It just occured to me today, that today marks the point in time where it has been exactly two months since I arrived here. Somehow, it feels like time flies fast. This gradual passing of time is very hard to pinpoint. Two months already?
They say that you get the feeling that time flies fast when you are too busy, which I am. Two months already means that there is only about a month and three weeks left of school. I am actually signing up for classes next semester, and that would be another fast way to spend my time. I'll be surprised and caught off-guard when one day 2006 will come knocking on my doorstep.
Speaking of being busy, I am busy, short-range and long-range. Short-range, in the sense, that today, I went for groceries, I vacuumed my room, and I ironed my clothes. Long-range, in the sense that I have papers to write, handouts to edit, and students' papers to grade.
Speaking of 2006, that is just about two months away from now. And then July will come, and I will turn 24. What a thought. I am not looking forward to it. I notice grey hair increasing on my head every time I look at the mirror, and I see my other friends here, some of them not too older than I am, and they are married. They have settled down, while I, on the other hand, am still unpinned and single. It's not that I am lovesick. Heh? Me? Lovesick? But I shudder at the thought that the age that I am is signifying the fact that some people my age have taken certain responsibilities that I haven't taken yet. Does that show that I am immature? Or that they have simply opted to take it earlier than I am?
While waiting for the bus today, I overheard another graduate student remark to his girlfriend about the American fashion of lowering one's pants to reveal one's boxers, a topic which I blogged about recently (Don't let me hyperlink here, I am too lazy or rather, tired, today, to search for the entry.). I couldn't help laughing at his remark. I told him that I see that a lot with my students. Especially when they sit down and their pants goes underneath their butt but their boxers do not.
During my grocery stint earlier, I had an incident with the checkout counter. I purchased, or rather, was about to purchase, a bottle of cooking white wine. Then out of the blue, the cash register asked me "Do you have an ID?" I thought, "An ID for what?" Then I realized that she was holding my cooking white wine. "Oh, that? I'm sorry, I don't." I didn't expect them to look for an ID for cooking wine. At least, they think I am young though, that is a compliment. But an inconvenient compliment. I thought, "I won't chuggle up cooking wine to get drunk!" I searched my wallet for an ID but really, I didn't have one. I don't have a driver's license, and I didn't bring my passport. Fortunately, the cash register called her supervisor, and asked about the matter. Then it turned out that since it is cooking wine, she allowed me to purchase it. Funny, a country who allows its citizens to go to war at 18 but still prohibits them from drinking alcohol until they're 21.