Sometimes I start shattering with the immense pressure around me. Not that of academic pressure. But the pressure just to be someone.

Then when the masses amount of people died in New York City, it was only thousands that mattered. Not the individual that was behind each falling body. And yet, each person...was someone.

Yesterday night, my landlord sent his girlfriend to confront my roommate and I about our incessant phone calls about the broken toilet. I know, some things seem so unimportant, but well...the toilet. She lectured us about how several phone calls were relaying the same message. There is definitely less empathy in this world. She nearly threatened us saying that she would be sorry to "see you move out since you guys just moved in; I know what a hassle it is to move everything out..."
So I called a plumber. He took in our situation carefully and fixed the toilet rapidly. I was happy. My roommates were pleased. However, I was very unsettled by the landlord's girlfriend's conversation. The plumber wrote out a detailed billing statement describing the problem "...TOILET PARTS WEARED OUT. CAUSED BY WEAR AND TEAR. ALSO WATER NOT FILLIN UP THANK..."
The poor grammar exaggerated the situation. And the toilet, once dead and futile...was now brimming with hope.