Inferiority.

A group of students raised their right hands eagerly. Some of them were shouting their class numbers, grinning and begging for the teacher to call them.

I sat quietly. Brooding? Thinking? Contemplating on whether I should kick my chair and throw my activity book towards my good-for-nothing-whiteboard-talking teacher.

There she goes again, using that dull, dull, dull voice. (A flashback of my former Biology teacher actually came to my mind.) Oh yes, there she goes again, talking to the whiteboard when she was hired to teach freshmen so-called College Algebra.

NO MA’AM, not all Accountancy students are whizzes in Math.

NO MA’AM, not everyone of us remembers how to do that fucking Pascal triangle.

WE NEED YOUR HELP, MA’AM.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE A PROFESSOR MA’AM, YOU’RE PAYED TO TEACH US, MA’AM.

Thankyouverymuch.

Numbers 13 and 20 are challenging me to a battle where the obvious victor is an inanimate thing. How am I supposed to fight with something I’ve always been slightly afraid of? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I curse myself for choosing this as my major. I curse my teacher for being lazy. Hell, I kind of curse myself for being lazy. I curse some of my block mates for being so fucking good in Math. Call it jealousy or whatever. B-but, I can’t help but feel inferior.

The bottom line is that. This is not just some rant about a useless Math teacher o a complex math equation, it’s a simple matter of feeling..helpless and stupid. God, I hate those words.

AND THEN I JUST CAN’T GET MYSELF TO GIVE UP. How can I when my future is on the line? How can I when I know that this is nothing compared to the obstacles I must face in the near future? Oh no no, I am everything but a quitter. So now I must end this with a promise that I will not let my insecurities faze me. This is me, fighting and running towards the unknown.