The One I Can't Replace-Ode to a Big Brother

"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."

These were the words spoken about me at my high school graduation. The instructor giving the speech about all ten of us made it seem like a good quality. Something everyone should aspire to.

I barely heard the words that were said that night. I barely remember the words that I spoke myself when I gave my own speech a few minutes later. I have told everyone since that this is because I was hopped up on codeine for the sprained ankle that just wouldn't heal.

It's true that I was high that night.

I was high on my own adrenaline of accomplishment. I, for one in our lives, had something that you didn't. I had gotten to something *first*.

But more importantly, you were there. Getting you to see me walk the stage had been a fight. She Who Must Be Kept wasn't going to make you do it. You had claimed that all I was doing was rubbing in your face that I had graduated and you didn't. And she, like always, bought it hook line and sinker. I raised complaint to the therapist, and you were made to go.

For once in my life, you weren't allowed to ruin my day.

"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."

The day you left was the only time in my whole life that I can remember you telling me you loved me.

I don't know if you love me always, or in that moment you loved me. Loved me because I sounded so lost and pitiful, telling you that you didn't have to go, and I would talk to our mother, and I would make it okay, you could stay!

"Take care of Mom for me. I love you."

Perhaps that day you loved me because when Croc tried to pull his shit, like he always does, I ripped into him. I had Had Enough, and when I have Enough, things start happening. You might have loved me because I was defending you, and you've never felt that anyone in the world has done that before. But there's a lot that you were so blind and deaf to. Everyone was fighting for you... You were just fighting yourself.

I've always been more patient than you. This is probably because I grew up as your little sister. While I sat and waited for people to love me, for people to be able to give me what I needed, you demanded it. I fell into relationships, holding my arms out and trusting that someone or something would be there to catch me when I hit the bottom.

You launched into relationships, clawing and ripping the other person, desperate to hurt them before they hurt you. Eager to establish that status quo, because you knew what it meant to be hurt and you were tired of me.

I... I knew what it was to be hurt too, but I managed to climb up from the dirt when no one caught me. You sought revenge, while I sought to protect people from all the things that had happened to me. I didn't know that this made me more vulnerable, in the end. I've learned my lesson now, learned it through hands on my throat and the way that I cried in the shower, alone and empty, because no one wanted to hear it.

But in the end, I was able to protect and save myself when there was no one to do it.

There should have been someone there to do it. But you demanded everything our mother had. You sucked her dry. She and I have had discussions... Discussions about why she focused so much on you, chose to save you in all the ways that she couldn't save me.

There was only so much to her. And you took everything, while I survived on guilt and empty promises.

We've discussed why she let you beat the shit out of me. For years. Why she let you degrade, belitte, and ABUSE me. For years. You were, and still are, an abusive person. I can't say that I blame you. I can say that I didn't deserve what happened to me.

Nothing you did was okay. There is about a decade of my life that is just Not Okay. And never will be. It's taken me a lot of therapy to come to that conclusion. I am not a bad person.

I am not ugly. I am not worthless. I am not unlovable.I am not stupid. I am not any of the things that you said I was. I suspect you said these things to me because you felt them about yourself, and if it was true about me, it couldn't be true about you, because we were just so opposite.

You struggled to survive the most basic things in life, for reasons I will never understand. You had the tools. You knew what you had to do. I guess you were just waiting for someone to come and save you from yourself.

And more painful than that, you watched me soar. You watched me graduate, get friends, relationships. You watched me have a very strong relationship with our mother, based on trust and honesty and forgiveness. You watched me get into college and soar there, too. You watched me be such a loved person, even though you tried to pull me down, and make me miserable with you.

I don't apologize for that.

I have every reason to hate you. And yet, I don't.

"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."

In this month or so since you've run off, I've spoken to you more than in the past two years of living with you. You and I have our own language, our own inside jokes. We have the things that strike us and no one else has funny. We have Queen and Iron Maiden.

We have a love of World War Two. Although while you are scouring maps and battle plans, I am reading the accounts of the death camps, and the ways that this changed humanity. We love brown soda, although you like Pepsi and I adore Coke.

We lived through the same bullshit. We lived with the same alcoholic father, the same neglectful, unstable mother. You were the only one who validates me. I could always look at you and know that the screaming fights and broken glass were real. I didn't make them up in my head.

