Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Inside its Pale-Painted Pillars
Experience is our own best teachers; our classroom is our own best training ground.
I am palpitating. My lungs are throbbing hard inside my chest, gasping every piece of air escaping inside of me. My panting keeps on yearning as I stroll down the street. It is already 9:15 am and I am still on my way to Room 201.
As my already-exhausted legs reached the second floor of the College of Communication Building of PUP, my heart ran wildly like a horse galloping faster than my stride.
The corridor was filled with an awkward silence but the serenity of the place was continuously shrilling as a loud noise in my ear. I know the exam has already started and the silence keeps me on reminding to hurry up, to catch up to the exam as fast as I can, if I can be.
My fast pace came into a halt. I stopped unconsciously in front of Room 201. My eyes could not help to wander on the mob of familiar heads getting crazy over a piece of yellow paper.
Everybody may have not felt my presence. As I stood there in the twilight of the pale-painted pillars, my feet felt numb.
“Last ten minutes!” that old man balefully reminded the mob of people.
My nerves get shocked; I shivered on the three words spewed out by the somewhat wicked professor. The numbness dwindled suddenly, causing the excruciating worry to punch me out; making me fully-awakened.
“Good morning, sir,” I spelled out nervously. The three words seem like grinding my teeth. But however how soft I delivered it out, the busy bees and their king paid a second or two to peep on me at that portion of the room.
In that time, I feel like a quicksand was going to swallow me. It was very embarrassing. “Sorry I’m late.” I shamefully added.
I am not expecting for a whole-hearted pardon for that action but on his evidently disappointed face, I entered the room.
Slow-wittedly, I even forgot where I sit. Upon realizing, my back eagerly searched for my chair.
Upon obtaining the nirvana I ever longed for, I never thought that my journalism professor was now already reciting his melodious litany about my tardiness.
Someone lend me a paper so I can start my exam but I can’t hardly resist to not to listen on Sir Viduya’s speech.
“In the world of media, everyone is working under time pressure and you must comply with deadlines. You must come early to be with the flow. They will be not waiting for you. There is no room for your tardiness!” he said.
I feel weak by the pierce of his word. With a tap on my shoulder, I fast awakened that our exam will end in 5 minutes. I hurried up and fortunately got finished.
But then, I know that not at all times I could do the same.
Indeed, Room 201 could not be the room for my tardiness, so do other rooms.