A Moody, Gloomy Classroom with Beauty
As I sat at the middle of the back row, the emptiness of the classroom was highlighted through the few students that sat in front of me. As soon as the clock at the corner of the room hit 3:25 PM, a hurdle of rushing students entered the room. They filled the space almost entirely; the room went from feeling empty to tight-packed. These students radiated the space with their smiles and laughs that hid their exhaustion and stress form midterm week. They were anything but quiet. While observing the space before the class begins, I noticed the wall was painted an unusual color: pale purple. For a classroom, purple does not seem like the common color to set the mood. It reminded me of the children’s pediatric center I have been visiting for years, it made the space more juvenile and livelier than I noticed before.
The professor hurriedly rushed in as the clock hit 3:30 PM. Right on time. As he walked in, the loud noises shifted into white noise. The room became silent. As I looked around, people faced upright as the professor settled himself in and asked about everyone’s weekend. I thought everyone was silent because of the professor’s intimidation, but he seemed welcoming, friendly. They were all silent out of respect for him. Everyone was so silent I could hear the wind hitting the window on the other side of the room. Creepy. As the professor began his lesson, he turned off the lights and the windows began to illuminate half of the wide, rectangular room. The long, squared windows at one side of the room had blinds covering some of the outside view. I kept examining the windows, the beauty of its gigantic size and the sunlight that created a warm hue in the room. A student near the windows randomly burst in laughter. I looked at her and noticed she has her attention on the professor’s slideshow presentation that marks “BOOM” on the board. I laughed as well, but because of the randomness and confusion I was enduring simultaneously.
As that side of the room simmered down, the space felt emptier as the room became silent again. It’s amazing how much impact noise has on a space’s mood. Maybe that’s why parties play loud music: to disguise the awkwardness with loud, distracting tunes. Speaking of music, the loud Latin-fused melodies I start hearing interrupt my daydreaming. The music was soothing, and I know the students around could agree as half of the room started struggling to keep their eyes open. As the music gradually dimmed, the space’s aura changed again as silence dominated the space. The professor switches the mood with his magic fingers as he turned on the lights and everyone brightened up again. There were side conversations occurring, humming of some sort, tapping and ticking. The room’s mood swings and classmates’ loudness were doubling the pain of my migraine. “HEHEHE!!” I thought too soon. The woman near the window started squeakily laughing again. With all the noise gradually rising, it was adding fuel to the fire that was currently enraging inside my temple.
As the class progressed, the noise simmered down and we were back at a comforting silence, not too quiet but not too loud. “Ahhhh,” I thought. This was like medicine to my long-lasting migraine. I began to relax and focus back on observing the people in the class. The seating arrangement had its attention at the front of the room, which might be why the students were focused. The front row was the most engaged with the professor, they were giving him the most eye contact, which he reciprocated back. This was not surprising since this is the case in most school settings. I also noticed that the right side of the classroom was more engaged than the other half, most of the participation came from that side of the room. I wondered why orientation seemed to correlate with engagement. Maybe it had to do with the sunlight that was keeping that side of the room alert? It could also be that the professor tended to stand towards the right side of the room as well. Who really knows?
As my time here was coming to an end, the aura of the space reminded me of this as the room started winding down. The students seemed distracted and brutally exhausted now (who can blame them amidst the painful experience of midterms season). The professor was now trying harder to engage the students with him. The sun was whining down, and the warm hues were being replaced by cold tones. The laughter had stopped, the chit-chat had ended, and the room felt empty again. The analytical talk had sucked the life out of these students. Yikes! What a way to start ending class…
I started packing up my belongings to leave when the professor made eye contact with me to signal my departure. I waved goodbye and took one last look at the people and the space I was leaving behind. As I opened the heavy door to walk away, the gloomy shadows of the stresses and exhaustion of the students stayed locked behind me in that mellow, gloomy, but beautiful room.
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