Humility

She is standing in front of the class, pushing her perfect hair away from her face and chomping her gum loudly. It is lime green. The sight of it makes me want to vomit. She has no papers in her hands like all the other people did. She's not prepared. She smiles brightly, flashing her pearly whites at the teacher, who gives her a tight smile in return. She rambles on about how she wasn't really sure what the prompt was, but like she tried and like yeah and like I think this chapter was about the human genome, which was like awesome and all that jazz. I can tell by the way she speaks, the way she's so cocky in front of the class that she doesn't care about this subject and she thinks it's an easy A. The teacher asks her a question. She pales noticeably, not knowing the answer. "Maybe you should actually do the reading before you get up in front of the class and waste everyone time." She's taken aback, but tries to hide it. She tosses her hair and marches back to her seat, tripping along the way. The way she sits in her seat now, the way she begins to take notes. . . I can tell she's learned her lesson. I hide a smug grin. She got a C. . . seems fair enough.

Kinship

I am getting dressed upstairs in my room. My work uniform has been through hell and back this week. I really, really should buy more than two pairs of work pants. . . I slip into my uniform, and walk back out into my room. My roommate is sprawled across her bed, laughing at something funny on Youtube while texting her friends. Life just seems overly bubbly for her. . . she wishes me a fun day at work, but I just grimace. Ever since she stopped working, that line has meant less and less to me. It's genuine, sure, but something about it doesn't seem fair when financial troubles don't exist in her life the way they do in mine. Speaking of financial troubles, it looks like I'll be eating on campus to save myself the couple bucks. I take the elevator to the ground floor, and walk over to Manzy Square. The girl at the register is somewhat familiar to me. She lives at Manzanita as well, and is one of the only people I know (besides myself) who seems to be at work 24/7. She smiles at me as I approach. There's something in that smile. Something that says, "I know how you feel," instead of the nasty looks everyone else gives a girl in a work uniform. She swipes my card and hands me my reciept. "We girls gotta stick together," she says with a smile. I grin. She's absolutely right.

Love

I can't quite decide if it's difficult or easy. Falling in love seems easy enough, though if genuinely terrified like some people are, I can see how it could be difficult. What I do know is that love is complicated. Complicated in ways of which movie should we see, complicated in ways of timing, and complicated in ways of which level are we on. A lot of people think love equals heartbreak. That to feel such immense pain at the loss of someone constitutes love. . . and I suppose that's true, though cruel, to be honest. What love is to me is simple gestures. Like a boyfriend that spends all evening with me. Who puts up with my obnoxious roommate and takes me out to dinner and tucks me into bed before he leaves. A boyfriend who knows me well enough to know that I'm not actually asleep. My phone goes off, and it's him. Immediately, I answer. He tells me to go to the window. I throw off the blankets and run to the window. He's standing beneath a light, waving. I wave back and he blows me a kiss. He wanted to see me one last time before he went home. I laugh to myself; love is simple like that. . .