Not so Perfect Afterall

There’s a girl in my Latin class at University. She is flawless. She is always the first to arrive, at least she is always there, books out, laptop (a Mac, of course) open ready to learn by the time I fly through the doors, having rolled out of bed, half a cup of coffee spilling out of my travel mug, bag unzipped with two minuets to spare until the lesson begins. Sometimes, she turns to look at me as I cause a whirlwind around myself as if to say “you know we start at 9am get yourself together.” And I instantly feel like a naughty child being berated for not putting my toys away. 

Her outfits are always co- ordinated, her jewellery matching her clothes, everything always so carefully put together, including her socks which are always in pairs, she never wears two odd socks, that would be a crime in her eyes, but is something I frequently partake in. I wonder if she is doing it for others, that she wants us all to think “wow” as she passes us all by without so much as a glance in our direction, but I decide nothing she does is for anyone else, she is not shallow enough to care for the opinion of others. Instead, I decide she must really care for herself, regard herself in high esteem to put so much care and thought into herself.

I watch as she types her notes pausing occasionally to ask a highly intelligent question, never the kind that make the seven other students roll their eyes, no they lean in, on tenterhooks awaiting the lecturers reply. I watch as she packs her bag away somehow managing to be the first out of classroom, her swishy pony tailing following her as it merrily swings from side to side. Her hair of course is always gorgeous, thick and lustrous, nothing like mine which looks and feels like hay no matter how many extortionate products I put on it; or, how many “hair and beauty” vitamins I consume. 

Camila has green eyes, I havent starred into them exactly, but I have seen them enough times to know they are not the same green as everyone else who has green eyes. Hers are a deep emerald that traps you, almost as if you are trying to look into them to retrieve the glimmering stone that lies hidden deep inside. I am sure that when she listens to Leonardo explain “in greater depth” about conjugating Latin verbs for the millionth time, her eyes twinkle with awe and excitement as she learns to perfect her technique even more precisely. 

She is tall and slim, I wonder if she eats, and if she does what does she eat? I decide she probably doesn’t. I bet she is one of those people who gets up early on a Saturday and goes for a run, unlike me who lays in bed until 2pm wondering where the day went, as I help myself to a bag of family sized popcorn. That’s why I look like me and she looks the way she does. There is a line in a Disney song that goes “Sining, shimmering, splendid.” That is Camila in a sentence.

Although I have never seen one, in fact I never see her with anyone, I know she has a boyfriend, how could someone like her not have one. He is also marvellous. They will have been together since secondary school. They will have agreed to come to a university where they can study together. They have their whole lives planned out. Finish university, get jobs, go travelling, get married and have babies. Meanwhile I will be forever alone. 

Her friends will say things like “Oh it isn’t the same without Camilla.” When she doesn’t go to one of the girls nights. Instead of catching up with each other they wonder, like I do what Camila is doing, they want to be just like her, she is the nucleus to the friendship group and when she is absent it is blindingly obvious that the rest of the girls have little to nothing in common with one another, so they end up bitching about someone they went to school with. Camila never speaks ill of anyone and speaks phrases like “don’t say things like that, you don't know what they are going through.” 

I am sure she fills her spare time with meaningful activities. While I zone out to Netflix, putting off another assignment, she is studying, doing further reading, volunteering with the elderly. Doing an extra class on top of the one we have in common. She probably paints beautiful art work, crochets blankets for her granny and the homeless. Spends an afternoon with a recipe book open curating a delicious meal for her and her boyfriend, left overs will be given to the neighbours, or left in the campus fridge which is a free fridge where students who are struggling can help themselves to the free food in there. Camila would be the kind of person who smiles at babies, waves at them in the street.

She is loved by her family. Her mother adores her, and her mother feels the same, her face lights up when she sees her daughters name appear on her phone for one of their weekly chats. They spend hours talking and catching up, and they feel closer than ever. Her mother will inevitably pass her onto her father, their conversations are some what shorter, but she makes him laugh with a dad joke he has never heard, one she has spent hours searching one, looking for one she knows will make him guffaw. She will call her Granny too, who since her grandfather passed has become lonely and depressed. Camila makes sure she has lots to tell her, so that even if her granny is less than forthcoming with her words, Camila can hold the conversation for a good while.  

I don't watch Camila because I am in love with her. It might sound like I do, but I promise I don't, not that there’s a problem with girls loving girls, but they aren’t my thing, I prefer boys, even if I am useless with them never getting further than date three where I never learn my lesson and sleep with them for them to make their excuses the next day and I never hear from them again. I tell myself I won’t do the same again, but always that evening I am swiping on Tinder, Bumble and whatever other apps there are finding the next one, who I tell myself will be the one, and so the cycle starts again. 