We survived. We both bare the scars, although in very different ways. You are cruel and callous to all but a very--VERY few. I am kind and loving, neurotic about those that I care about, desperate for approval and adoration.

"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."

You still call me "baby sister".

I still call you "big brother".

When you left that day, when you told me you loved me... Who were you seeing in your head? Were you seeing the six year old, trailing after you with skinned knees and tangled hair, clutching her Pooh Bear?

Were you seeing the thirteen year old, in long black skirts and too much lipstick, scowling at you and pretending she knew better?

Were you seeing the the twenty one year old woman, in high heels and tight dresses, with short hair and clear eyes, carrying her textbooks?

In your head, just who am I?

I know for me... You're the one I can't replace.

"Taima is headstrong, and loyal to a fault."

I know where my loyalties lie.

A Letter to Nintendo

Dear Nintendo,

Recently, I acquired a Nintendo Wii, the system I have been coveting for more than a year. I am a casual gamer at best, and this system seemed to be marketed specifically to my group.

I was elated when I got a copy of Mario Kart Wii as well. Surely this game--THIS GAME would be well and good for me to play. After all, I had played on a friend's Gamecube and had not suffered an aneurysm, nor had I thrown a controller through a window or anything of the sort.

Last night devolved into screaming hysterics from me. After half a dose of my mother's Valium and repeated watchings of The Boondock Saints to settle my nerves, I find myself here on my laptop, writing you this letter. I thought you would like to know about my concerns as a loyal consumer.

1. Why are there blue shells? Why? These are redundant given every other obstacle from hell you put in those magical question boxes.

2. Why are the aforementioned blue shells used more than once in a race? Why is a squid used more than once in a race? I find myself frustrated when I get slammed with a Pow, a shell, and a squid all at once. This is insanity. As a gamer, I anticipate and appreciate a certain level of insanity, but this is on par with Hannibal Lecter. (I do suspect you enjoy Chianti.)

3. I strongly dislike the steering wheel attachment/headache/device from Hell. You cannot properly twist and turn, and instead end up writhing in your seat, much like an epileptic seal.

4. Rainbow Road is the rectum of Satan himself. I know you have painted it so it looks lovely--but no. I am not okay with the fact that if you sneeze, run over an ant, or slightly turn, you fall off the edge. And the fact that you see your character bursting into flames will forever haunt my dreams.

In short, this game could turn me off gaming forever. I find myself thinking day and night of Mario Kart and how I might possibly beat it. I know this is your intent, but it is becoming a sick obsession. My therapist's child is now able to go to Harvard because of me and this game.

Yours Truly,

Taima

I Know That I've Let You Down

Dear She Who Must Be Kept,

I have, to the best of my ability, tried to keep the peace around here. After our last discussion about how I hurt you and make you feel like a failure, I have done my best to be better. I wasn't sure how, as you can never give me a clear answer about what I do wrong, but I tried.

Which is more than I can say for you.

For four years I begged for help to get a room. You resisted and refused and threw a fit. For about three days my bed sat in my room untouched because you refused to ask Croc to put it together, even though he was the only one who could. Because for you, it was better for me to lay sleepless on the couch while you and Croc caroused on school nights until four in the morning.

But I am the one who hurts you.

After this last fight where you couldn't give me a clear answer about what I do wrong... After you couldn't even give me a clear answer about what I could do DIFFERENTLY to make you happy...

I'm more or less done.

I cried a lot. I cried for probably three straight hours. I woke up twice in the middle of the night and cried. I cried for my own confusion, my pain, my sense of abandonment; which is nothing new coming from you. You've always been obsessed with making sure that when I was gone, you had someone else to catch you when you fell.

But I'm done crying. I am. Know why?

You. Are not. Worth it.

You have shown me numerous times that I'm not worth your time--your love--you are, by that token, not worth my tears.

And it kills me to say things like that. I'm sure if you knew you'd fly into another rage that you're so famous for anymore. Good job icing me out, by the way! I love that you only do that when Croc is around, too.

You must think I'm stupid. Please. You raised me better than that.

Also, clinginess will drive your friends away faster than the supposed crimes your 21 year old has committed. Just--just saying.

I get that the way you treat me is nothing personal. OlderBrother refuses to listen to a word you say. You can't change your job. You've got yourself in a pit you can't get yourself out of. I get that screaming at me is all you think you can do. I'm the only one that listens.

