I was struggling with my economics essay. The question was about how the time inconsistency of monetary policy can cause a stabilization bias, and how targeting a price path might fix it. After reading it over and over, I was still lost. I sighed, flipped through the textbook, brewed some tea, and tried again, but my mind just wouldn’t cooperate.
Then my phone buzzed—a message from my friend Anisa with a photo of my name spelled out in Scrabble tiles. “On my way. Stay there,” I texted back. Maybe a short break was exactly what I needed. It was only 10:30 p.m., still early for me. And if I asked nicely, maybe Anisa would come back to my room later and help me figure out the essay. I left my book on the desk and grabbed my coat.
Outside, the moon shone on rows of daffodils, and the freshly cut grass clung to my shoes as I crossed the playing fields. My destination was at the far edge of Lady Margaret Hall’s gardens—an old potting shed known as “the summerhouse” by the college and “the shack” by students. It had three walls made of clapboard, small rectangular windows, and a mossy wood-shingled roof. The fourth side was open to the outdoors. I often came here alone to listen to the rain on the roof or watch otters by the river. It felt like a place from a fairy tale.
Inside, there was a wooden bench, some chairs, and two small tables. Shelves on one wall held broken plates, green and blue glass bottles, and a bowl of old keys—treasures the gardeners had dug up. Opposite, three old mirrors hung above a bookshelf filled with weathered board games, pillar candles, and a few books. Scrabble tiles were scattered everywhere; students used them to spell their names, like a temporary “X was here” on a bathroom wall.
Anisa was there with two guys I recognized from the business course, gathered around a strange object on the table. It was a clear glass container with a smaller tube sticking out from the bottom, looking like something stolen from the chemistry lab.
“Hey, everyone,” I said, nodding around the room. “What’s that?”
Without a word, one of the guys picked it up and held a lighter to the small tube. I heard a bubbling sound, and then he vanished behind a cloud of smoke. The smell told me everything.
I knew this feeling—the panic of being trapped in my own body. It had happened before. I’d been around people smoking weed and even tried it myself. My friends would give me confusing advice like, “You have to inhale! Swallow and breathe out at the same time! No, use your mouth, not your nose!” As far as I could tell, I’d never actually gotten high, but it felt cool and adult to blow smoke and pass the joint along.
“Your turn,” the guy said.
“Nah, I’ve done it before, and it doesn’t work on me,” I replied.
“Chalk and cheese,” Anisa said. I shot her a frustrated look; she knew I never understood her British expressions. “What I mean is,” she explained, “a bong is totally different from a joint. Much more effective, fit for purpose.”
Fine, why not? I was already here, so I might as well try something new. The guy to my right held the lighter while I brought the bong to my face. Smoke filled my mouth, and I bent over, coughing hard. Anisa laughed. Everyone took a turn as we chatted about our holiday plans.
Eventually, it came back to me. “Okay, one more, but that’s it,” I said. This time, I held the lighter myself, slowly brought the mouthpiece to my lips, and managed not to cough. I leaned back in my chair and drifted off while the others kept talking.
At some point, I checked my phone and saw it was after 1 a.m. How was that even possible?
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about the topic written in a natural conversational tone with clear and direct answers
General Beginner Questions
1 What is this excerpt about
Its a powerful passage from Malala Yousafzais memoir I Am Malala where she describes a moment when the memory of being shot by the Taliban suddenly came back to her while she was in a relaxed everyday settingusing a water pipe with friends
2 Why would she include a story about using a bong in her memoir
To show the complex and unpredictable nature of trauma It illustrates how a traumatic memory can intrude upon a persons life at the most unexpected moments even during times of peace and normalcy
3 Was Malala actually using drugs
The excerpt describes her using a bong but its important to understand the context In many cultures particularly in Pakistan and the region where Malala is from a bong is a common water pipe used for smoking tobacco often flavored It is not necessarily associated with illegal drugs in that context
4 What is the main message of this excerpt
The main message is that recovering from severe trauma isnt a straight line Triggers for painful memories can appear anywhere and the process of healing involves learning to live with and understand these sudden flashbacks
Deeper Advanced Questions
5 What is a flashback and how does this excerpt demonstrate one
A flashback is a psychological phenomenon where a person suddenly and vividly relives a traumatic memory as if its happening in the present The excerpt demonstrates this by showing how the simple sensory act of using the bong unexpectedly transported her mind back to the specific sights sounds and feelings of the attack
6 How does this challenge common perceptions of PTSD
It challenges the idea that PTSD only affects soldiers in combat or that triggers are always obviously related to the trauma It shows that trauma can be triggered by mundane seemingly safe activities highlighting its invisible and insidious nature
7 Why is the contrast between the bong scene and the memory so effective
The contrast is stark a relaxed social moment versus a violent lifethreatening attack This jarring juxtaposition makes the intrusion of the trauma feel more shocking
