I was in my “makeshift study room”: the toilet. With my heels firmly on, because if I sit down without them I feel like I’ll lose standing, I opened my English notebook. The goal was clear: to learn the irregular verbs while, with dignity, trying to build something that didn’t want to come out.

“Go–went–gone,” I repeated, pressing with the same force as when trying to pronounce “through” without stuttering. Nothing… neither the verb nor the other flowed.

I laughed to myself at the thought that maybe my exam depended on that moment: if I could get what was inside out, I would surely pass. But every time I tried to concentrate on the grammar, the effort reminded me how stubborn the body can be.

“Build–build–build,” I read aloud. Exactly! Trying to “build” something was the literal translation of my drama. But it seemed that neither in English nor in Spanish was I going to succeed.

My heels clacked against the floor every time I took a small step. In my head, it was already a concert: tock, tock, tock… as if I were keeping time to a student march.

In the end, I won, and I said, “Study–study–study… but this wasn’t Mission Impossible!” And between the laughter and frustration, I knew I’d learned my lesson; at least I was learning some pretty creative vocabulary.

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