this one is called fuck

Fuck.


I fucking hate exam time. I hate it not only because it’s a stressful period, but because it keeps reminding me about how much of a fucking under achiever I am. I put in the work, write a mountain of notes, verbally revising the material to myself as I walk around the house, and for what? It amounted to fuck all in the end.

It’s so funny though, now that I think about it. I waltzed into that motherfucker ready to kill it. I was confident, striding into the room like I had a big nut sack – this confident swagger of mine reflecting a positive attitude that I was actually going to do OK. Then I remembered Newton’s theory of gravity – and let me tell you that shit brought me back to reality faster than a bullet train. It happened during the 10 minute reading time. This 10 minutes either makes you or breaks you. If you know your shit, you start mentally developing answers to the questions. If you realize you cant answer anything, you start mentally reevaluating your life. Between you and me, this 10 minutes broke my balls savagely. As soon as i flipped the page open and read the first few lines my mind became a fucking void…everything I revised took its coat and sneaked out the back door without saying bye. It’s like you’re at some party, you see a friend, you turn around, then the next minute you’re just like “where the fuck did they go?” Yeh..that ‘friend’ was my study material. We ain’t friends no more.

But what really made my balls shrivel was watching the people around me. While im there, squirming in my seat as if im sitting on pins, my peers are frantically scribbling all this shit in their paper - each word they pen bringing them closer to success. This one guy next to me looked like his hand was gonna explode, and it made me sad because I wanted to put my hand through that strain, but unfortunately it was just siting there, all dormant – lying like a little bitch because it had nothing to write. Every word for me became a struggle…an uphill battle..an Everest of sorts. So what was I to do? I felt compelled to stick it out for the 3 hours, and just sit there, for the sake of it. My mind kept telling me to stay put, and for a brief period it really helped me resist the temptation to leave. It’s like a psychological thing…you feel that by leaving early you’re not taking your shit serious enough, and that for some reason the longer you stay, the better you’ll do. But then 2 hours passed and I realized I could do no more. I thought, fuck it, picked up my things, and left the room.

Walking down the stairs I felt defeated, and just empty. I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and got to contemplating about shit. Aimlessly wandering around, I felt my stomach churn as I realized that this was just another addition to my life’s most recent failures. I thought it would be an avenue for success – a kind of platform to build on, to reflect on as an example of triumph to stay optimistic for the future. But nope…study became just another addition to that growing list of failure. I couldn’t help but say “when is God gonna cut me some slack?” It’s wrong, yeh, I know, but I guess in life we don’t want to register or be responsible for our failures. Success we are more than happy to take credit for as we bask in all the glory associated with it. But failure is like farting in public - everyone does it, but no one wants to be attributed to it. We prefer to shift the blame onto someone else because we are too scared, or too absorbed in denial.. It sucks having only myself to blame, but I suppose that’s the only way we really teach ourselves to tackle things more efficiently the next time we’re confronted with a challenge.

Yep, so I just fucked up. Again, and again, and again.