When I say candy, what comes to your mind? Is it a coloured piece of gum, a tiny ball maybe? Or is it a sweet smelling toffee wrapped in an attractive wrapper? Or better yet, is it none of the above? I bet I could get a thousand mental pictures from a couple of people and it wouldn’t be surprising to see that each would be different from the other.
Let’s get to the point shall we? I’ll ask you a simple question. Define a student. Give me one defining feature. Can you? Can you put all of the diverse qualities into one word?
I’d think not.
As we stood around the cadaver in the dissection Hall, I had an epiphany. It might be of no significance to you but for me, it was mind boggling. Even if we limit our discussion to the small group of students who surround the cadaver, it will still be a diversified description.
Each potato out of the sac in the market has a different shape and no burrito out of a food truck is the same. There’s always a difference and to that, I owe this little piece of research.
Let me start with the forerunners. These are the people who act like their life force is linked to that of the cadaver. It is quite ironic because the cadaver is pretty dead. I say dead because I can’t seem to find a better euphemism for that word. Endless coma maybe?
And one thing I’ve come to learn from these passionate devotees of the dead, is the fact that NO ONE is allowed to breach their circle of power. I repeat, no one. You so much as squeeze your finger between them, they’ll start a war and threaten your existence.
I value my body parts, thank you very much.
A forerunner, can be of two types. Either he or she is a determined and inquisitive learner or just a sadistic prick who likes being an inconvenience for the rest of the lot.
Before I move on to the next kind, there is a transient forerunner who occasionally likes to grace this vicious cult with his or her presence. His only aim being attainment of some kind of motivation to open his books and start reading.
For these people, give it up my friend. The dead can only do wonders if you’re brain has done some too. In other words, it’s all on the inside bro. Light that flame from within will ya!
From my personal experience, the short ones, for some reason, are always at the back trying to catch a glimpse of literally anything they can manage to see, through the gaps between people’s butts or just by shoving their faces into people’s armpits. All I’ve ever achieved by doing that is almost dying of the exotic scents. My poor nose I say. Just the thought of this makes me nauseous. I don’t think formalin is any competition for these.
Before I forget, I’d like to specially address the Burj Khalifas in the house.
Dear tall people, you’re not see through and I don’t think it’s your anatomy I should be looking at. So, if you wouldn’t mind, please step aside. I mean, I’m having to stare at your backsides for two hours! It’s not like I have a choice either.
I’m so well versed with the details that I don’t even need to see your face to tell you that it’s you. One look at your behind and I can tell which one out of the herd you are.
It’s a pity that this talent isn’t of much use.
Then there’s the group of people who just like squeezing themselves in between other people. This group, is the most lethal to one’s mental health. You never know what part of their’s is touching you and I swear to god it sends shivers down my spine each and every time.
Some just have this habit of resting their chin on the shoulder of the person in front a.k.a me. Excuse me, but do I look like your chin stand? If you’re trying to be all romantic then please know that all I feel is an uncontrollable urge to cut your head off and put it on the table.
I bet you’d have an unobstructed view of the cadaver then. Only, I don’t think you’d be interested then.
The people at the very back are mostly either the ones who have given up on this endless fight for position or the ones who clearly, do not give a damn. They could be doing drugs and getting high for all I care. Like I said, don’t give a damn.
Last but not the least, teachers.
My dear educators, well well well, don’t think I have forgotten you. I have a tiny suggestion for some of you who think their voices have amplifiers in them. Breaking news: they don’t. So try not to stuff your face into the cadaver because I don’t think I can afford the hearing aid it takes to be able to listen to you.
Yes, our generation loves to use earphones and yes, we are deaf. So would you mind turning it up a notch?
These teachers make me psychologically deaf even if my hearing is otherwise normal.
Now that we’ve established the intricacies, who ARE you?