The year was 2010, I was introduced to It in a well-lit room with light-blue brick walls – where, near the deranged blinds, a malfunctioning wall fan bows its head so morose, seemingly mourning my block’s loud chattering. In my head, I was apologizing to the insentient yet suicidal fan, but I could not concentrate. The scathing fear of the unknown was more prominent and dominating.
I could smell the fright that was circling the air – block mates’ faces full of doubt, because they knew this one-and-a-half-hour session was not for them. It was a mistake to have come here. Their body language would try to repress, “I am here against my will!” but fails. We are supposedly communication majors, and as all com-majors do, a riot amid disdain was considered. The wall fan’s head bowed lower. It wanted to escape the stench of our fear that made the heat hurt more.
The shrill noise of the bell demanded abrupt silence. Shortly after, a man wearing black long sleeves and slacks entered the room, his long hair tied to the back. He carried nothing but a brown satchel. For a minute, we mistook him for a hippie. Tension filled the air, and then he welcomed us to what would seem to be hell for the majority of my conyo English-speaking block.
But to me, it would be the class that would change the Atenean that I would become. Read More