History class, more than three decades ago now. Mr P is at the blackboard talking about the survival of the fittest. Suddenly, he turns and asks me why I always say that I’m fine whenever someone asks how I am.
I stare at him, blank. My classmates look at him, at me, then back at him. A few nods, smiles, crinkled foreheads. Mr P pushes his thick glasses up and tells me that I’ve just returned from a few days away, sick. He thinks I haven’t fully recovered; it’s there in my pale skin and tired eyes. Yet, when he asks how I am as I walk into class, I say I’m fine without a pause.
“I’m fine” or “I’m good” have been my default answers since childhood. I don’t even have to think about it. Either one or the other is answer enough.
I was reminded of them again today when someone asked me how I was and I automatically answered “I’m good”. But I wasn’t. I’m not. I’m recovering from the flu, and I have a head cold. Social niceties, I think it’s called. Be nice. Be polite. Don’t get too personal. Fine by me. I don’t like talking about myself, especially to a stranger. And I don’t think the person asking really wanted to know.