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A Reflection

Loss is the enemy of hope, and love is the is the most intricate form of self-harm. English class
started as a burden, a tri-weekly obligation to leave the sanctuary of my bed and engage in a world I
wanted nothing to do with. The drive that had gotten me so far in my short life was all but broken, and the
education I worked so hard to achieve seemed not to be worth the energy of attempting to attend. English
was a class I deemed unnecessary, and I was already failing the necessary ones; however, failing a class
for not showing up seemed ridiculous even in my grief. With one remaining absence, I begrudgingly
forced myself to Bidgood Hall with skyrocketing anxiety and resentment. I took a seat and had to discuss
a topic relating to a ‘Black Mirror’ episode I’ve never seen, and stress melted off my shoulders. English
was a burden keeping me from the safety of isolation, and it blossomed into a forum of sharing,
awakening the excited areas of my mind and giving me an escape from the depressed. English
transformed into a life-line.
We weren’t debating classical books with the same lines of argument heard in every high school
across the States for decades, we dived into current events and opposing ideologies. It was an opportunity
to express myself and be exposed to provoking lines of thought I hadn’t previously pondered. I walked
into a room where educating was synonymous with therapeutic bliss. I wasn’t forced to memorize and
parrot back from a brain exhausted from poor experience. I could explore what was already there, sharpen
it, and practice its delivery. English was no longer a burden but a source of excitement. I wrote papers on
what excited me, influenced by what was going on in my life. I shared my opinions in class discussion
and engaged in conversation about various topics that other students were passionate about, exposing
myself to the wonderful diversity of thought at University and giving me so much to think about, giving
me hope. English class was a blessing I originally disguised as a curse. I had a professor who knew my
name and cared for his students, I had a class of peers to engross me in dialogue, I had a place to escape
to.

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