Time. (Musings in a Lecture, and After)

There is a bald guy in my classes. He is in one of my tutorials too, but I have forgotten his name. He sits in front of me in the lecture today, his head shining. There is something compelling about this smooth, bald head. I want to lean forward and stroke it, feel its smoothness. But instead, I stare at the back of it, inspecting. I think I know why it is bald: there is a bald spot in the middle where there is no evidence of hair. Around this, telltale black dots that will never get the chance to become stubble indicate that the hair has been cleanly shaved. I guess he thought better no hair than a bald spot � and he made a good choice. He has a nice head.

There is a girl who I consider a prospective friend. I haven�t spoken to her yet, but she is also in one of my tutorials. She sits alone, and wears jeans and t-shirts and a wooden beaded necklace. Her hair is brown and tied back with a thin elastic band. The name list comes around and I see her name is Maria. She doesn�t look like a Maria. A Claire, a Heather, even a Diana maybe � but not a Maria. But that�s what she is.

The lecture runs overtime. In the class, people sleep. The girl sitting next to me, her head swaying this way and that. The guy a few seats away, his head in his hand. Maybe the people in front of me � I don�t know because I can�t see their faces. I think about my sandwich. I have brought a sandwich today so I don�t eat any more stomach upsetting Chinese takeaways. I made it the night before, and put it in the freezer. Boiled chicken with tomatoes, mayonnaise, cheese, lettuce and American mustard, on white bread. I look forward to eating it. There is another waiting in the fridge for me when I get home.

Two hours later I am in a tutorial. The bald guy�s name is Gonz, and he is now one of my group members for that class for the entire semester. He looks me steadily in the eye when he talks to me, and I don�t feel uncomfortable looking back. I now find his eyes compelling also � they are beautiful. Dark green pools of calmness. The other group member is Matt. He�s nice � the kind of nice that is prone to turning into annoying-nice. He reminds me of someone I know, but I can�t think who.

I pay $15 and join the Marketing Society. They give me a receipt and a keychain and tell me that my membership fee will be compensated by large quantities of alcohol, which they will provide at various events. This is fine with me. They show me a purple poster with a cow which apparently describes the details of their pub crawl next Thursday. I say I will be there.

I see Maria walking out of the building as I am walking in. Today she is not wearing jeans, but a denim skirt. A very small denim skirt. I don�t know if I want to befriend her anymore.

At home, things are getting better. Nothing much has changed � the grass is still uncut, my phone is still unconnected � but the atmosphere is different. Something has been lifted, and I am no longer alone. Annie is having the same phone problems as me, Abu is asking me how things are going (and giving me advice on the phone problems), and Madhu is recommending me good beauticians. I make fried rice and cut the onions too big, but it tastes good anyway.

The Thai Lady comes back late. She introduced herself to everyone when she moved in, but nobody can remember her name, so she is the Thai Lady. She is shy and quiet, like a mouse. She barely says anything, but even so there is a gentleness and kindness about her that sometimes makes me want to cry. I see her only late at night, when she comes in with her takeaway dinner from the Chinese caf� across the road from the railway station. She has never cooked in this house. She eats instant noodles for lunch and takeaways for dinner. She doesn�t have time to cook, she says, too much work to do. She eats her dinner at the wooden dinner table, every night the same thing: the takeaway, a tub of yoghurt and a peach or apple. She drinks water and apple juice, alternating between the two. Then, she washes her dishes, puts away her things, and scurries back into her room, presumably to do more study.

Today, she wears a peach suit with stockings. She looks beautiful, like a porcelain doll. I tell her, and she smiles shyly. She is leaving soon, in two days. She asks me if I will be around on the day, and I say yes. She asks me if I will take a picture of her in front of the house before she goes. I say of course. I feel sad � even though we have had very little interaction, I will miss her presence. At least I will be able to hug her goodbye. Then, she will be gone forever and I will never see or hear from her again. I will probably never know her name. In time, she will become a vague memory: the shy Thai Lady I once lived with.

Someone will move into her room. Someone new. Someone who may feel like I did the first week I was here. Perhaps they will be intimidated by me, like I was of the other housemates. But then, they will realize that, despite everything the broken TV and the uncut grass, the problems with the phone companies, the missing desk drawers, the lack of fridge space and the smell of curry cooking at midnight, everything is really okay.

Yesterday, I was ready to move out into a place by myself. Today, I feel like I could live here for the whole year.

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