It should not be this hard to speak back and explain myself. The temperature has somehow risen a little, because why would my armpits be damp and tickley. Why does the need to justify myself feel so strong when the right response is obvious? And in any case, it would only serve to make her more aggressive. In the young minutes of this confrontation I could have sworn I had a good argument for anything she would say. I had good, justified reasons for any miscalculation she’d throw my way. But she has gone and got personal. She has touched a nerve. I feel that I should not be so easy, that one should dig up the foundations of the Great Wall of China before they find my hackles, but here we are.
In the nanoseconds of this face-off, I can feel my palms itching, My throat clogs up and an acute sense of failure and embarrassment at the inability to fully articulate my reasons brings tears to my eyes. My voice petters off into a thin unconvincing sound, and the words, as if sensing there’s no point of realisation, just leave my memory and mix with the elements in the winds. All coherence has left me. I know then that nothing I will say will meet the standard. So I quietly choke on my frustrations. Frustrated with myself, with the author of this argument, the winds, the chair I’m sitting on, the chair she’s sitting on, the ground on which the chairs are placed, my blood composition, the grand scheme of things… A lot, really.
But mostly myself.