Postkort fra 2041: I Wrote It Myself
Chidi,
So the school flagged my essay. Amber. "Provenance uncertain." Which is system-speak for we think a model wrote this, which is system-speak for this girl is not supposed to be this good.
I wrote it myself. On paper first, at the kitchen table, while Mum reheated jollof and complained about the mist coolers dripping on her laundry. Then I typed it in. Apparently typing fast is now evidence.
They offered me a "rewrite under observation." Sixteen years old and I am getting a chaperone for my own sentences. I said no. I said I would bring the paper draft. Miss Lindhardt looked at it like an archaeologist. Coffee ring and everything.
The thing is, I am not even angry about the software. It is a dumb little pattern-sniffer, it does not know me. I am angry that nobody in that room thought to just ask me what the essay was about.
Anyway. Thirty-one degrees on Østerbrogade today, the pavement misters running all afternoon, everyone standing in the fog pretending it is dignified. It is not. It is lovely.
I am keeping the paper draft forever. Framing it, maybe.
Tell Auntie I said hi.
Mille — provenance: mig
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