My classmates have gotten used to my seemingly inane ramblings, no doubt assuming me to have a James Joyce-esque need to communicate in a constant stream of consciousness. I wish that this were true, but sadly it is more a case of getting the wrong end of a very large stick and ploughing on regardless. So today in class, whilst everyone else discussed the North South divide, I commented on the similarities between the African and South American coastlines. The resulting tirade giving the impression that I held capitalism responsible for the separation of Pangaea.
My teacher is definitely deserving of some kind of medal in regards to patience and tolerance, as even though a collective sigh is exuded by the rest of the class at the sight of my raised hand, she always has time to answer any questions that I may have, be they grammar; vocabulary; or menial (the most popular choice). However, today when I put up my hand and innocently asked ‘Why is the person writing the article chosen to use hiragana instead of kanji to represent their place of birth?’ she responded by throwing her hands in the air and exclaiming ‘For goodness-sake Sam! How would I know? Would you like me to ring the author for you?’ It was said in jest, but I worry that my constant barrage of innocuous questioning may have finally pushed her over the edge.