Note on November

I sat at the cash register and the store was almost empty -- Monday night. I looked at my watch, 4 minutes had gone by since the last night I checked. I should just tape it like Emilia Fox did in the movie "Cash Back". After seeing that film with a friend of mine, we both got a supermarket job a few weeks later. But it seems so long ago now. I scanned through products mechanically, then suddenly someone pointing at a small six-pack funky milk and asked me :" It is healthy right? You are Japanese, this is healthy right?"

"Eh... sorry... what? I am not Japanese." Maybe I didn't meet an artist like Fox did, but there are certainly plenty of materials scattered around.

"Which brand is better for my sweater?"
"I don't know."
"Oh God, you know nothing!" A customer stormed away angrily. Some people can neither take honest answers, nor read.

"I want that frying pan on your special offer list. Can't you go and get it for me?" An old woman threw the ad on the counter. I had the urge to tell her that I was not her butler, and not suppose to leave the cash register. But I left and looked for the drying pan. Just because you are old, you don't have to boss around others. I fancied throwing the pan at her face:" Here is that fucking special frying pan!" But at the same time, I get paid by the hour.

Humid and chilly air appears to be tapping everyone's nerves. Twice had we almost an accident on the bus. An old lady fell as the driver braked abruptly. I was late for school. A professor of mine had a break-down in the middle of class because something triggered her. A passage that we read reminded her the misfortune happened this summer, she almost cancel the class and always felt a ghost following her. Lunch at the Mensa around noon is war. I decided to put 2 kg of risotto on my plate and checked out. A girl sat across from me had a big suitcase under the table, she put both of her hands on her ears, head down. I couldn't see her face. I wondered if she had been waiting for someone, who might eventually stand her up. If she was looking for a quite place to block out the world, Mensa is a bad choice. Maybe the person she had been waiting for was caught up in a series of strange events (Patrick Wilson in "Little Children"?) I had wanted to ask her if everything was alright, but I picked up my tray and headed for the dish washer.

There are more than a docent of leave letters at school, I am hardly ever bothered. I look foreign.

I love to dine near our huge aquarium under candle light. These moments remind me of everything what my distant biological family was and is not. Change is good, breaking a vicious circle is good, a full-of-love-prepared meal is good; life is good.

HALLO UNI.

Hallo Uni.

I just finished the first week of school. Sitting in the library and I wish I could just simply jam the books literally into my brain.

Monday:

The best day ever. The moment I was looking up to see where my lecture was, I realized that my Monday seminar actually starts on the 19 of Oct. So I crawled back to bed.

Tuesday:

I woke up with two pieces of chocolate -- it is my first day school and I was given sweets for that! Aw... I should just hop away to school:-)

The first class was "Time and the Lyric". We watched a short film about the best domino setting in the past 30 years and were told to pick up our reading assignment for the semester in the library print-out room. "It is not a lot," our professor said to us, "just the minimum for this semester. And the good news is: you can chose to write a Hausarbeit at the end of the semester or 3 essays through out the semester plus a short statement over a specific theme." I picked up the reading material the next day-- it is a 400-page double sited, in small print, A4-size band.

Oh yes, since I am taking 6 classes this semester, I've got 6 of those.

The next class made me want to hide myself under the desk. The professor spoke so fast that I wondered if she had just had coke. I wanted to use my cellphone to record part of her speech but I though it was rude to do so. She spoke with tons of philosophical terms, randomly threw in French, Greek, Latin, Italian, English (and other languages I wasn't able to recognize what they were) and sudden pause. "Is there anyone here who doesn't have the basic philosophy?"

I raised my hand, I was the only one.

"Ok, that is not the end of the world. Just ask if you don't understand any terms we use. For next Tuesday, please read the first assignment. I think Plato is a good start for us. (EXCUSE ME?) Is there anyone would like to read the text in Greek?"

(Haha, that is funny)

One or two raised their hands.

Oh...Is it not a joke? Never mind.

"I will bring the Greek copy as well. See you next week. And by the way, for these two books on French philosophy, there is no good translation yet in German. If you are having troubles reading French, that is just bad luck. I hope you can figure something out. Any questions?"

(Would you fancy me asking you questions in Latin?)

My last class for Tuesday ended at 6pm. Being able to speak a few languages is NOTHING. I am sitting in the classroom with people who are doing their second PHD, speak 20 languages perfectly, citing Tynjanov in Russian and Kierkegaard in Danish.

Wednesday:

Shakespeare day. I sat in the back, hoping the professor wouldn't ask if any of us hadn't read all of his books. -- But what a relief: not only the prof. didn't ask the question on my mind, we don't have to read all the assigned books in German!

Thursday:

For the entire week, I had been having classes with more or less the same people, how come I know no one for the Proust class?

Oh... this is a so-called second semester class. The others have already read the first Volume of his work in the previous semester. We are to work on the second Volume in the following 3 months.

"Anyone here who isn't familiar with Proust?"

I was going to raise my hand, but she caught my attempt gesture and realized that I'd be the only one.

Fuck.

"You can do your work in German or French," she said, "but I'd prefer you all to read in French because there are things which cannot be translated accurately. And please read the commentaries on the list, especially the third one from Daria Galateria."

That one is written in Italian.

There are two classes in this Module and I have to choose one of them. Now I realize why the rest of the crew didn't come. The other class is Goethe.

Moments like this made me want to cry. I guess years of slacking finally caught up with me. It is a good thing I work in a supermarket, at least I don't have to talk to customers in ancient Greek.