Just remember I'm the only fucking thing you've got. And you're driving me away. I don't see how you think this is going to make you a winner in the end.

And to say I don't appreciate you? That I've never told you that? You can just piss right off, you martyr. That is such bullshit and we both know it. I'll just remind you of that damn diamond ring I got you. Oh and the notes I leave you for on the TV telling you how sorry I am you work so hard and how glad I am to have you? That's... What?

I can't wait to leave. And you're going to cry when I'm gone because you already do. I don't know what you're mad about, but I just can't fix it. YOU fix it, YOU fix YOU. That's what you've always told me.

And that mysterious thing you claim has been making me depressed since October? You're the only one who sees it. The quotes I've gotten; "You're only depressed when your Mom gets after you."


...Yeah.

I think you're projecting.

So, just remember that I love you. I love you so much. You just can't seem to appreciate it.

-Taima

I Hope You Enjoy The Six Bucks

Dear Person Who Has My Wallet,

Perhaps you were very hungry and thought that there was something of value in my wallet, like a credit or debit card. There was not. Perhaps you thought there was an abundance of cash. There was not. Perhaps you thought there was something that you enable you to tap into my identity. There was not.

I am not sure the means to which you acquired my beloved wallet. It was brand new, you know, just purchased this weekend. I am a Batman fangirl and I have never before seen a wallet with the Batman symbol on it that was intended for girls. Anyway, I am pretty certain my wallet was in my purse or otherwise on my person. I am not sure how you got it.

I could have dropped. I do drop things. I doubt I did. Even if I did, the point is that you are now in possession of my wallet and have not given it back. Why? Why have you not given it back? Are you GoogleMap searching my home? Are you planning to sacrifice my wallet to some dark god?

I hope not, because that's mojo that I don't need.

There was nothing in my wallet that was of value. There was six dollars for my dinner, and you can keep that if you return the wallet. There were two cards; one from Magic the Gathering and the other was a Pokemon card. You may not keep these. They are not worth money. They only have worth to me. Give them back.

As for my IDs, well, you are clearly not me. So why would you be able to use them? Yes, I am twenty one, so you could try to buy liquor, but--well, you're not me and I doubt you look like a short white girl with dirty glasses and frizzy hair and a smirk too smug for her own good.

Then there is my insurance card. I suppose you could use them in conjunction with my ID to get some kind of medical care. But you do not know my social security number, date of birth, known allergies... You're going to have a hard time pulling that one off.

In conclusion, please return my wallet. I miss it.

-love

Taima

Unsung Lullabies

Dearest Vivian,

You're haunting me again. It's a thought that makes me laugh and cry. Perhaps if I had kept you inside of me, perhaps if I had been strong enough, you would doing the same thing. You'd be about two months old now, I think. You would just be getting the hang of living, and I--I would still be so amazed at the fact that you existed.

Do you haunt your father? He haunts me top, although perhaps in a more tangible way than you. He has a hard time admitting out loud that you were ever here at all. You mustn't blame him, my darling one. I've ceased doing so. I think the thought of what we almost had and almost were hurts him so deeply he can't face it. He can't be strong enough, so you and I must do that for him.

Or perhaps I will do that for the both of you. I'm just fine doing that.

I would have been such a wonderful mother. I would never have let you see the things that we went without. I would never have put anyone or anything else before you. You would have been the most brilliant thing that had ever been mine.

Although, of course, that ownership would have been so bittersweetly temporary. Before I was ready, I would have had to surrender you to the universe. I would have only been caretaker and guardian to the most wonderful girl in the whole world.

It happened before you were born anyway, the surrendering. Although there was less surrendering and more of you being ripped away from me.

It's three thirty in the morning. It's nights like these, weeks like these, that I miss you the most. I'm listening to Ray LaMontagne, one of those gravelly voices with the guitar that I listen to when I hurt so badly. These are the lullabies I would have loved to sing to you. These are the things I would have whispered to you in the stillness of the night.

I think everyone thinks I need to let you go. But letting you go, turning my back on you... That's just something I cannot bring myself to do. I am not so naive as to think there wouldn't have been moments I would have resented you. There would have been minutes, hours, days, weeks perhaps, that I would have looked at you and felt something akin to misery.

