It Isn’t Hard, Is It?

By: Anonymous submission

Campaign: Anything and Everything

#literature

It's Monday morning, 8:10, and I just arrived at the tutorial room where the psychology class takes place. It's a small room that's just big enough to fit in about 20 people. I walked into the room from the back door, which is just 4 rows away from the stage. The class had already started, and everyone was taking notes of what the professor was lecturing about. The only person who seems to be as tired as me is the professor, his voice is flat, dull, and lifeless. I sat down next to my classmate, who scribbled on her iPad furiously. 

“What are we talking about now?” I asked,

“Hu?” she answered, continuing to scribble notes into her tablet

“What are we talking about now?” I asked again, a little faster.

“Oh, I don’t know, just copy down what you see, that's what I did.”

That's the worst suggestion I have expected from her. Does she really think I don’t know how to take notes? We didn’t have any other conversation for the next few minutes; there was only the sound of writing and the monotonous voice of our professor. 

“It isn’t hard, is it?” he asked

Of course not, it is very hard, and I don’t think he is doing a great job explaining. I miss the time in my childhood when I understand most things at once when mentioned by the teacher. How familiar it sounds to me when I heard this phrase, “it isn’t hard, is it?” Where did I hear it, or am I the one who said it?

I was a temperamental person in the past, before university; I set high standards for myself and others. I once believed that everything is accomplishable if you put enough effort, and failure can only be excused for not trying hard enough. This mindset has stuck with me throughout my childhood, since I rarely encounter predicaments. The most common problem I always face is complaints from peers when doing group projects. I expect my teammates to be as hard-working as I am, and I’m mostly upset by them.

“It isn’t hard, is it?” the professor asked again

“I don’t understand, can you explain it more detailed?” a Thai person in the front row asked.

“This is only basics, you should have known these ages ago.”

Thanks to my classmate, I’m not the one being roasted by the professor for not understanding what he is talking about. I finally understood how mean it is to criticize a person asking for further explanation. Before university, nothing irritates me more than being asked by questions continuously. You would hate me if you're a thick-headed person. I feel bad for being arrogant. Some of my peers avoid asking me questions for this reason. I should have taken a look from others' perspectives. 

“If everyone understands this concept, we are going on to the next unit.” he said, as he moved his sight away from the dictionary-thick textbook for the first time to look around the class. At the same time, I finished note-taking. You cannot imagine how sour my hands are. Others are still taking notes; an indian with thick glasses has his face one inch away from the notebook. I had gotten used to seeing different people from diverse countries, and I can tell them apart by appearance. This made me think of my elementary school, where there are lots of foreign classmates. There were Japanese, Korean, Malaysian, and American. I had a fun experience in my elementary school, until I transferred.

The new school was smaller compared with the first one. There are more classmates in a class. Before, we had 20 people in our class, but now it's 40. I had to deal with more people, all new to me, it was not pleasant. To be honest, this transfer has made me better overall. My academic performance improved so fast that I didn’t even know I had the ability to do that. How I deal with people has completely changed; you may think I’m a different person if you know me from the previous elementary. I learned to differentiate between a true friend and those who want to set you up. The way I talk became more euphemistic. As a whole, I don’t regret transferring.

In high school, I owned my personal laptop and tablet. I used them for school and leisure activities. Other than learning at school, I had lots of extra time. I like hanging out with friends, but sometimes, I like solitude more. In my own time, I discover my interests apart from studying. I read lots of novels, and play some games. The game I played was called…

“Excuse me, miss.” Startled, I looked up to see the professor, who frowned at me, looking disappointed.

“If you are not going to listen or take any notes, I’m not repeating or explaining this again.”

Looks like I have dozed off for quite a while, the clean board has become fully written, and I am sure that it's not the only thing I missed. He definitely has erased and rewritten multiple times, looking at its powdered background. The guy next to me is on her third page of note-taking. 

I once thought I am a talented individual. I score high on most classes, teachers liked me, and others take my suggestions seriously as if they are always correct. It could be my personality, the people around me, or both that build up my confidence. Maybe that's why I have been demanding to others. 

“…unit, okay, I think we can call it a day, review your notes, and you’ll be fine in next week's test.” he said as students swarmed out of the small door.

In the hallway, I caught up with the classmate who sat beside me. She's the only person I know in that class. 

“Hey, can you share a digital file of the notes you take with me?” I asked,

“Fine, which unit do you need?”

“The second one.”

“Okay, sure, but, it that unit isn’t hard, is it?

THE END