First Days

Written on the 29th of September, 2013

I am a big fan of Judie Abbot and there was one thing I was hoping to recreate. After the orphaned protagonist found herself a benefactor who enrolled her in the university, she opened the window of her beloved room and smelled in a single breath the beauty of what she cannot fully express but wish to imbibe. Well, I did that too and I froze to death.

It is my 4th night in England as of this writing, and I am so sorry for the rigid hypothalamic tuning of my 23 years of flag-bearing the warm-blooded. I sleep like a shrimp with 3 pairs of cotton socks, a thick shirt, a thick cotton jacket, a pair of thick cotton gloves, heavy duty jogging pants, with a comforter on top and a blanket. I look like a tomato in a sandwich and every second, is a horrendous battle against what the British called the ending days of their summer. God Bless 10 degress. When in the bath, I thanked God I am only 70% water. Everytime I prepare myself to exit the dormitory, in no less than 5 seconds, my legs would go numb and I would go back inside, reinhale all the warmth my 2 nostrils can suck and set out. And as I walk, my mouth would start to shiver dreadfully,  and when you're with the rest, it doesn't really look feminine.

And when I saw Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay in their flagship cooking series way back in my hometown, I drooled on fish and chips but I never expected that their fish would be larger than my forearm and their chips, way larger than my thumb. I just stared at my plate in all ignorance and economic-disbelief and convinced myself in the end that what is in front of me is not a baby shark.  

The first time I entered my room, I found the heater, and although I am enamored by its practicality, I have no idea how it works. And the same thing goes for the microwave, toaster (yes), laundry dryer. To save a face, I would youtube steps 1 to 10 but I still end up fearing my premature independence could blow up the entire dormitory. So, I would follow the other end of the flowchart that is, to swallow my pride and just ask for help.  

And most of the time, the petty things you never bothered to overthink would slowly start to consume your consciousness and respect its instinct to survive. What will I cook? Am I competent enough to recreate a youtube dish?  Shall I endure the pains of walking aimlessly and be lost in the searing cold eclipsing the awe of finding a light fog parting from my lips as I struggle to make myself heard.  

I am an ignoramus, a shell covered in sand, breathing in my own comforts, trying to exist amidst the chaos and beauty of the sea, and suddenly I got caught and I had to poke my slimy head into the hole to see that perhaps my glasses have only  been filled half of what I know I must fill in full.  But never mind that. One must always endure the beauty of being oblivious. Sometimes, you kick yourself out, only to find yourself lost again in translation, but then you can always defy the temptations of giving up even when newness comes crashing into your life at breakneck speeds.