College days challenged my writing power. I enlisted for an English Literature and Linguistics degree. The first two years was good. I was having fair grades until I met this terror professor who was like the commander-in-chief of the universal English force. She had that kind of gravitation that pulls the smiles of her subordinates away when she comes to class. As my professor in three different literature classes, she also gave me three knockdown grades equivalent to something you call “three kisses of death”. It was the lowest marks of my life. My junior year was definitely the turning point of my career in the English military but I’m still lucky, all of my mates are also suffering from the same bruise.
That event in my third year put me to questions. What was wrong with me? Why am I getting these grades? Was this about my writing skills? What was wrong with my powers? Are my ammunition getting weaker? I thought of many things just to provide answers. I observe my performance; my writings were just to mainstream for the commander-in-chief. She was missing a piece of my magic, I concluded, and that’s why I’m here.
