Sunday, August 28, 2005

Back from limbo

The problem with the east coast is that its very different from the west coast. This is an issue if you're used to the latter, and expect everything to be that open and, to put it in the vernacular, "chilled out".

I have moved, my compadres, to a place named Roger Williams University: its a place where all the women [read girls] are blonde or streaked, wear cut off denim skirts and douse themselves in fruit scents and spray on sunscreen. Its a place where all the men [read boys]imagine themselves as sk8er bois or ex members of limp bizkit. Everyone listens to hip-hop. Everyone wants to drive.

This is the case of course, only because till date only the freshmen are on campus. The adults-- or bad imitations there of-- are yet to arrive.

I, and the other designated PLUS scholarship students have arrived, though. Slotted as transfer students, we have been avoided and have been spoken slowly to. I don't lay the entire blame of the latter act only on pubescent RWU students and new england profs who've eaten fish for too long: its an American past-time, to speak slowly to those of obviously foreign origins.

The island-- smallest state in yankville, do note-- is..erm... small. Surrounded by water. Instead of crows, it has sea gulls: big white birds that crap paint bucket loads of white guano, and scream through the day and evening. Instead of hills and pine trees, it has flat land and scrub.

Since this university was founded in the fifties, all its buildings look like sad grey matchboxes that Waters and Gilmour would've written B-sides on.

The library......was distinctly built in the early 90's.

Yes. I am sniffy, and I am unhappy.

My room is painted the colour of the green bile that belongs in a junkie's gut. There is an airconditioning vent that was created with the malevolent intent to freeze every foreign student to death.

My professors seem goodish though: I will be double majoring, in creative writing and theatre, and minoring in poli sci with a concentration in international relations.

*huge grin*

its like your name tag when you were in kindergarden. You feel strangely proud of this new title. American kiddies take 4 years to do what Im going to be doing-- inshallah-- in two years.

So Im sure good things will happen. Theres to be a semester for theatre, in London, if the visa god allows such. There are to be summer courses, and winter holidays. There are to be movie screenings, papers, club nights, turning 21, a roomate I haven't met yet, trips to new york, and the usual magic bag of life.

I miss portland though. Nothing can take that away, yet. I miss hookah on the grass, professors I knew better than family members, trees I called by name, a library that made me feel I was in a place of learning worthy of me [you already know how presumptuous I am, so why the suprise?, and classrooms which carry hot chocolate stains and state-of-the-art energy saving design.

I miss cyrus partovi's foreign policy classes. I miss us cooking at 2:00am in the Akin kitchen. I miss midnight ciggarette walks. Sitting by the reflection pool. The Stones rocking out of Laura's room over her record player, through her windows.

Only 7 days of moping allowed though: one must choose life, with all its amusing dice-fixing.

Speaking of choosing life... how many of us have seen train-spotting? Found the screen play of it sometime today. A declared favourite: cuts, dialogue, metaphors... perfect slime. Perfect.

In the words of Renton, then--

"So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's going to change, I'm going to change. This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you: the job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die".


Anonymous said...

well I am reading here and thinking,

what was I doing when I was 20.?Living , actually in "cinema halls" in dingy by lane of Kolkata- selling tickets in black -- so that I could survive, singing baul in empty class rooms, avoiding like the plague any ones which were full.


Been to Europe later, not to America, really- do you get more oppurtunities , or its just you are plain more smart , or its just you .

Ah ! but no regrets keep scribbling though :)