I walk towards main campus in an okay pace..
I could say am a bit excited but then I have learned in this life to get excited over anything.
The thought of coming back here for postgraduate still crosses my mind but I honestly don’t know why I would do that..
Why not undergraduate in literature or linguistics? I think to myself as I remove my I.d card to be allowed into campus.
I walk towards Mahtma Gandhi wing barely giving a glance at Taifa hall. The only thoughts that crossed me in when I attended class in that hall is how high it is and if the floor was good enough for badminton.
At the entrance, I once again show my I.d.
Where to? The soldier asks
‘Department of Psychology’ I answer as I head for the slow elevator.
The department is on 4th floor and is well hidden. It takes me 15 minutes to locate the lecturer’s office.
I push the door and am in the office.
‘Close the door’ he says..
‘No. I like the air’ I say back the lie rolling easily off my tongue.
He is a shrink… I think to myself.
He can probably see through me..
Not really… my brain counters..
I smile to him.
‘I am Winnie’ I say stretching my hand.
‘Hey Winnie. Professor..’ I don’t get his name. I am struggling not to squirm as he checks me out.
My baggy jeans and oversize t-shirt with the words ‘BLACK CHIC’ seem like inadequate clothing.
We have a mighty problem.