So we don't have much time. So we're students. Studying is our first duty, above any need for recreation, leisure or basic human sustenance. Very spartan, I tell you.
That shouldn't mean we can't see each other. Of course we can! And we can sit, and we can chat. Even if there is really nothing to say. I mean who wants to talk about exams, right? Which colour pen I used? Does it really matter if I switch to blue from black? What really is bad karma? Is it a white lie if I keep my cell-phone in my pocket anyway, switched off and quite harmless, seeing as how I'm a wuss when it comes to cheating? Should I scramble through the attic in my head for answers, flip the pages through the book opened in my head and focus on that one blurred line somewhere? Or should I retain a certain poise, a charming countenance, a dashing handsome-awesomosity and an infinite grace as I cross out yet another question I can't answer?
Should I? Should we even talk about such things? What is there really in an examination? Tensions, hair-pulling-outing, glorious triumphs, disastrous losses and sometimes pyrrhic victories as you spend too much time to solve one question correctly (and away go the other two). Jealousy, envy, strife, corruption, conscience and that dammit Eye of Sauron, our invigilator! Agreed, it encompasses all of life's vexations. Plus great fantasy fiction. But that doesn't mean we must.
Speak of it, that is. No. No no. No no no. Please. It's over. Let it pass like the idle wind that troubles me not.
We can talk of better things, of happier things, of higher things, of greater things, of more meaningful things, and of things of little or no consequence to pretty much anyone.
For example, have you ever played with those rackets you get nowadays, that run on batteries and can be used to electrocute mosquitoes. I did! I warred with them! The wretched bloodsuckers fell around me as I, fresh from an inspiring re-watching of Star Wars, took out this strange, red, light saber thing and felled the mosquitoes right, left and center. I executed the most complex moves around the room, my each stroke stroked to kill. The racket hissed and crackled as mosquito toast was served again and again to my most excellent floor cleaners, my ants.
It was, so to say, in a colloquial sense, ozzum! I had my tactics all thought out and everything. There was always the good ol' straight charge, with rapidly oscillating racket to prevent them from slipping through any large enough gaps in the netting. That was for the initial rounds, before they could get prepared and require me to resort to advanced strategies.
Then there was the lull-into-false-security-and-then-launch-suddenly-back-and-get-em-boy maneouvre. Basically, I'd lull them into a false security (about their safety and well-being) and pretend to look elsewhere, or admire portraits, or comment on the weather outside and the like. You know. Suddenly, just when they'd let their guards down and decide to relax a little, I'd pounce at them with a "Hiya!!" on my lips and my saber cutting a deadly arc through the unexpecting atmosphere around. Hiss! Crackle! Crackle! Hiss! Hiss! Crackle! Crackle!
Finally, I had a vicious death-row move. I'd go almost blind in it, the racket a blur in my hand and my arms flailing with it everywhere. This works extremely well for inital charges as well. Or for a skirmish sake. Possible side-effects include a perplexed and bemused room-mate. You see, it involves breaking the sacred rules. You have to let rage take over for a bit. Now now, I know what you're saying. No good Jedi lets his anger rule his mind. Anger leads to hatred, hatred leads to a rush of blood through the head, a rush of blood through the head reminds you of Coldplay, Coldplay leads to more anger, more hatred and all new irritation now on top of it, and this surely does lead to the Dark Side of the Force. But don't worry. Have it under control, I do. Give those mosquitoes a whooping everytime, I do too.
And thats me. Right...about....now! You tell me, what up.