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Grad school — The dreamy land where we all imagined we’d be frolicking around with groundbreaking theories, sipping on intellectually stimulating conversations, and generally feeling all smart. Well, the reality check hit hard when I opted for a niche field that, to my dismay, involved 600-level courses. And if that wasn’t enough, let’s sprinkle a bit (A LOT) of math in it, because why not? As if the regular courses weren’t perplexing enough.
Then there was this course. The one that stood out like that one broccoli piece in a plate full of fries. It was taught by none other than my academic advisor, at what could be the worst time slot, 5 p.m. every Friday. It’s not like the course was “bad” or anything (I mean, I’ve had courses where I’ve felt like pulling my hair out strand by strand). But this one, well, it was more like swimming through an ocean of jargon that made absolutely no sense. I often wondered if we were being pranked, and secretly, there was a camera capturing our “What on Earth is going on?!” expressions.
One fine Friday evening, Mr. Advisor decided to waltz in with a mischievous grin. That’s never a good sign. He brandished a sheet of paper and announced a surprise test like he was revealing the prize behind Door #1 on a game show. It was from the content taught in the previous class.
The room echoed with collective sighs like we were all part of some melancholic choir. The ‘‘exam’’ lasted a whopping 15 minutes, after which we just shrugged and handed the…
