Day 11: Microeconomics Misery

Monday morning greeted me with a double shot of dread: my first Microeconomics lecture with Mrs. Leong and the realization that the weekend hadn’t magically made the material any easier. As I trudged into the lecture hall, the faint hope of starting fresh was quickly squashed by the sheer sight of her stern expression.

Mrs. Leong didn’t believe in sugarcoating anything, least of all the harsh realities of demand and supply curves.

“This is not a subject you can skim through,” she began as the class settled in. Her voice was sharp, her tone no-nonsense. “If you’re here to coast, you might as well leave now.”

I wasn’t coasting—I was drowning.

She launched into a detailed explanation of elasticity, complete with complex graphs that looked like an EKG for a patient experiencing cardiac arrest.

“Elastic goods,” she said, pointing to a wavy line on the projector, “are highly responsive to changes in price. Take bubble tea, for example. If the price increases by 20%, will people still buy it?”

My brain said, Depends on how desperate they are for sugar, but I wisely kept that to myself.

“Now, consider something inelastic, like petrol,” she continued. “No matter how much the price rises, people still need it. They grumble, they protest, but they pay. This is the reality of inelastic goods.”

I scribbled furiously in my notebook, hoping the act of writing would somehow help the information stick. Around me, my classmates alternated between frantically taking notes and staring blankly at the screen. Faisal, predictably, was slumped in his seat, half-asleep.

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By the time the lecture ended, I felt like I’d just survived a mental assault. Mrs. Leong’s parting words—“Start preparing for your quiz next week!”—echoed ominously in my mind.

Outside the hall, I caught up with Faisal.

“Was it just me, or did that feel like a two-hour punishment?” I asked, rubbing my temples.

“Punishment? More like a death sentence,” he groaned. “I don’t even know what elasticity is, and she’s already talking about a quiz.”

Amanda walked past us just then, clutching her textbook and a color-coded notebook that screamed overachiever. She gave me a polite smile, and I felt a brief spark of hope. Maybe I could ask her for help with the subject. But before I could muster the courage, she was gone, leaving behind a faint whiff of lavender perfume.

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That evening, I decided to tackle the topic head-on. Armed with a strong cup of coffee, I sat at my desk and opened the Microeconomics textbook. The words on the page seemed to mock me. Price elasticity of demand… percentage change in quantity demanded… percentage change in price…

It was like deciphering a foreign language. After half an hour of futile effort, I caved and pulled up YouTube tutorials. The first video was a cheerful professor explaining elasticity with a banana metaphor.

“Think of a banana,” he said, holding one up. “If the price of bananas doubles, would you still buy them? Maybe not, right? That means bananas are elastic!”

It was ridiculous, but somehow, it helped.

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By midnight, I had a vague grasp of the concept, though my notebook was filled with doodles of bananas, petrol pumps, and bubble tea cups. Faisal wandered in, munching on a sandwich.

“Still at it?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Yeah. Did you know bubble tea is elastic?” I replied, trying to sound smart.

He shrugged. “I know it’s delicious.”

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Lesson of the day: Microeconomics might be misery, but with enough bananas, bubble tea, and a dash of determination, it’s survivable. Sort of.