The evil professor

Today I had classes with a professor that hates me. Don’t worry, it’s reciprocal. Actually, our history goes back to many years before when we hated each other just for the sake of it. Then he stopped being my professor, he left the faculty (not that far, though) and I kinda forgot him. True, any time someone mentioned his name, my face, always Jim Carrey-alike, couldn’t help to do a disgusted expression (I’m guessing he did the same). But then, with the years of absence, I started to forget our antipathy and even at some point I considered that our feud was mainly due to a conflict of interests and maybe to some immaturity on my part. That’s why when they told us yesterday that he would be our professor starting today, in substitution of our beloved usual professor, I didn’t bothered. But today, after arriving in class and receiving the first attack only 8 minutes later, I discovered, not only that his hatred for me was as intact as ever, but also that I had my post for the day: the evil professor.

To be noticed: I don’t say “bad”; I say “evil”. The evil professor (we’ll call him Snape from now on) is not necessarily a bad professor. The thing is he has decided to use the black magic in class and not precisely as a way of teaching things. There are some, of course, that are both bad and evil, but not Snape; he’s not bad.

The evil professor looks just like the others and the girls in class, who know nothing of the wickedness who lives in the world, like him. But the bright and clever student, with a future ahead of him (we’ll change his gender and call him “Hermione” out of modesty) smells the real essence of Snape right from the start. Anyway, he doesn’t lose a minute to confirm this very first impression. And being the professor, he’s got it easy. If Hermione raises the hand, he doesn’t pick her, and if she doesn’t raise it, he says she doesn’t participate in class. If he asks if they think Osama is really dead and she says that she does, he tells her she’s naïve; if she says she doesn’t, he says she’s incredulous. If some other professor says that Hermione is really good in French, Snape makes and expression of repugnance and starts to make allusions to students in the past who were far better than she is (I’m guessing Voldemort). If the rest of the students applaud Hermione after a presentation in class, he tells them, to (please) do not applaud, that they’re practically running out of time.

The evil professor uses the numerous entries in his passport to make feel to his students that he’s brighter than they are and that he’s a citizen of the world. Hermione’s passport is empty, so she can’t say anything and when a conversation about the world arises he always wins it with something like “When I went to France last year…” Hermione, who has never left Vedado, can’t argue, despite the knowledge that the one who travels the more is not necessarily the brightest but the one who knows best how to fly broomsticks.

The reasons for the hatred of Snape are unknown. Maybe it’s love, after all. Or maybe it comes from the fact that Hermione, belonging to a much younger generation, has opportunities that he never had back in his youth (like stepping out of the closet, for example). But that’s just me guessing. The truth is that the real causes are unknown. But what it is a fact is that there’s war.

Even though Snape hates all of his students, he has no problem agreeing with any of them if that means proving Hermione wrong. Everybody knows about the reciprocal hatred, so they advice Hermione to do or say nothing and to do not be angry, remembering her that in case that something happens she is to lose. But someone has to tell Snape he’s a son of a bitch. But well, not Hermione. She can’t get into that. She’s a good, clever, charismatic girl and she has a blog to write.

Snape never looks into the eyes of Hermione. He knows she has a very bad temper and that she looks right into the eyes of people. But Snape is not a fan of direct attack, he prefers irony and sarcasm. But now always: in that occasion that Hermione was selected to represent the school instead of the student he had selected, he got hysterical, took out his wand and yelled everybody (even to Dumbledore). When he finally realised he couldn’t do anything, he looked poor Hermione from head to toes and made an expression of despise. That way, on a Tuesday afternoon, a professor looked with pure hatred and despise to one of his students in the middle of a hall and in front of everybody. Unforgiving.

Of course, he’s not that bad all the time. Sometimes he has problems at home and doesn’t say any irony because he’s passing through a bad time. And Hermione pities him. But the next day he comes back and says something wicked, and everything begins again. Some other time, Snape needed Hermione to translate something for him from English (he only knows French), which Hermione did in very good terms, so he thanked her with genuine good spirit, leading Hermione to think that the war, after all, wasn’t that bad. Silly. One week later, ha gave her a C- in a report of 700 words for the misuse of a single preposition.

But Hermione is intelligent and knows that a lot of her growing as a magician is due to Snape. Hatred being an important impulse, she has become perfect only to bother him. Of course, he says she’s far from perfect and that she never will be, but she knows it’s not exactly like that. She knows he hates her more every day and if he does it’s because he knows she has an awesome future in the world of magic. In addition, Hermione, with the time also turned into a professor, tries not to do the same with her students. Of course, her bad temper sometimes arises and says something wicked, but never reaching the point of looking from head to toes to any of them and making an expression of despise a Tuesday afternoon in a hall in front of everybody. That’s unforgiving.

Snape will always hate Hermione, but it’s OK. Maybe that’s what keeps him alive, after all. What would it be of him without that hatred he had probably kept from immemorial times to any Hermione-alike? So let’s not pity him: his corrosive odium makes him happy. Let’s not worry about his health: being wicked guarantees him to live for many years. Let’s not try to change him: he’d die out of sadness. Let’s accept him like he is and admit that his function in the world is to help Hermiones all over the world to become perfect. Merci, Monsieur.

Are you already thinking about (virtual) love?

Back in the 80’s we had in Cuba a little book inherited from the Soviets (surprise, surprise) called “Are you already thinking about love?” (actually it should have been called “Are you already thinking about getting laid?” but let’s not go through that now) Few of us actually managed to read it but our bigger brothers tortured us with its existence. The descriptions of corporal changes to come and the drawings of men and women in bold positions made of this little book a bestseller in these communist prairies.

