Magnets

I have a habit of writing during class. Especially during health class: the instructor is also the boys basketball coach, which is unfortunate since the sport was one of the less humiliating one for my school, and he knew it full well.

Every class felt like what I imagine a televangelist sermon would be, a barrage of words with too many insensitivity and too little magnitude for every statement was so indulgent in magnifying their author. The coach appeared like a magnet to me, demanding for attention. I know that I am certainly a magnet, too, except I am most likely of his like charge.

So, he repulses me, and I am more repulsed by my realization that I am also a magnet. But, I take comfort in the fact that I pause to watch my words, sometimes, if not all the times, ditching them for the script written upon the tell-tale expressions of my audience.

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