But darling, I loved you. I love you. I fell in love with you the moment I knew that you were there. And then you were gone, but my love didn't seep away during all those hours when I was hurting. My love for you didn't melt away as I took the painkillers and laid my head, wincing in your father's lap. Your father's love for me, your father's gentle fingers in my hair, his tender words of reassurance--even these things which usually could calm me, did not quell the ache inside of me.

Nothing can.

Will you ever come back to me, I wonder? Will you come back and let me hold you, will you look up at me with wide eyes full of wonderment and trust? Mother is the word for God on the lips of all children. You are still my child, even if you are not here.

Your father left me too. Don't be angry with him, dear one. He does the best he can. We're both tormented. It's such a sweet hell, and perhaps the most gloriously tragic thing to watch. You would be the one to know.

I have such a hard time sleeping. I would if you were alive too. You'd be awake right now, I think, wanting to be fed. You would be in my arms, latched onto me, taking from me the most that I could give you, metaphorically and literally. I see you in my dreams, I reach out to you, but you--much like your father--are just out of my reach.

This can't last forever. I suspect that in time, I will learn to lift myself and carry on. I will always feel that missing part of me, that sense that I've lost something I just cannot find or replace... But I will carry on.

I do love you so.

-Mommy

Dear Mother: Don't Throw Stuff At Me

Dear Mother,

I turned twenty one yesterday (because I'm writing this at two in the morning and today is the new yesterday). I am an adult now. I know I still live with you. I know you still pay my bills--except the ones you don't. Like my school tuition, you don't pay that. And you don't pay for my books. And you don't pay my cell phone bill. And you don't pay my doctor bills anymore, I'm on the hook for that after you didn't pay for the surgery I had like you PROMISED.

So basically, you're paying my food, my heat, my lights, my internet, and sometimes my bus back and forth to school. This is a lot. I will understand and acknowledge this. I even appreciate it. I appreciate it a lot!

This is why I go out of my way not to be a jackass to you. I wash your clothes. I cook your meals. I do the shopping. I do a lot of the cleaning. I don't do things I want to do and should be doing because I am twenty one. And I don't do them because you don't like me to do them.

You do not seem to understand, acknowledge or appreciate this.

So let's have a run down, shall we?

1. I wear noise cancelling headphones. You bought them for me. You bought them for me BECAUSE they were noise cancelling headphones. Because then I wouldn't have to turn my music up so loud, and so then I could put myself into my own little world while working and doing homework. Okay?
This means I CAN'T FUCKING HEAR YOU WHEN MY HEADPHONES ARE IN! I am not IGNORING you. I am not DISRESPECTING YOU! I am not DELIBERATELY BREAKING YOUR HEART AND RUINING YOUR LIFE BECAUSE I AM LISTENING TO MY MUSIC!!!! OKAY!?!? I. JUST. CANNOT. HEAR. YOU. Are we clear on that?
So basically, when the headphones are in and you want something like--the channel changed, your bowl taken to the sink, or the fan turned on, or something equally dumb and that you could do yourself; don't throw a book at me! Don't scream at me and then scream at me because you were screaming at me! Don't throw a ball of yarn at me!
JUST DO IT YOURSELF! You're a grown ass woman who can walk the four steps to the television--because you broke the remote--the seven steps to the sink, or the six steps to the fan, which is exactly between us so it's just as easy for you. Okay? Okay.

2. Shut up about my area. I have a grand total of FOUR FEET in this house. Yes, it's messy. Know why? I don't have a damn place to hold the (very little) I actually own. I used to have more, remember? But your son's boyfriend, who had thrown me down the stairs, and you still didn't make him leave, threw all that out in the snow and there was a lot you couldn't save.
So just shut up about it, okay? Because I would LOVE to move back up into my room and have space, and sleep in the dark with the television off if I feel like it. But every time I bring it up, you have a fit about it because you're not ready for me to.
So pick one.

3. Please start turning the television off before you decide it's bed time. Or let me. I haven't slept properly in months. This could be either because I sleep on a LOVESEAT that doesn't let me lay in any shape but pretzel, or because you insist on the television being on twenty four seven. And then you want it to be on the channel that plays those annoying infomercials that infect my dreams and give me nightmares. But you don't care! As long as you can listen to your Good Morning America or The Today Show or WHATEVER that is just DANDY, isn't it?

4. You have another child. A son. Remember him? Oh right, you prefer to sit on the couch and sob because you feel like he's a failure or something. Whatever. I quit listening. But don't think I'm going to waste my time trying to fix everything for you anymore, because you know how to fix this whole your son thing. Kick him out. You won't. But you know. So just shut up.