I am captivated by Camila because I want to be her. I want everything she has, I want to be exemplary just like her. I know I am only twenty two, and like all the stories and films say “I have the rest of my life ahead of me.” But when you have peers who have everything sorted, you can’t help but feel downcast when you aren’t the same. I try and organise myself, setting alarms so I can get up do a work out and have breakfast, but when Monday morning comes the sentiment is forgotten as I snooze my alarm, once, twice and then again. I realise there is nothing I can do about my height or hair and that they are down to genetics, but I send mental hatred to my parents for not blessing me with better genes. I wonder what it is like to be so wonderful to have everything you want and need, to be able to do anything. I get lost in thought thinking about what it is like to be so carefree and happy. 

You would think that seeing as I am so obsessed with her I would have at least spoken to her. I have never uttered a word to her. In fact I rarely speak, I have no one to talk to. I hate being called on in class; this is something that often happens as there are only eight of us and lecturer likes to use a technique he calls “cold calling.” It means he just picks on anyone at random because he can “test our knowledge and understanding.” Rather than “the same people putting their hand up.” It is in these moments I notice how little I use my voice as it always comes out hoarse and croaky making it seem as if I do not know the answers when more often than not I am confident in my response. All I really know is that this girl is called Camila. One day I googled what it meant, I like knowing what peoples names mean and I often find out the meanings of peoples names, so Camila is not special in this regard. I wasn’t surprised to learn that “Camila” (yes that is just one L)  is a Spanish name which means “someone who is perfect, flawless, faultless.” Of course such a girl would have a name which suits her so gloriously. 

It's a Thursday and we have just finished our final lecture for the day. I am about to leave when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look around its my lecturer, Leonardo, weird that he touched me this way, but I go with it. “Olivia” he begins “just a word about your dissertation, I know you love google scholar, and your introduction was promising, but maybe you should read an actual book, the library is always open, go and have a look.” I nod, and try not to let out a frustrated sigh “This is your final submission after all, make it count.” I nod again and leave. 

As I approach the doors it is pouring with rain, the kind that as soon as you step into it you are drenched to your core. The kind that leaves you cold for days. My car isn’t so far away, but far enough that I would get soaked, because of course I forgot my umbrella. I moan to myself, the library is right next door, and it will kill some time before the rain ceases. 

I have never been in the library in the four years I have been at the University, I have read books, but I prefer to download them, this is for two reasons, the first so I can open them on my screen and at least pretend to read them and secondly so that I am not forever indebted to the university owning them hundreds of pounds in late fines. Due to this, I have no idea where the language books are, do they even have Latin books? Its hardly a popular subject. I am suddenly struck with fear that if someone sees me walking out with a book, entitled “Latin, a study of the classical language.” Or something similar will they think I am pretentious a know it all. I look to the window the rain is hammering against it, it seems to have gathered strength coming down even harder. It looks like I am stuck here. 

I find the languages section, unlike the other topics it isn’t very large and the Latin section is even smaller. Nevertheless, I sit down on the floor and look for a book that might prove to be helpful. I initially get distracted by all the other books, German, French, Arabic to name a few. I pull a few of them off the shelf and try to decipher some of the words. I have always loved languages so I am happy here. When I grow annoyed because I can’t understand anything I go back to the Latin ones and settle on “Latin through the ages.” It sounds dull, but it is the cover which entices me. I know I shouldn’t pick a book just because it has an interesting cover, the covers of books have nothing to do with how valuable a book will be, but at least I have made an effort. 

I check the book out at the self service area, anything to avoid small talk with the librarians who have nothing better to do than moan at people for being too noisy. On my way out I am caught by something to the left of me hidden between the “Social Sciences” and “Child Development” sections. I pause, it is Camila, I stop and look at her. Her hair is sticking up all over the place, the headband she had been wearing in class thrown a little distance away from her. Her bag is open, all her belongings threatening to escape. I look at her face, her eyes are blood shot, the skin around them glowing red with sadness and soreness from rubbing them, from crying. She seemed so fine in the lecture, putting her hand up, tap tapping away as always on her laptop. Its then I see her arms, she has the sleeve of her cardigan rolled up and this is when I see the scars, some are silverly and shiny, others are red having not faded so much, the remaining are hardly even scabbed over. When she sees me looking she yanks the arms down in a fit of embarrassment. I think about asking her if she is okay, but I decide not to and walk off instead. 

As I leave the library, I can’t help, but think of Camila I know I should feel bad for her, pity her even. She must be going through something, I wonder what could have possibly have gone wrong in her picturesque life, perhaps mummy forgot to send her favourite jumper. As I reach my car, I feel uplifted because no matter how much of a show Camila puts on, or how much she tries to convince everyone around her that everything is always wonderful, life isn’t always rainbows and daisies, life isn’t always “the best day of your life.” And it is about time that Camila learnt that.