I laugh because I’m nervous. I laugh because I’m uncomfortable. I hardly laugh when it’s appropriate. Today, in class, I laughed during a video on research methods. You’d laugh too if you heard someone say, “Firemen aren’t made. They’re born.” So I did. 

On Saturday afternoon, I got in trouble for laughing. I was reading on the floor of the Harvard bookstore, when I heard a peculiar noise. It began as a light cough, but evolved into a disgusting sound, the kind someone makes just before they’re going to, you know…puke?

I couldn’t find the source of the noise. I was scared. I was nervous. I was very uncomfortable. So I laughed. I looked at my best friend. She was laughing so hard that I thought she might stop breathing. I imagined having to perform CPR on her. Except I didn’t know CPR, so I probably wouldn’t be able to save her. I imagined having to tell her parents that she had literally died of laughter. 

The noise stopped, and a moment later, a middle-aged woman appeared before us. Her lips were pursed tightly, and she glared at us for several moments before walking away. 

I looked at my best friend. Her smile was gone. “Grab your things, Sam!” I tried to move quickly but I felt guilty leaving books on the ground without putting them back in their original places. “Come on!” She whined, grabbing my arm and leading me to the store’s exit. 

As we walked home, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for laughing at someone else’s coughing attack. I meant no disrespect. I laughed because I was nervous. 

In America, when people are nervous or scared, they commit far worse acts than acts of laughter. They discriminate, start wars, spread hate. So what if I laugh because I’m nervous? Life is short, and so am I.