In the corner, just above the glass door is a black, conservative-looking, plastic wall clock that does not seem to be too gung-ho about its presence unlike those I have seen in other rooms and in other places. On the ceiling, are fluorescent tubes mimicking, although very inanely, the geckos whose population is threatened by some enterprising but definitely misinformed, if not clearly stupid, members of humanity. At the left side of the room stands a solitary whiteboard vandalized all over with graffiti that purport to impart knowledge but in fact succeed only in communicating nothing but the vandal’s pitiful self-importance.
In front are wooden chairs in urgent need of repair, and seated on them are people who are in a situation more rickety than the pieces of wooden furniture that bear their weight and their weightlessness. In the northeast corner of the room is a silent rubbish bin containing unspeakable amount of refuse whose secrets are doomed to remain untold for eternity. Standing menacingly next to it is a relentless electric fan that imbues, without any attempt at sarcasm, in all the creatures inside the white room the stench emanating from the bin.
A fly lands on the nose of [my] beautiful student. It is astride, unperturbed by the presence of a goddess on whose nose it lingers. Then it flies to the beyond, vowing never to return again unless, of course, without malice on the side of the young woman, it is enticed by the scent she is wearing. At the back are fluttering apple green polyester curtains that brush the room a blush of spirit it would otherwise lack in their absence, but their disconnect with all the other objects in the white room fails to be compensated by this ‘blush of spirit’. Their presence is a mockery of the room’s bareness.
Among all these random images, a singular thing towers over everything else, that arrogant broken tile at the center of it all whose fate is to remain there untouched because it is, in the words of a B-movie starlet, divinely beautiful. Or was it beautifully divine?
This matters only a little.