I don’t know if it’s still published or if it has the same effect it used to have in teenagers, even though I doubt it (in this digital era those kids have seen a lot already). But what I do know is that, in case of its ongoing publication, a new chapter should be added about that new battlefield of Cupid called “the Cyberspace”.

At some moment it got into our lives. Before, you could ask a couple where they have met and they answered things like “At the movies”, “At Coppelia” (the biggest ice cream shop in the country, thus the most popular place in the island) or even (very popular in the 70’s and 80’s) “I called a wrong number and we stayed talking”. Now it’s not weird to find answers like “We met at the chat” or “Facebook suggested him as a friend”. And that’s fine: it’s always good the increase of places to nurture love. What’s the matter if there are movies, ice creams or “I like it” buttons involved? But careful: even though the virtual area is special in so many ways, it has intrinsic characteristics that we should know in order of not falling in its traps.

It all begins one day in front of a computer connected to the Internet. You might be surprised but such computers are actually less than 2 percent of the total computers in the country (you were thinking about moving to Cuba? Well, you can start to forget it now). One day that we go to school to make a report or to a friend’s house to check our mail. Contrary to the normal places of finding love already seen, in order to provoke a good first impression, at the chat it doesn’t matter if your shoes are good or even if you have washed your face (It sounds good, right? Chat 1 – Coppelia 0).

All the sudden someone (for the pedagogical effects of this post we’ll call him Andrés82, but it could be Alina65, Yuri26 or whatever) “clicks” on you and surprises you with a warm “hi” (90% of the times with a little “h”). Instantly – don’t try to fool yourselves – we add ideal characteristics to Andrés82 only for having read one single word coming from his mouth (or keyboard). He’s young, gorgeous, athletic, not exaggeratedly strong, but not skinny either. He has light eyes and he wears a 45 in shoes (and we all know what that means). He wears glasses, but only for reading and that makes him seem like an intellectual. He has a love past, of course (if he hadn’t that would be weird and pathetic), but it’s not important. Nothing he can’t get over…with you. Andrés82, a.k.a THE IDEAL MAN.

This perfect landscape becomes quickly cloudy. Andrés82 lives with eight other people, he has frequent appointment with the ophthalmologist because he’s losing sight and he makes a spelling mistake every three other words. But still – don’t fool yourselves, we‘re optimistic by nature – we ignore all that and try to focus in the positive things. And the fact is that the euphemism is loose over the Internet. Nobody is black anymore, now they are “light brown”; fat people are substituted by “nor either fat or thin” and ugly define themselves as “with a special face”. I say all the time I’m “slim”. Starting today I will go with “thin”. (This blog is starting to have a positive effect on me; bravo).

And then, after some time of banal conversation in which Andrés (uff, he already lost the last name, we’re getting closer) talks to you about his family, the weather and his passion for abstract painting, one of the two of you pops up the question that would change forever the course of your relationship: “hey, do u have a pic?”. And then, after an exchange and download of files and a flattering comment by Andrés82 about how good you look in your picture, you find yourself face to face with the so long awaited image of the man of your dreams.

Ok, this is an awkward moment. Andrés82 is nothing like you imagined. And he is in a good picture (because we all send our best pics; God bless digital cameras: we erase the photos we don’t like, we keep the good ones and we trick ourselves into thinking we look like that). In that moment you remember he told you his female friends tell him he’s good looking. What kind of friends are those?

But then you remember you’re not perfect either, that your solitude is big and that streets are hard. This guy likes abstract painting, how bad can he be? And suddenly you realize that to his “What do u think of the pic? If you don’t like it, just say it” you’re answering with a “You’re just as I imagined”. That – don’t try to fool yourselves – it’s a fat lie.

And all the sudden, you decide to know each other personally: he’s not far, in the same Vedado (if he were a hunk, he would be in another continent). But not Andrés82, he is right there, so you two decide not to delay any more the moment of knowing each other and choose a spot to do it, generally in the intermediate distance between you two and with a movie theater, a park or a school as a point of near reference. You wait impatient, asking yourself about your clothes and your hair, when all the sudden Andrés82 appears. He’s 1.52, how could he forget to mention that!!!! And he’s even worse than in the picture because he has been working all day long and he’s sweated. Suddenly, your hair or your clothes are no longer an issue: you feel you’re Brad Pitt.

“It’s time for this to end”, you say to yourself. But you have been well-raised and you know you can’t just say it out loud just like that. So you two sit in a bench and you pray in secret for no familiar faces to pass nearby. You speak of banal subjects such as his family, the weather, his passion for abstract painting… Fuck abstract painting, that’s the reason you’re sitting there with that elf! Finally, you look at your watch and say that your aunt is waiting for you, your cat hasn’t eaten and that you have a lot to translate. He, used to it, nods and says it was a pleasure to meet you.

In that moment, you can’t help to feel a little tenderness for Andrés82. After all, he’s not bad. And it’s not his fault if he’s far from being perfect physically. Probably he has more important virtues. And then you remember when you were yourself Andrés82 for some other guy who considered himself as better than you are and said to you the same phrases you just said to this one. And you think of your last partner, and how when you two were together the physical factor was never an issue because there was something else. And then you feel bad, lonely and pathetic. That’s because you didn’t know the rules of virtual love and you would have wanted that a goddam book would have taught them to you when you were a teenager. But it didn’t happen.

Of course, it’s not always like that. I imagine that there are people who get married and live many years alongside someone who met at the web. I like to think that there would be little kids shouting that their parents fell in love in the cyberspace and they lived happily ever after.

But those would never be us (or at least not me). So, after spending some days avoiding computers to forget the incident, one day we go back to our school or to a friend’s house, and after making the report or checking our mail, we open the chat and wait patiently for someone to tell us “hi” with a little “h” to think for a minute – don’t try to fool yourselves – that we’ve found the right person. And then, it all begins again.