fact is enraging

What’s wrong at saying the most of truth?

When you lie, you’ll get to pay for it in whatever stifling way you could imagine. When you become (so much) truthful, you’ll get to be rewarded by some folks who could demarcate a lie from fact. That was then.

Today, most of us are living with the cloud of pride and egotism blinding our sense of reason that we lose our fair perspective to things which we often treat abnormal regardless of its normalcy.

I had the most trembling experience yesterday – I contemplated myself having seated on an arm chair in the far right side of a room. It was suffocating there. I had two companions who sat beside me (each of us was divided by a chair to avoid dittoing), they were Maui, who wishes to get a spot as a layout artist, and, the other who was seating next to Maui, Mary Grace (she, same as me, is struggling to get a spot as writer). We came late at the venue which I supposed was hiding from us. As soon as we finished filling up the attendance sheet, we started off with the test papers on top of our tables and top of our priority that day.

The written exam was divided into four parts: Spelling, Grammar, News Writing and Editorial Writing.

The room was filled with hard-core aspirants who might be wondering why they were there in the first place. Some were opportunistic who thought of themselves as sages and warlocks of [w]riting. While the rest retained humility over two hours of finishing the crucible.

As I see the words entering my eyes, dominantly surpassing one another to get to my inkling first, I felt really disappointed. First thing in that morning, Maui, Mora and I were swapping comments about the institution (as they call it) we are ‘dreaming’ to belong to and then after a few times wrestling through boredom, we found that hiding room.

It wasn’t that difficult as what Mora told us prior the exam. But it was only the first half of the 100 per cent qualification, the other half lies under your rhetoric. “I could make it”, I told myself while scribbling something on the paper. I even straightened up to leisurely allow my blood to run freely, which in course would make me feel relaxed.

The facilitator let us move to the other side which is sufficiently ventilated (but due to the fact that it was indeed a humid afternoon we still felt chafed by the heat).

Forty long minutes have passed and I was through. The first set of interviewers took respite while the remaining people released brine. Thereafter, another ensemble of inquisitors has settled on each respective station. I was then asked to enter.

There, they asked me questions from a standardized questionnaire.

“Tell us something about yourself”, the ‘healthy’ man bellowed.

I retorted accordingly.

They, ‘healthy’ man, beautiful girl in yellow, and a tacky girl, repeatedly thwarted me questions. I guess, I have answered them quite right.

The conversation went to a sort of confession about my sentiments over the newspaper itself and the news. The man (insistently concealing the forming of rage behind his calm appearance [which I was able to catch]) lectured on me right after so as the beautiful young lady in yellow top and blue denim. I succumbed to their ideals by simply nodding.

I was then summoned to go back to my seat. Afterwards, I shook hands with them one by one.

I got back on the hard couch and related my story to the girls; we had shared a good laugh.

So there, it was their moment to sit on the torture chair (Maui first then Mora).

Oblivious of what happened inside, we went out and got a glimpse of our friends. We talked, walked, and laughed.