5. I love you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you be a bitch to me just because it suits you. You know better than that. Fuck.

-love,
Taima

Not Like the Other Girls: A Letter to My Father

Mein Vater,

(Oh yeah, you didn't know that about me. I know some German now. There's a lot you don't know about me, I suppose, not the least of which is my--name.)

I will be twenty one in about a month. Can you believe that? I'll be legally able to do all the "adult" things I've been doing since I was a child. I'm already waiting for a birthday card that I know won't come.

Perhaps I'm foolish... naive... well, actually, I prefer to think I'm just hopeful. I'm probably a little too hopeful. It's led to some pretty crushing moments in the past, and this won't be any different. I know this.

I will be twenty one, and strangely enough, I won't be running to the bar and drinking. I won't be opening my mouth to pour the bitterness of Washing Everything Away down my throat. I am afraid of becoming an addict, like you. Thanks for that, by the way, I love living in fear of anything. Thanks for my addictive personality. Thanks for this genetic code that's buried somewhere deep inside of my skin, I know enough to understand that if it goes off, if I become like you, I am a Goner.

And that is one thing in life I never want to be.

I will be twenty one, and you will finally be Free of Obligations to Me. Then again, I suppose this is really not much of anything to you. You've been free of me since my thirteenth birthday. Except for that brief year and a half when you were forced to pay child support, since you left I've gotten nothing from you.

I wonder, Oh Giver of Half My Genes, if you think of me on October 17th. I wonder if you lay awake, I wonder if you pass by the birthday cake in Wal-Mart and wonder if I'm eating any. I wonder if you walk through a bookstore, pick up a novel here or there, and consider buying it to mail to me, just because I might like it. I wonder if you walk by the birthday cards and think about picking one up for me and signing them like you used to; Love, Daddy.

Love, Daddy. I have not read those words from you in a VERY long time, and I am coming to terms with the fact that I never will again. It's been a long time for me. I know that you blame me for all of this. You told me as much the day you left. You told me that I didn't love you enough, and so you were leaving.

Because thirteen year olds can ruin the lives of grown men. You must have been... Forty two then, I think? Mom would have been--thirty eight? This somehow doesn't sound right. But my calculator tells me this is true.

I've been doing some math lately. You know how bad I am at that, but I have been making the attempt. This isn't the kind of math that you can really use scratch paper for, though. I've been doing some math, taking all the ways you didn't love me from all the ways that you did.

And do you know? I keep coming up empty handed. This shouldn't be a surprise to you, but I have a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach that it is. Most likely. Yeah, you'll be shocked like you always are when I can add up all the things you did not do for me. All the meager things that you did for me--well, they don't even compare.

And it's sick. It's sick that I can do this, and it's sick that I keep doing this, and frankly; I'm sick. I know that now. You have poisoned me, and I am finally opening myself up to bleed you out of me. It is messy, and I am constantly having to look away, but I am doing it.

Because if I don't, this poison will turn me black on the inside, and I'm pretty sure it could just kill me. Not like, literally. It would kill all these Good Things about me that people point out; it would make me a bitter, withered, lonely old shell. Like you.

I never want to be like you.

You know, sometimes I wish you could say you were sorry. You were sorry for saying those things to me when you left, and you were sorry for leaving me in the first place. I wish you could say you were sorry for leaving Mom like you did, and leaving me to pick up the mess that you left. (I never did it correctly. Yeah, thanks for that too.) I wish you could apologize for all the things we Went Without because we didn't have Enough because of what you took and didn't take when you left. Because of what you Didn't Give us. We didn't even get a door prize when you left, like so many other women and children did. You didn't think we were worth it, and wanted to punish my mother, and in doing so, my brother and I suffered.

I wish I could hear you apologize to me. But you're not sorry, and if I ever hear one more lie out of your rotten mouth, I will have to rip it off. I say this not out of violence, but out of honesty. It's a concept you've never grasped, but there you have it.

I wish you knew half of the Hell I've gone through since you left. I wish you knew what I've had to deal with. I won't bother to tell you, because I know what you'll say; "Well, if you had just APOLOGIZED to me...." Because I had so much to be sorry for? Perhaps the only thing I can apologize for is that I refused to swallow your scraps of love and pretend it's what I deserved.

