Malvika Murkumbi
Dear Diary,
This year’s crop moved in today! They’re all nervously smiling at each other and swapping Instagrams having the Hi-nice-to-meet-you-what-are-you-studying-oh-that’s-so-cool-where-are-you-from conversation, and they have that sparkle in their eyes that you only have when you can breathe through both of your nostrils. Enjoy it while it lasts, my babies.
God, I’ve been waiting for this week for aeons. Clubs filled to the brim with those little idiots, and even more crowded induction sessions. Oh, the induction sessions. Picturing them packed in those stuffy little lecture theatres like sardines makes me want to giggle, kick my feet, and let out an intense cathartic scream.
But of course, as always, my beloved mindless children will be the ones doing the most screaming. It was magical last year at Ministry. It felt like I was floating. Literally, I was floating through the air in their little spit particles from when they were screaming along to the (entirely anticlimactic) beat drops. It better be that good this year, or I won’t know what to do with myself.
Of course, I have to wait for this meticulous process to run its course properly. The meaningful work I do with these imbeciles is an exact science with a tried-and-true chronology.
Stage 1: They’re socialising, having the same inane conversation over and over and over again, inhaling and exhaling without a care in the world.
Stage 2: They feel a little tingle, a little scratch in the back of their throats. They ignore it. Naive fools.
Stage 3: They ask themselves “is freshers’ flu a real thing?” Every year they’re convinced they’ve escaped me.
And finally,
Stage 4: They’re coughing and sneezing and groaning and secreting phlegm like pus from an oozy spot the very next day. It always takes a while, so I must remain patient… but I’m already giddy at the thought of Stage 4. Watching them be all queasy, coughing, sneezing and spewing infected lava … Oh Diary, it’s like Christmas for gals like me.
In contagious love,
Fresherie Flu
