The yellowish light, part of the free utility that the university generously offered me, seems a bit too glaring for a mind that strives to wander. And whenever I peek at somewhere not illuminated by it, I see a bulk and opaquely exact reflection of what is visible, embellished with occasional dots of other light sources which don't look like dots because of my astigmatism - I can neither see the forest that was a part of the landscape that I appreciated during the day, nor the lanes where local Germans walked their dogs. What I can see, however, is a frame I see almost every day since I would always close the curtains before sleep, an indistinct, normative frame that resembles the landscape of a night train, perceived but not comprehended by an awakened or sleepless insomniac, as he rests his chin on the hand, on the table beside the windowsill lit up by the dim moonlight outside, except that it isn't moving. There's no sound of the wheel pressing on the rail, no replenishment of the lights passing by, only a frictionless inertia, unperturbed, unchanging, and vastly egocentric. I got up and turned off the light, the one facing downward, and left the other, facing upwards, open - because my girlfriend had always demanded that at least some lights should be on, and otherwise it spooks her. I still cannot see anything in that darkness. It has simply no weather, no content, and no space.
This side of the College Nordmetall building, and the side I preferred, since it faces the woods beyond the barbed wire that marks the boundary of what is my college, instead of south hall, or graveyard, or worse, the other part of college building, where my fellow students not only dwelled, but also are visible. And I do not like it - though there are people living on the same side of the college as I do, with their varied appliances on, leading lives of their own unique exclusivity, I remain nonchalant because I do not see them, and they do not see me, and that suits me.
The last time, and also amongst the few times that I got to walk out of the residential building during the night was three days ago, the night before Alin's birthday. I had a panic attack when I was lying on the bed, waiting to fall asleep. I was lost, or rather, not lost at all but too certain about my own conjectures that I did not expect it to come, and did not know how to cope with it. My girlfriend, wearied and on the tinge of falling asleep, woke up momentarily to read the Wikipedia entry I showed her about panic attacks, and said nothing to comfort me because she didn't know what to say and I didn't know what to listen. I went out, alone, to the bench in front of Krupp College and to the south-western end of the small-scale football field where I used to sit on and have ceased since I've got a girlfriend. I got out on slippers and jeans with the dark blue jacket I always wear, stopping at Krupp to take a sip at the Apetito juice machine - that didn't work out - there's a line of German on the machine that I don't know but means the machine has been turned off and is not available for free juice. I exited the building to the bench. Nobody was there, of course. I sat for a brief moment on the chair gazing at the football field, totally inactive as it was active during the day, the Krupp building with a lot of lights on, and the C3 building with less. I didn't see Mercator College though, it was invisible from where I sat, and in fact it has always been somewhat shady since I ever came here. The people I know who are from Mercator are scarce, and the lack of their presence makes everyone there almost ethereal to me - the dude who was helpful enough to open the door of Krupp for me several weeks ago, was he still smoking in front of the building? Probably no. Had he and will he? Probably yes. Aside from this, my knowledge is scant.
That night was supposedly in spring, already a dozen days into the Daylight Saving Time, and I have seen a lot of people with short sleeves and jeans around in the campus. But the temperature was still cold enough to thwart me from continuing to sit on the bench. On my way there I had pictured myself picturing the time when Marco and I were sitting there talking about philosophy, and when I was there alone, pretending to be homesick so people can start noticing me, but before half a minute, I had wiped my ass and moved back into the depressing but warm College Nordmetall Building. I'm still fervently youthful, however, I'm no longer deranged enough to take it as life's norm, which, is now an instructional manual on how to be unconventional, printed in serif font on the hardcover, with pages meticulously preserved and well-worn.
Today was Alin's birthday party. He meant to invite other people, but only one of them showed up. The rest complained that the college is too remote from where they are and they wouldn't bother the trip. There were birthday cakes, sliced ham, juice I brought up from the servery and tonic water on the table. And I walked to the freezer, retrieved the bowl containing yesterday's leftover food - a blend of Persian rice with Tibetan fried potato and Chinese fried celery and broccoli with chili, and reheated it in the microwave for two minutes under 360 watts and five minutes under 600 watts, and finished it up. Winnie fried some ham, but Atabak almost fled because of the smell of the pork. We already have more than enough than we can eat, and Alin still has ten kilograms of flower powder sent by his mom. He told her not to send it anymore when he was back in Romania during the spring break. And his mom just keeps sending.
This side of the College Nordmetall building, and the side I preferred, since it faces the woods beyond the barbed wire that marks the boundary of what is my college, instead of south hall, or graveyard, or worse, the other part of college building, where my fellow students not only dwelled, but also are visible. And I do not like it - though there are people living on the same side of the college as I do, with their varied appliances on, leading lives of their own unique exclusivity, I remain nonchalant because I do not see them, and they do not see me, and that suits me.
The last time, and also amongst the few times that I got to walk out of the residential building during the night was three days ago, the night before Alin's birthday. I had a panic attack when I was lying on the bed, waiting to fall asleep. I was lost, or rather, not lost at all but too certain about my own conjectures that I did not expect it to come, and did not know how to cope with it. My girlfriend, wearied and on the tinge of falling asleep, woke up momentarily to read the Wikipedia entry I showed her about panic attacks, and said nothing to comfort me because she didn't know what to say and I didn't know what to listen. I went out, alone, to the bench in front of Krupp College and to the south-western end of the small-scale football field where I used to sit on and have ceased since I've got a girlfriend. I got out on slippers and jeans with the dark blue jacket I always wear, stopping at Krupp to take a sip at the Apetito juice machine - that didn't work out - there's a line of German on the machine that I don't know but means the machine has been turned off and is not available for free juice. I exited the building to the bench. Nobody was there, of course. I sat for a brief moment on the chair gazing at the football field, totally inactive as it was active during the day, the Krupp building with a lot of lights on, and the C3 building with less. I didn't see Mercator College though, it was invisible from where I sat, and in fact it has always been somewhat shady since I ever came here. The people I know who are from Mercator are scarce, and the lack of their presence makes everyone there almost ethereal to me - the dude who was helpful enough to open the door of Krupp for me several weeks ago, was he still smoking in front of the building? Probably no. Had he and will he? Probably yes. Aside from this, my knowledge is scant.
That night was supposedly in spring, already a dozen days into the Daylight Saving Time, and I have seen a lot of people with short sleeves and jeans around in the campus. But the temperature was still cold enough to thwart me from continuing to sit on the bench. On my way there I had pictured myself picturing the time when Marco and I were sitting there talking about philosophy, and when I was there alone, pretending to be homesick so people can start noticing me, but before half a minute, I had wiped my ass and moved back into the depressing but warm College Nordmetall Building. I'm still fervently youthful, however, I'm no longer deranged enough to take it as life's norm, which, is now an instructional manual on how to be unconventional, printed in serif font on the hardcover, with pages meticulously preserved and well-worn.
Today was Alin's birthday party. He meant to invite other people, but only one of them showed up. The rest complained that the college is too remote from where they are and they wouldn't bother the trip. There were birthday cakes, sliced ham, juice I brought up from the servery and tonic water on the table. And I walked to the freezer, retrieved the bowl containing yesterday's leftover food - a blend of Persian rice with Tibetan fried potato and Chinese fried celery and broccoli with chili, and reheated it in the microwave for two minutes under 360 watts and five minutes under 600 watts, and finished it up. Winnie fried some ham, but Atabak almost fled because of the smell of the pork. We already have more than enough than we can eat, and Alin still has ten kilograms of flower powder sent by his mom. He told her not to send it anymore when he was back in Romania during the spring break. And his mom just keeps sending.