I know better know. I know I deserve better. Better than whatever you wanted to give me. And believe me, it's been a long hard road figuring THAT one out, and I've had to deal with a lot of sick people, but hey... I'm there now, and sometimes it isn't the journey, it's the destination.

I deserve to be loved. I am worthy of that. And I know that first I had to realize that I had to love myself, and I do now. That was tough to swallow, a Big Thing, but I did that too. No thanks to you.

I know that if you could see me now, you'd tell me how proud you are of me. All I can say is; "Why? You didn't help. All that I am and all that I have done is really nothing to do with you." I'd probably then tell you in no uncertain terms to get away from me and stay away from me, and to stay the HELL away from my mother too, for that matter.

I am almost twenty one. I will be An Adult, though I'm sure that I've been one for a long time now. The calendar just now agrees with my soul. I will be An Adult. But you...You are still a child.

And that pretty much sucks.

-Taima Baudelaire

Never In My Life

Remember that letter I sent to the Dean?

Well, I got a reply.

Not from the Dean though, I am apparently not important enough. Instead, what I got was this (from my financial advisor that I had already been harassing for stuff to get done).

R******,

I hope this email finds you doing well and having a marvelous day! Our records indicate that your loan has been packaged and is available for you to accept online. Once you accept your loans you then will be able to order online or go to the book store and purchase books. We understand your frustration at this time and we hope you continue to be successful in perusing your educational goals.



This is what has been done on your behalf; Your Pell review was completed on August 11th . The government will not allow our loan processors to process loans until the Pell review is complete and all of the required steps of the loan application are completed. At this time of the year it has been taking the loan processors 4 weeks to process the multitude of loan applications that have been submitted once they are ready for review. Our records indicate that we received the last step of your loan application on August 17th and that is when your loan was ready for review. The loan processors have to complete the loans in the order that they come in and your loan was packaged and awarded today. We do appreciate your patient in this time and we do understand the frustration you are feeling. Hopefully with your aid in place you will be able to focus on your course work and have a wonderful semester. Again we do apologize for any inconvenience and dissatisfaction that this situation may have caused, but please understand that we are working diligently on all students behalf to maintain total student success. Thank you for your inquiry and have a spectacular evening. If you have any further inquiries please feel free to contact me via email at c*********ll@j****.edu or by phone at --- --- ----

M***** ****

Financial Aid Specialist

C*********l@j****.edu

From: S***** M******* M
Sent: Wednesday, September 08, 2010 4:27 PM
To: C*** M****** L
Subject: FW:



M*****, please review and advise….thanks


Once again, I have omitted names and e-mail addresses because this is the Internet, and I really don't think that needs to be out.

I have never in my whole life felt so disrespected. All I can read from this is; "I am much too busy to address your concerns (because there is no apology for the treatment I and other kids have gotten, or the bus passes! Dear sweet Jesus, the mother fucking BUS PASSES!). So I will pass this along to some poor sap who can't actually do much of anything, ciao!"

What. The. Hell. She couldn't take two minutes out her day to PERSONALLY apologize or EXPLAIN HERSELF???

The issue WASN'T my loan anymore! The issue was the WAY I WAS BEING TREATED! And apparently the way I am continuing to be treated! Oh boy! What is up with this!?!?

This is the reply that I am sending;

Ms. S*****,

First of all, I would like to thank you for your prompt attempt at resolving my issue. Never before have I had a critical matter handed off to a subordinate so quickly.

While my attempts with Mr. C*** and the other staff at your institution availed me nothing, apparently you forwarding my e-mail did result in some sort of resolution. I am sure the college values me as a student, as Mr. C*** so eloquently, if not correctly, presented in his e-mail that I am including below. Might I suggest the college invest in a spell checking and grammar program. Mr. C**** referred to me having a 'patient'. I hope he meant 'patience'. Although, the stress I have endured this semester simply trying to attend may make me someone's patient. I have highlighted the areas in his e-mail that I am referencing. Or perhaps all your staff should audit the course English 131 that all of your students are required to take. It certainly would be educational, from the letters I have received. Although the college may feel that the "personal touch" ie referencing just my first name is comfortable and cozy, I find it unprofessional, disrespectful, and lacking the manners of a big university. I wish you the best of luck in obtaining the university status that we students have been hearing so much about through the grapevine lately.

