By: Kelly Chia, Humour Editor
Is this a confessional or a reckoning? At this point, I’m not sure. I am a destroyed woman. And it’s because of you. I will RUIN you.
Look, I know how I sound.
I’m a nice person. At least, I think I am. I always say thank you when I leave the bus, sometimes even when I leave the SkyTrain. But I am not patient. I’m about two inches away from releasing fresh hell, and I will not apologize.
A bit of background on my dilemma. I admit, this group project wasn’t everything to me, three months ago. I mean, it wasn’t graded strictly, and I thought we were all about sharing the tasks. Then, we had the naive pretense of exchanging contacts via Discord, or WhatsApp. We laughed about taking on group responsibilities and joked about the long syllabus.
We had the joy of laughter then.
But it is the eve before our presentation. The crux that breaks the ship on which our friendship sailed. I’m not dramatic. I tried to be patient. I believed that you’d do your part when I had seen you in class last weekend. You told me, with a smile on your face, that you’d respond!
I sent you a text through your cell number. I waited. I messaged you on Discord. I waited. Five days passed.
I accepted the truth. I have been ghosted.
You left me asunder in an ocean of Google Slide transitions and the most unhelpful illustrations. Please tell me how I’m supposed to use a vector of a sad boy eating ice cream for our Shakespeare analysis. You make me feel like a sad boy. With no ice cream.
Left in my thoughts, I monologued on and on, much like Edgar Allen Poe and the worst group partner. You were supposed to be my partner, and you’ve parted my heart. I am running on three Red Bulls, and I’ve just had a revelation. In fact, I’d call it inspiration.
Tomorrow’s presentation will not only have no trace of your work in it, it will condemn you, in the most academic sense. You see, I have decided to do a fun mad-lib. We know the plot of Othello so well now, I’m sure the class will be excited at my creative decision to use your name in place of Iago. You are the betrayer!
Tomorrow, you will receive my fair deliverance. Everyone will hear it, the professor, the TA, and the class that could really care less. What use is the high road in a 100-level Shakespeare elective?!
. . . Or, I could go back to my chicken noodle soup, and never look at a Messenger group chat, ever again.
