Know Your Worth

01

There are too many people here. I hate it, and I hate the snail's pace at which I have had to move in due to the massive overcrowding of the foyer and corridors.

Today's the first day of Blackwell University's Orientation Week, and at every nook and cranny of the foyer area has the sophomores and juniors screaming "Welcome to Blackwell!" at the top of their lungs, holding big banners with colourful, glittery calligraphy. It's overwhelming and suffocating, especially with the cacophony of numerous voices blending into one massive noise, almost like an intense version of static, but about ten times worse.

I clutch the itinerary and college introduction booklet, making them crumpled and torn at the edges. I give up and chuck them into the nearby recycling paper bin, earning a disapproving look from one of the orientation group leaders at one corner, who also happened to be holding a black and white "WELCOME TO BLACKWELL GUYS" banner.

I give a wry smile, shrug innocently and pretend to receive a very urgent message, frowning excessively at my semi-cracked screen. It's a pity I only managed to keep my iPhone screen uncracked for a solid week until a regretful incident of holding too many things in my hands led it to slip out from my (albeit very tight) grasp. I blame sexist clothing manufacturers who did not sew pockets into my jeggings for this mishap.

"Group 14, please follow me!" a girl with two ponytails and a bright fuchsia bandana yells, holding a number 14 placard and waving it quickly, making the number a blur.

I don't think I'm in that group..or am I? I check the excel spreadsheets, cursing the super-small font and realise that I am indeed, in group 14. I sigh dramatically, taking advantage of the fact that no one, not even the Mohawk guy beside me would be able to hear. I wait until a couple of people form a queue in front of her first, then make my way to stand beside a girl with a long braid. She grins at me, and I beam at her.

Ms Fuchsia leads us up to four staircases to an air-conditioned classroom with the wallboard decorated with paper stars. I snort.

This class can easily be plonked in my elementary school and no one would object that it belongs to one of the most prestigious universities on the East Coast.

We're instructed to keep our bags at the back of the class and clear the tables by carrying them outside the classroom, stacking them one on top of the other. Each of us grabs a chair and sit in a big circle, starting with the icebreakers that I hate with a passion.

Initially, there is pin-drop silence. Everyone is silent, playing with their phones or listening to music or straight up sleeping while sitting. Ms Fuchsia introduces herself as Melody and tries to get us to talk. I cringe inwardly when she asks if anyone ate fruit in the morning, or drank coffee. When someone nods hesitantly, she starts clapping and saying that they have so much in common.

I think to myself, what the heck? Either she's really desperate for any social interaction, or she's just naturally this extroverted.

I detest social activities, especially since I'm a very awkward person who stutters quite a bit when I first start to talk. Despite all the speech therapy I had attended throughout my childhood, there is still no cure for crippling anxiety and shyness. I quietly hope that my orientation group mates would not be judgemental.

Thankfully, everyone politely ignores the stutters that happened in the first few words of my speech. I play it off as just nerves and even make them laugh with me, easing my shyness a bit more.

The girl with the long braid pats my shoulder comfortingly and introduces herself as Samaira Malhotra, and her nickname Sam for short. She fishes out her mint packet from her sweater pockets and hands me one, a promising start to an acquaintance.