” though reality sucks, and I had to swallow that bitter pill every day to meet the oh-so criteria.

Unwillingly, once again, today I had to taste the bitterness of “having to go," the first stage, by waking up early in the morning — a phrase too commonly known but yet so difficult that hardly anyone can follow willingly, though I’m reluctantly having to, by shattering the ethereal dream of living in never-never land.

Then comes “preparing to go," the second stage. Yeah, if it’s a village, wearing crumpled clothes will do it for boys. They really don’t care what the people they know will think, but it’s always the ones we don’t know of — I call them ‘headaches’ but when it comes to university, things get tricky—"headaches turned into panic attacks.” Coz you need to look like Mr. Perfect to impress not only pookies but everyone around you, including teachers and boys too. That’s how boys are — intricately simple.

Their whole life depends on two phrases, either, “Boys will be Boys” or “Men are Simple.”

Now moving to “departing to go”, the third phase. By taking the bus, which took 1 hour to reach the varsity— "The Prison of Zenda" and 1 hour to arrive back at my home — “The Comfort Zone”. In the meantime, inside the bus, sorry, the rollercoaster, the whole journey is about you going up-and-down for the whole trip, and that’s how our journey to reach our intended place ends there.

(Stages over, Real Journey Begins.)

Getting off the bus, I get to see our block 1— A Work of Art (at a lesser level). After entering my block, the first class I had to take was that of Madam Shadab Fatima. I call her ‘Lady Fluencia’, though in my heart, one of the finest lecturers of the English Department at SBBU SBA University. All the frustration I had during those three stages, 1/2 of that just disappears after hearing her fluent and smoothly uttered voice that overflows with sardonically genuine approach, facts, and perceptiveness.

Today, she was teaching us about “neoclassicism” while comparing it to classicism. The only line I remembered from her class was, “Neoclassicism is (poor) imitation of the classicism.” That one line with the touch of sarcasm, the way she explained. Anyone could fall in for such a sarcastic way of explanation, teeming with concepts. I could never ever forget that line. Many questions emerged afterwards that I wanted to ask her, but I could not due to the given circumstances at the time. Perhaps in the next class, I might ask her, given that a teacher like her can make anyone bend to participate.

And here comes the twist: there are always teachers, “The Antonyms of Lady Fluencia”, who just come to clear the syllables with a concept-null approach and sometimes just to “kill the formalities bird.” That was the case with me in the second class today; I could not complain. Such is the definition of life, where joy and sorrow are the parts of life.

However, I’m a “man of concept.” If teachers have that, I can blindly do anything they ask me to. If not, then there is a dialogue I often use, “if you want my respect, you must be the owner of the word — concept.” Though that doesn’t mean I disrespect them; sadly, it’s just the 1/2 of frustration that vanished before comes up with interest — I become dull and dizzy in the classes, and let alone the attention, I just wait for the minute wheel to wind down and end. It’s not just my problem but the problem of every conceptual learner, especially on Friday.

After getting the frustration, that I, get back with interest-included, moved forward to another being I highly admire in the third class — the last dance of Friday, our Education Psychology teacher. If there is a teacher that meets criteria to be called one, then it’s just her. Not calling out her name has its reasons behind it; perhaps I could not find any suitable name like Lady Fluencia.

“She is a teacher to be learnt from,” that’s the only way I can describe her in one definition. Today, the topic we were being taught about was, “Multiple intelligence” — like people got different sorts of intelligence. “Don’t judge a book by its cover”, that’s what came to my mind during that lecture and the concept that she conveyed. However, to make sure that we fully grasped the concept, she made us do an activity — I would rather say it, “An Activity of Art.”

The activity was all about drawing something relevant to “space.” That’s when I got the chance to pour down all my frustration into drawing something full of emotion and imagination. Perhaps the drawing that I made was the very ethereal dream that was shattered in the dawn-break of Friday.

Maybe the only way remains to reminisce about it is poetically:

“Away from the worldly life,

With my alienship on Jupiter’s night.

While beer accompanying my hand,

Beneath the shade of umbrella,

I feel aesthetic vibes.

In the middle of the night

With a stelliferous view of the void.”