Usually, when Morpheus does write me an email (which he hasn't since roughly September of 2016), his messages are in the style of free write or stream of consciousness, except that not all of the sentences are there. Instead, he writes in fragments, as if to himself. He doesn't clarify nor does he try to explain. In some ways, this is rather intimate. You gain the sense from his emails that he doesn't put in a lot of effort beforehand in choosing his words, so you assume that it's relatively honest and fresh.
The English instructor writes in direct contrast to this. Every word is carefully tailored to be politically correct, is adjusted as to procure the correct response, to seem distinct while also remote. In general, the emails are thoughtful, if not a bit overly formal. Perhaps it would seem impossible for him to change his style, as his diction may not be a direct effort, but something that happens below the surface, more of a hidden mechanism for self-protection and of routine. My COMM professor writes similarly, even more blunt, and he's a very friendly and outgoing person when you're face-to-face with him, either during class time or in his office hours. He makes eye contact, he smiles, he makes jokes, and also extends his help.
To ask the English instructor to write differently is perhaps not out of reach for him, but may be simply very disconcerting for him. We learn from an early age that how we speak, how we write greatly influences how other people view us, even if they're getting the wrong idea. We can appear aloof and intellectual or we can seem silly and somewhat ill-advised. A few wrong punctuation errors in the beginning of a college essay, and we have labeled ourselves as rather thoughtless, careless and lazy--even if we spent hours upon hours on just a few pages of work.
That being said, I recognize in general, the English instructor chooses his words deliberately. So, the use of the word "weirdness" in his last email to me caught me off guard. "I would request that any visits do not serve as a means to discuss your previous two emails. Just stop by to discuss how your classes are going and the writing is developing, with no clarifications, explanations or weirdness!" (direct quote from the English instructor's last email)
Perhaps I should mention that while we can debate the good sense or lack thereof in sending an email confession of love to an ex-professor, there was nothing in my second email labed "One Last Thought" that was at all inappropriate. It was just a plead to be treated like a human being, instead of a grade report card. So, why would he lump that message in with the other, more extreme essay of my feelings for him? Are they equally undebatable? Are they equally troubling? I would argue "no" but I do not have the privilege of being inside the English instructor's head. My request to be heard as a woman and as an individual is not shocking nor even unusual. In fact, most people, once you get over the first "hi! how are you's" want what I asked for, whether they say so directly or not.
When I first read his email (the one containing the quotes above), I felt like someone had grabbed my beating heart and squeezed--hard. A cliche, but one that is fitting. My reaction centered one just one word: "weirdness." I immediately began to question myself, am I weird? What about me is weird? Why is emotional intimacy, in varying degrees, why is that "weird"? Is that an issue about the English instructor or does it say something about me?
I realize that I can be intense, even to my own demise, as evident in my outbursts in English class, and my inability to just stay in my seat and take it. Instead, I got pissed off and hurt, and ran away. Otherwise, I don't see myself as a particularly emotionally expressive person. My family recognizes only one emotion, and that's anger. There's a lot of anger milling around in the house, and little else. What remains surprising to me is that after one of my parents is angry and shouts, the other spouse simply in large part ignores what he/she has said, and pretends like it never happened. Despite having a mental illness, I pride myself on the ability to "fit in," or at least make the appearance of being normal. Perhaps this is not how others view me.
I've really never seen the desire to communicate with someone on a frank level to be "weird," although many people are deeply afraid of it. The truth is, you never know what kind of reaction you're going to receive when you confess something deep and dark about yourself to another human being. He/she could be kind and caring or dismissive and hurtful. You just have to try.
What was obvious was that despite the first paragraph in his email all being about me actually showing up to office hours, and how that was okay, he didn't want me to see him. I tried my best in my response to avoid sounding angry or to make matters worse, but of course, I probably proved his point: I couldn't be counted on to remain casual and calm.
"Dear Mr. [the English instructor],
Obviously I make you uncomfortable, and you are concerned about the prospect of me saying somthing to make you even more uncomfortable or what you may consider inappropriate for the setting (i.e. your office). Frankly, you don't trust me (maybe it's unrealistic to ask that you do trust me). Moreover, I have offended you and your sensibility.
I will not drop by your office because I don't like the fact that I must have a 'trigger warning' taped across my forehead. I think you are relieved I said that.
By the way, two people can have an intellectual discussion about sex, and it is the very idea of sex that startles you so.
Most of the time, though, during office hours, I don't try to get into my married professor's pants. I usually save that for more private conversations.
If I were in your position, I would have just said, 'no, don't come.'
[Jae]"
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