I thought that I missed university ...

... when a "sociology" buddy of me informed me that the Feminist Studies prof. had called my name the first day of classes. For a few seconds, I felt empty, lost, and utterly wishing that I could have said "Here" in response. This lasted for only a few seconds until I remembered something that made me rejoice in knowing that I would not have to grace the halls of UBC with my presence for another eight months. This story is entitled, "The Worst Day of Bryanna's Short Lived Life . . ."


It was a Monday. It was raining. And I had just received a Stats mid-term back that left many percentages to be desired. I was already feeling "low" and wished that I could just go home, but I only had one more class left in the day, so I did up my jacket, opened my umbrella and made my way through the rain to my next class. Almost five inches of the bottom of my jeans were soaked by the time I reached my next class and when I got there, I received yet another horrible grade back. This time it was for an essay that I had stressed over and pondered for weeks about. It was at this point that I questioned why I was even there. Why was I continuing to torture myself and pay for it? When the class was over I made my way to the bus stop. The rain beating on my face reminded me that I had forgotten my umbrella in my last class. When I went to go retrieve it, it was gone. By the time I made it to the bus stop my jacket was completely drenched. I wanted to go straight home, but decided to stop by the supermarket to pick up some groceries. The magnitude of this horrible day hit me while I was a few yards from my suite's entrance. I remember telling myself to keep it together until I was safely inside and away from the oppresive rain. I reached into my bag to get my keys...I rummaged...I set my groceries down and rummaged more thoroughly. Then, the utterly horrible truth hit me. I was locked out my house! On this day, the day that all I wanted to do was curl up into a fetal position and wish the whole world away. I stopped myself from crying and made my way to my landlord's front door. Luckily, she was home and she let me in through her interior entrance. When I entered my suite, I set my groceries down. I was thankful that none of my roommates were home. I ran into my bedroom and did not try to contain my tears. I cried for a good half hour. Wallowing in my own self pity. Unaware that it, indeed, could be worse and too disheartened to even care. When I had no tears left, I went back into the kitchen and put all of my groceries away. I had a long, hot shower and by the time my roommates came home, any trace of my emotional breakdown was washed away.

This, may seem to many people like a pretty tame "worst day in the life", but I heard someone say a short while ago something along the lines of, there will always be someone in the world suffering more than you are at that moment, but it doesn't mean that your pain doesn't count. This has stuck in my head since the moment I heard it and since then I have never said to someone who's suffering "it could be worse" or "think of all the starving children in Africa".