as queer as a clockwork orange

“Are you trying to go all gothic on me?” – Violin teacher

I know my hair is getting long and my bangs are falling over my eyes but I didn’t know they could change my look so drastically.

If you hear excited squeals coming from a suite harboring the four Asian girls, you will probably think we are gossiping about guys. You might imagine us being introduced to a hot friend on skype by a friend halfway around the world. You might think, “Oh, they’re probably celebrating the fact that they all aced their exams.” You might be wondering, “Wow, they actually have voices.” You might finally realize, “Wow, they actually exist in this suite.”

But no, you’re quite wrong about us. We don’t squeal about guys or exams. Guys and exams…nothing special about them. They aren’t sweet enough to satisfy our cravings. They aren’t that perfect slice of beauty packed into a nice translucent plastic box. They’re always the stress causers, not the stress relievers. They don’t evoke that irrational impulsive reaction upon seeing a Boston cupcake. Yes. We squeal about food. We cry in agony when we don’t have good food. Conversations revolve around food. We are still mourning the death of Bear’s Den.

This is why I love my suite like no other. And we do exist, maybe just not in your world.

It is running through everyone’s arteries and veins, flooding our body with fear. It has engulfed every crevisse of our brains. It has infected our every thought. It has warped our vision, our sense of smell, our every touch. It is immersed in the air. Everywhere we swim through these invisible particles. We hear it in the coughs that resonate through the lecture halls. As we wait in line for lunch, we feel it on the back of our necks as the person behind us sneezes. We pray that it won’t sneak up our nostrils and consume us. The paranoia is almost unbearable.

But the plague is already in us. No squirt of Purell will kill it. Obsessive use of Lysol wipes won’t kill it. Long before the disease arrived we were already infected with the plague: the psychological plague of fear. It is even more contagious than the disease itself and it is killing us.

It’s not flu season yet and so many people have gotten their flu shots. So why does it feel like everyone is getting sick? I have ample reason (ie the cacophonous orchestra of coughs and sneezes during lectures) to believe that the fear and paranoia of getting swine flu is getting to us. It is making us more susceptible to the commonl flu. This almost obsessive fear has lowered our immune system probably because it’s causing unnecessary mental and physical stress (from constantly cringing at the lovely sounds of sickness). Sadly there doesn’t seem to be a socially acceptable cure as long as H1N1 decides to stick around. It really is a psychological case that should be studied. It’s kind of crazy how many invisible things can have such power over our lives.

Today was my first violin lesson of the semester and I wouldn’t say I was looking forward to it. I had hastily put on my powerpuff girls t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops and rushed to catch the bus to the 560 building. Nothing unusual. Until I saw my eccentric violin teacher. He always manages to make everything unusual (ie slightly inappropriate, slightly awkward, slightly comical)

I waited outside the classroom until my teacher opened the door and let the student before me go. So I went in and just as I was about to start playing the stuff I hurriedly practiced for an hour before the lesson, he scanned me from top to bottom and said, “You look good.” Obviously that was a nice compliment but he just successfully managed to make me feel utterly self-conscious and created a slightly awkward moment for me. You might think what he said was kind of creepy in a pedophilish kind of way. But it wasn’t that he could possibly be creepy in that way that disturbed me. It was the fact that he checked me out from top to bottom and judged me. He’s my violin teacher for crying out loud. Violin teachers aren’t supposed to care what form or shape your body looks or what crap you’re hanging on your body. I believe the music should be the main point.

But my violin teacher’s from Romania and I don’t know what Romanians are like but they must be really straight-forward people because that’s what my teacher is. Straight-forward. No shame. At all. On a musical level, the criticism becomes extremely valuable. On a socially normal level it can be kind of disturbing…and actually kind of funny too.