"Ever since the start of my semester," she looks up into the ceiling, "it's been a mess..." and sighs.
"Why? What's preventing you from doing as well as you did back then?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," she said. That sense of helplessness surrounded me and made me feel weak.
"I forgot when...if it's around high school or something. I felt I'm always at the edge of last minutes when turning in papers, projects and making presentations. My professor also said, [It seems like you've already stopped trying when you haven't even give it your best!] I tried at times to try prevent that... but somehow when I leap to catch up, I always end up needing to make up that little bit more to make it complete and done."
I listened to her closely, didn't know what to say.
"and you know my professor, she said she's going to make sure that I'll
do extremely well for the next semester's courses with her?" She laughed dryly.
"Oh, really. Well, isn't that a good thing? Eh.. maybe? She's supervising you."
"Truth is, she's more than worried about my performance in this class.
And you know what, even if I finished that damned paper, she's so disappointed that she said she can only
give me a D." She talks on, casually.
"Hmm." I'm lost in thought.
"But then she said if need be, she'll lock me up in her office and make sure I do every step and make progress. It's like mommy supervising her child to do homework." She laughed, again. I can't think of anyone more optimistic and cheery when her professor has said all this. Yet, if this keeps her going?
"So what are you going to do about your paper?" I asked, trying to hide the anxiousness in my tone of voice. After hearing all this, I'm not sure if she'll make it.
"Just try my best, and make those 15 pages?" She finished the phrase with a serious look.
"I fucking want to get this done." She added lastly.
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The next day, she told me that after stuffing some "American trash food" for late dinner at 10:20, she reworked her paper longer, aiming for the 15 pages goal.
I wish her all the best.