stories

Speak

Slide1When Mr. Ropi entered the room, I immediately brought out my homework. Yesterday, he told us to write an excuse letter of Steve Harvey to the audience of Miss Universe or Eve to God. I chose the latter.

As he checked our attendance, I remember how much time I spent on doing this assignment. I always do my assignment though I am not sure whether Mr. Ropi or the rest of my teachers really read our outputs to think that we are too many in our class.

After eating dinner with my family, I collapsed myself on the floor and faced a clean sheet of bond paper. Writing an excuse letter as Eve seems to be interesting. If Eve just apologized to God, many generations who have followed might not have suffered God’s wrath. The song of Justin Bieber that goes “Is it too late to say sorry” played softly on my mind as I attempted to write an excuse that Eve should have said more than a thousand years ago. Of course, I admit Eve’s mistake unlike many people I knew who never dare to apologize because they don’t want to admit their mistakes. I wish God would accept my apology, and I tried not to give excuses anymore.

As I read my assignment peacefully on my seat, Mr. Ropi started to call students to read their assignments. I wonder why my classmates would want to share their work while I am just here witnessing what’s going on and what will happen next.

Angelo did choose Eve though I am expecting that he would choose Steve Harvey since he is a guy. He read his assignment as if he’s trying to convince us that he (or maybe she) deserved God’s forgiveness. Honestly, I don’t like his excuse letter because he sounded so boastful. If I were God, I would send him immediately to hell.

As Mr. Ropi looked around, I attempted to raise my lazy hands. I can’t explain that no matter how much I did my best in doing my assignment, I felt that my body was glued on my chair. I am confident that I checked my grammar, and I put my creativity as I played words in writing a wonderful excuse letter. I would have been sent to heaven right away if only Mr. Ropi allowed me to read mine so God in his throne here what I have to say.

Three more students shared their letters. All of them sounded so boring to my ears. I looked at Sir Ropi, and his eyes seemed to tell me that I should share mine. This made me imagine after he put an encouraging comment in one of my assignments few weeks ago. He said that my writing is full of wit. His glances were almost convincing. But I still didn’t.

Sharing was over, and I surrendered when I joined my classmates in passing our assignment for today. Will it reach God? Will it reach the audience of Miss Universe? Will Mr. Ropi read it? I do not know, and I do not want to find out.

As Mr. Ropi started to discuss a new lesson, I began to forget my burden in not reading my assignment to the class. Still, a pang in my heart remained when I stayed silent whenever Mr. Ropi asked several questions that I am sure I knew the answers. Whenever other students volunteered to respond on his questions, I felt betrayed as if they stole those answers from my head.

The day ended, and no single sound came out to my mouth. My mind could explode any moment soon because it kept loads of ideas that I could have forgotten to break free. Before Mr. Ropi dismissed us, he gave another assignment.

I told myself that I will do it. Tomorrow, I will speak up. I want to feel that the world will stop spinning, and everyone will listen to message. I won’t have any excuse.

 

[first draft]

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