Beware, teachers, of the Red Room, and of resented former students who decide to blame you for their failing lives and take revenge torturing you under a red bulb, as the Nazis used to do.
In Tokyo, in 2008, I heard from a colleague of a drop-out student who, after several years of low-income temporary jobs, went back to the Japanese university to stab to death in the restroom one of his former professors, the “guilty” of all his misery. At the University of Arkansas, a few years before I started my MA, a Ph.D candidate in the Comparative Literature department, after seeing his dissertation being turned down for the second and last time, locked himself at his thesis’ director’s office, shot this one three times and committed suicide afterwards.
Los enamorados, the couple in love.
First date: nervous faces and spasms, neutral and insipid conversations, the broke young man sweating at the sight of the prices on the menu.
First anniversary: fluid love story, passionate and romantic attitude, oath for eternal love.
Tenth anniversary: Tedious routine at its height, children as a motive for an argument, professional envy, likely infidelities.
Twentieth anniversary: Sour character, physical decay, companion love. Shall we dance?