Second, while your speed to delegate me to a subordinate is applauded, a direct response from you beyond your quick little note of delegation would have been the professional way to handle this matter. Surely a person of your stature has had the above mentioned English course, and perhaps a business correspondence course? If not, might I suggest one, perhaps?

Lastly, I send this communication not out of spite, malice, or anger, but purely confusion, frustration, angst, and hurt. I believe I said all this clearly in my original letter to you. The lack of communication skills that are prevalent throughout this institution need to be rectified. This is occurring at all levels, from your articles in the newspaper ("Wow! I can rent a book!" But it doesn't tell me what I have to go through) to your web based learning that doesn't upload and crashes often, to an instructor, that refuses to use your own own program, and demands we use a completely different program and server to participate in their class.

I can appreciate I am only one of many hoping to have my voice heard. I will not anxiously await a professional response as you seem to be busy. If I do not hear from you within a reasonable time frame, I will be forwarding this your superior, the J***** C***** P*****, and the White House.

Respectfully yours,

R****** B******

A Letter to The Dean

I've had nothing but trouble this semester. So I wrote the following letter to my Dean of Student Services.

(Names changed because this is the internet.)

Dear Ms. S*****,

This is my fourth semester at J****** Community College. Previous to that, I was a student at The d* ***** Institute for four years. In short, I am no stranger to the campus, the instructors, or the other students.

I regret to tell you of my deep disdain, dissatisfaction, and disillusionment for and with the college and my own education.

Let me start at the beginning, shall I?

I have been fighting tooth and nail for over a month to get my financial aid approved. I submitted my paperwork for my Pell Grant in a timely manner. However, it was cut through a paperwork error. All well and good, I thought, even though if I had been informed say, a month or so earlier, perhaps I could have put in for a loan in a better time frame.

Then I had to hound my financial adviser to get make sure my Pell Grant even went through. I needed desperately to know about it, because I am an underemployed single woman. I still live with my mother, and she simply has no money to give me for college.

I applied for my loan, and have been hounding and harping to make sure that went through. Naturally, the website, the JCC website didn't seem to accept my information the first time, an unfortunate event I am all too familiar with. Two days later I got an e-mail saying all my information was not received. I gave it again.

I was then told it would take four weeks to be approved. I am on the fourth week. Another request on the status told me another two weeks. This is highly unacceptable. Why, you may ask? I simply cannot afford the books required for my courses. Without books, I cannot succeed. I cannot study, I cannot ask questions, I cannot understand the material.

A young woman in Student Services asked me if I could get the money elsewhere. No, I cannot. It does not exist anywhere else. I had been told that previously, the college did book loans in case of something like this. And now, they do not. This is leaving students (I can think of another young lady off the top of my head) high and dry and crying and frantic. This is not fostering a good learning environment in any shape of the word.

When I asked her, frankly, what was I supposed to do, she just shrugged at me. That was very helpful, let me tell you.

Honesty, I can think of three other students who have had something happen to their finanical aid which put them in a very bad position. One of those students had to drop out of this semester. He is now going to be put back at least a semester in getting his degree.

A semester doesn't seem like a long time; but it is. That's another semester that he can't be out in the real world. That's another semester of student loans. That's another semester being here instead of at another university earning the degree he's thirsting for.

I, being that I don't even have my loans through yet, went down to Student Services to at least get a bus pass. What is this new policy? They are not given to students who get finanical aid? Because we can pay for them ourselves? I don't know about anyone else, but I am outraged. If I am getting grants, it is because I don't have enough money to go to school on my own. It is because I need every cent worth of help I can get. And instead of being helped by the college, I am once again getting told to find the money on my own. This is ridiculous. I cannot even begin to see where the logic in this is.

We've been told since we were in kindergarten that we need this higher education. That we have to-have to-have to go to college. And now that we're here, we're getting thrown down, denied and shrugged at. The main buzz around campus is; "JCC screwed everyone over this semester." I know this is not the kind of college you are striving to maintain.

Maybe this letter means nothing to you. But to me, it's everything. My education, my future is everything to me. It's everything to my past instructors, who tried so hard to get me here. It is everything to my high school teachers, who worked with my daily to try and prepare me for this. And most of all, it is everything to my mother, who raised me and prays for me every night that I can live a better life than she does.

-with all respect

R****** *** *******

Yes, my birthname starts with an 'R'.