A Test Of Patience
image borrowed from The Studies Reloaded
It’s funny how as kids, we cringed at the the thought of a quiz, test, or exam. I remember making faces and testing the limits of my teachers’ patience once the announcement of such events took place. It even got me to the Disciplinary Office quite a few times. At the same time, I was always a firm believer that tests are never indicative of who I was, or still am. Maybe it was reflective of my current state, or of my prevailing mood. But never in my wildest dream or sanest state did I succumb to the belief that a 66% grade in Math made me stupid with numbers, nor did a 99% in English Lit make me a laureate.
Yet we still indulge in that one thing we once dread, those damn tests. In the universe that we call Facebook, we take them day in and day out, hoping to re-affirm our belief of who we are, or to perhaps find affirmation of who we could be. In a world where individuality is king, and where templates are personalized more than ever, it still boggles my mind that we surrender to the generalizations these tests make of us — that you’re just a Carrie and not a Samantha in your Sex and the City world, as opposed to being both. Or that you can firmly say that you’re dream house is trendy traditional and not classic contemporary even though these statements are oxymorons. Or that in the world of shit (yes no typo error here) you are ebak as opposed to ipot and wondering what the hell that means exactly. Or that your life can be summed up in an Eraserheads song — all because you took a test of 12 or so questions and trusting their better judgement that they know you better than you know yourself.
At the risk of sounding testy, I wish I could cringe again, as I did when I was younger, when I see these tests. It’s bad enough life tests us every day. Do we really need another one?