Thivinĉa

Thivinĉa was her name. Tall, slender, lovely, and brown-eyed she was. Black was her hair and first class her education. That is, until she applied for graduation in her last year of college and learned that she couldn’t graduate—in fact, shouldn’t have been allowed in the university at all.

She was a fraud, and her “official” documents proved it; while according to the information printed on her school documents, she was Thivinĉa, according to her given name typewritten on her Certificate of Live Birth, she was THIVINAEA. Granted that an application for graduation in any university—first class or not—is not a case sensitive mattter, yet even the most intelligent computers of today would not the least bit even confuse that Thivinĉa and THIVINAEA were the same person. As it was, it was an averagely-IQed human who detected this potentially criminal discrepancy, and no sooner had he glanced at the time—3:32 P.M.—and at the long line of applicants yet to entertain, had he informed Thivinĉa that she was as a matter of fact a fraud, and should therefore immediately get out of his face before he “called the frigging cops.” Thivinĉa, in tears, couldn’t do anything but as the man instructed. She went home and never returned to the university again.

In fact, she vowed never to go out of the house ever.

What she did instead was committed her life to staying home forever and never leaving until she found someone who would understand and recognize her for the person that she was.

İ Jay Santos 2003.