Sitting in the library with readings from four classes staring into my uncomprehending face, I now realize that 3 months of no mental (or physical, but we'll get to that later) activity whatsoever have really decreased my already low mental capacity. If you, like me, suffer from a lack of active brain cells, I suggest exploring options other than Higher Education. If you really, really,
really like a certain college, try getting a job there. Become a janitor. Or a dishwasher. Or something. (Since you can't be a professor, cause for that you kinda sorta have to take the HE path too.) They'll make you wash pots and pans in the kitchen as "work-study" anyway (three hours of pot washing on a Sunday morning. And countless more to come). So might as well stick to manual labour and enjoy the perks of a beautiful campus without going to any of the classes.
As much as I love this place, I still have some whining to do. (Surprised? Don't be.)
- The food doesn't taste like anything. Sometimes I want to gag just for the lack of spice. There is way too much food in this country, and none of it is spicy.
- So back home, I'm supposed to be "chubby" (whatever that means). However, here, I'm smaller than small. Now you may think of that as a boost to my self-esteem, which it was for the first two days, it's just plain annoying now. I've been trying to shop for winter and I look like a two year old trying to fit into her mother's clothes.
- So we all know how the first world countries are out to kill us. We get Red Bull for cheaper. We get cigarettes for nothing. And frankly, I prefer it that way. Please, I would rather die than pay $8.50 for twenty cigarettes. Can you let me reduce my lung capacity in peace?
- Walking. Too. Much. Walking. For a person who's known for sitting on her butt and moving only when the necessity occurs, this is a lifestyle shock. So far, I'm still alive. For how long? I don't know.
- "So, like, how did you hear about Mount Holyoke? Do people there know about America? Do you guys, like, listen to our music? Do you speak English there? So, like, do you meet boys? Is your house flooded?" Alas, the ignorant American. Oh, I don't know, one day as I was wading through my burnt down village, which just by the way also got hit by the flood, trying not to drown under the weight of my sodden burqa, I reached a stretch of dry land. On that fine stretch, I saw a white man on a donkey cart. It was an American missionary who somehow managed to convey to me (through sign language since I didn't know what English was till I came to this country) that there is this place called Mount Holyoke College. When I found out, I swam back to my house as fast as I could, to tell my family of 50 people that I could save everyone, only to be beaten up with a belt and chased out of my village because they thought the American missionary had violated my honour. While I was being chased out, I hid in the forest, on top of a tree, where the man found me again, and applied to the US for political asylum for me, and here I am! It sounds so much better than "Umm, it was my first choice."
Yeah, they're a weird race, these Americans.
