A student by vocation

2024 Author: James Gerald | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 14:00

Since the first class, I dreamed of being at the institute as soon as possible. My aunt brought me there for the first time, being left by strict parents for my nanny. Her lectures began, her parents lingered somewhere, and Luda made a bold decision, taking her obstinate niece to a lecture on history. The Forestry Academy made an indelible impression on me. My aunt dragged me down the corridor and hissed that we were late, and I stumbled at every step, because I was staring at the stands, portraits and stuffed animals. In the end, we flew into a huge auditorium of an amphitheatric type, which, with its impressiveness, finally finished me off. For an hour and a half I sat and did not breathe, watching the teacher move the pointer over the map, how my aunt playfully writes back notes to some redhead in the second row, how the neighbor on the right is concentrating on half a pencil, and the girl in front is painting her nails. In general, after the call, I realized - I don't want to go to first grade, I want to go to college!

I must say that not only Lyuda, but also my own parents, without suspecting anything, strengthened this strange desire in me with stories about their student years. Opening my mouth, I listened about student Kozlodoev, who drank fifteen glasses of beer on a dare and won this dispute with my father, about an exam in some kind of construction, in which it was necessary to draw projects of country houses and an assistant professor who listened with interest to Lyudmila, who I tried to convince him that outdoor conveniences in such a project are the norm, about how my mother's course went to weed beets and my mummy, one of a hundred people, managed to burn out so that she was sent to a burn center and all a hundred people went to visit her. I carefully studied the technology for making cheat sheets and diligently printed millimeter letters on pieces of paper sewn in a special way.

At school, I had to count some stupid examples, paint contour maps and draw details in a section. I patiently answered, decided and drew, knowing that the moment of my triumph is not far off, and soon I will also paint my nails at some university lecture.

Higher mathematics was the first university lecture. While this subject was on my schedule, I forgot not only that I was going to paint my nails at lectures, but also that I once wanted to study at a university. A humanist to the spinal cord, I diligently calculated integrals, solved matrices and sobbed over mathematical analysis. On the sly. On the kitchen. At night. Between the eighth and tenth cups of coffee before the exam. To put an end to the trampled dreams of makeup and manicure at the lectures at once, I note that mathematical disciplines hung over me like a sword of Damocles for two more years, transforming into various kinds of statistics and analytical subjects.

My university path began to twist in a terrible way from the second course - firstly, I had to change my country of residence, and therefore the university, and secondly, I had to get a job that required a diploma in economics. Sighing, I wandered off to the financial and economic technical school and began parallel studies at the correspondence department. True, I had to study in the evenings and at night, because the diploma was required quickly, which means that the subjects had to be passed almost independently and passed as an external student. Little by little, I came to believe that everything that happens to me in the field of special and higher education is a payback for my dreams with ten years of experience. My whole life has turned into one big exam.

At work, the boss sometimes looked at me thoughtfully, when I tried to solve the equation on the phone buttons, sat at the computer for the weekend and took home folders with documents. I learned how to give boxes of sweets and chocolates to girls in the methodological part, who already knew me and thanks to the donations, they made up an almost individual schedule with different groups and covered my forced absenteeism if the objects nevertheless layered on top of each other. The sessions turned into an illusionist show for me - I was constantly pulling out something, hoping that this time it was a rabbit, and not the most difficult ticket. The most offensive was my complete inability to use cheat sheets. I stubbornly drew tiny letters, attached elastic bands and sewn on secret pockets, but I could not use the prepared database! The hand seemed to be taken away as soon as I reached for the cheat sheet, my cheeks were filled with scarlet color, and tears welling up in my eyes from the consciousness of my own helplessness. So much for many years of training!

But the student fraternity was poured as a true balm on the tortured soul. Despite my constant wanderings in groups, a kind of community has formed that is not even connected by one course or specialty. Thank you, my dears, for slipping notes with missed lectures on time and buying pies for my eternally hungry soul! I hope that my essays, term papers and my eternally empty apartment were useful to you and helped in difficult times, and you remember me with the same kind word. I still remember with emotion how, in my third year, I managed to get to the hospital with an attack of appendicitis exactly on the day of the last exam, and when I opened my eyes after the operation, I saw you crowding around my bed with flowers and a bunch of bananas. Who else, if not you, would carry me mashed chicken and beetroot salad in a foreign city? Who would re-host the final party I missed because of the hospital? Who would persuade a teacher to go to work on one of the vacation days and take that very last exam with me? I take this opportunity to tell you that I love you!

Remember how, having received a diploma, we swore a nth bottle of a strong drink, which is more"

Guys, I'm an oath-breaker - I became a graduate student!