“Why are you so stu . . . ” Even though my math tuition teacher failed to finish her sentence, the small class of six pupils knew what she was about to say (stupid) and whom she had aimed it at (me).
It all started because of a dream. One about Pokemons, or more specifically, evolving a Pidgeotto into a Pidgeot. Admittedly, I was evolving some of my Pokemons before hitting the sack, but to actually dream about the virtual monsters was another thing altogether.
My husband and I had a huge argument some nights ago. It was about my pride and unwillingness to see my own faults. He was so hurt that he went straight to bed after his shower.
If the interviewers knew the type of student I was in school, they would probably have rejected my application right away. I was hyperactive, restless, and even “overly dramatic”—according to one teacher’s description in my report card.
It wasn’t an easy decision. I was comfortable where I was. Besides, I had spent more than half a decade in this environment. My workplace was basically the same university I had studied in.