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I’ve been known as someone who strangely has the extreme need to be smart (please mind, needing to be smart and being smart are two different propositions). I turned aggressive when someone addresses me as stupid. I stop at nothing to shut their mouth, bury them, even. And I do this publicly. Revenge should taste ten thousand bitter. Sadly, at times, I lost.
The alter truth is, I enjoy being stupid. I like being around smart people and be stupid. I like listening to the beautiful thoughts they share. I love how they see things the way nobody does, and how they flip difficult matters to easy. Most of all, I love how they trust you with the things they share, that way they think you have the capacity to exerpt them. I love how their attitude shout that you —to them— are somehow someday are capable of doing the very same thing they did.
I spent this semester teaching a class where one of the students is a lady whom I suspected is way way out of my league. All this time, I made clear to my friends and colleagues that my classroom doors are —not closed, but— locked to them. I can’t stand the idea of them watching and play scores on me. Sweats will dip me, stutters will go with my speech. Yet something about this lady is soothing enough to keep teaching. I don’t have to worry that she will dub me stupid. Even if she does, which I don’t believe she had it in her, I don’t think I’d die.
She asked me for a tutor over a cup of coffee —offer I couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t refuse. I was right. To say she’s extremely smart is an understatement. She asked so many questions and formulated them in a flash. She even applied them cases to cases. This is something I never find in a student. Normally, I will in seconds feel small and embarassed. I wasn’t, though. Not very many people can be highly intellectual and comforting at the same time, and she’s one of them.
One day she approached me saying she may have something for me to work on. The project she handed me is something I have never done before. As scared as I am, she supply me with knowledge a piece at a time. Some time ago, I have the priviledge to meet her husband. To my surprise, sorry, I mean shock, she and her husband are two of a kind. They have years of experience of large-scale business of many kinds. I saw before me two people with same mind, same attitude. It’s like watching Episode 2 of A Beautiful Mind.
I thought to myself: all those knowledges and she still comes to classes, does her assignments which I know to her sound stupid, listens to teachers whom I’m sure are stupider that she is. Suddenly I fear of —I know— silly questions I asked her. I fear of what she may think of me. Quickly, I remember what my one teacher back in college said: there’s no such thing as stupid question. I bet all my movies-books-music collection that this lady share the same sentiment.
Meetings after meetings I learned a mountain of new things. Stories she tells constantly gives me the creep —this I mean in a good way. This is the highlight of my times of being stupid. I plan to continue some much more.
The alter truth is, I enjoy being stupid. I like being around smart people and be stupid. I like listening to the beautiful thoughts they share. I love how they see things the way nobody does, and how they flip difficult matters to easy. Most of all, I love how they trust you with the things they share, that way they think you have the capacity to exerpt them. I love how their attitude shout that you —to them— are somehow someday are capable of doing the very same thing they did.
I spent this semester teaching a class where one of the students is a lady whom I suspected is way way out of my league. All this time, I made clear to my friends and colleagues that my classroom doors are —not closed, but— locked to them. I can’t stand the idea of them watching and play scores on me. Sweats will dip me, stutters will go with my speech. Yet something about this lady is soothing enough to keep teaching. I don’t have to worry that she will dub me stupid. Even if she does, which I don’t believe she had it in her, I don’t think I’d die.
She asked me for a tutor over a cup of coffee —offer I couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t refuse. I was right. To say she’s extremely smart is an understatement. She asked so many questions and formulated them in a flash. She even applied them cases to cases. This is something I never find in a student. Normally, I will in seconds feel small and embarassed. I wasn’t, though. Not very many people can be highly intellectual and comforting at the same time, and she’s one of them.
One day she approached me saying she may have something for me to work on. The project she handed me is something I have never done before. As scared as I am, she supply me with knowledge a piece at a time. Some time ago, I have the priviledge to meet her husband. To my surprise, sorry, I mean shock, she and her husband are two of a kind. They have years of experience of large-scale business of many kinds. I saw before me two people with same mind, same attitude. It’s like watching Episode 2 of A Beautiful Mind.
I thought to myself: all those knowledges and she still comes to classes, does her assignments which I know to her sound stupid, listens to teachers whom I’m sure are stupider that she is. Suddenly I fear of —I know— silly questions I asked her. I fear of what she may think of me. Quickly, I remember what my one teacher back in college said: there’s no such thing as stupid question. I bet all my movies-books-music collection that this lady share the same sentiment.
Meetings after meetings I learned a mountain of new things. Stories she tells constantly gives me the creep —this I mean in a good way. This is the highlight of my times of being stupid. I plan to continue some much more.
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