Bio in the Caf, Calc at the Gym
Disclaimer: Significant portions of this post were written while listening to unconventional eastern rap. The reader has been forewarned.
Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I've always been under the impression that examinations, exercise and food were all but staunchly miscible. For instance, when I did biology way back last to last summer, we were asked to write our final provincial exam in a palatial gallery that so strangely reminds me of food and nourishment: the ever entertaining cafeteria. Upon hearing this, I went all Texan: "Bamchickalam, you gotcha my notcha, what's going on dude?" Alas, but my pleas went unheard. During the entire duration of the examination, I was constantly reminded of food, not any food, but of good tasting junk food, of chips, of juice, of chocolate and of everything a dietitian would disapprove of. I didn't feel well at all. And I could barely think of anything biology. But I did manage to ace that one question that had something remotely talking about digestive juices…
I'm going to have to recall those same sour memories once again tomorrow. The felt experiences, the misery of not being able to concentrate, the Texan interjections, the agony of delicious pictures orchestrating a frivolous dance in front of you, mocking, jeering and deriding, the tediousness of a subject that has held my fascination for the longest time ever, the heat of the silence, the pregnant pauses, and the pressure of the examination. Yes, this year round again, we've been asked to write our calculus final examination in an equally blasted palatial hall: the gymnasium. If I had been born Texan, you could have found me bouncing up and down on my head no end because of the craziness involved in the decisions the powers-in-be make these days.
Reminiscences of those old sportive days, of indoor soccer, of basketball, of volleyball, and of badminton all come flashing back to you, running havoc like little children returning home from vacationing in the Bahamas. Your adrenaline levels kick up a notch. The bemusing yet bemouldering mistiness confuses you no end. The differentials and integrals suddenly seem like unconquerable boulders. Your eyes begin to go blurry, your pulse rate quickens and simple arithmetic becomes as monstrous as a Godzilla consuming growth pills. Combine the dampness of the gym with the heat of the moment, and you'll quickly see what I'm talking about.
I have a dream, that one day, a day not too far away from today, we will have special examination halls dedicated solely to the purpose of writing examinations. A hall where all noise but yours is filtered out from your hearing. A hall where all smells, all memories and all incongruency are filtered from your poor, desperate, concentration-attempting mind.
