Almost There, Almost —

— waiting for the last details to settle. I’m here, trying to type away the final data on the grading sheet of my students, circa 2012-2013, first semester.

It’s not easy knowing the full fact that you get to meet new people, only to forget them (or they, in turn, forget you) every five months or so. Some would actually wave the occasional “Hi” and some, “Bye.” And sometimes we give a casual smile, or a “How do you do?” or a recollection of an awkward anecdote. You choose.

Walk along the wooden hall.
The rooms are bare, and the chairs
long for new owners
(and the occasional nail).

Walls are restored, repainted —
do expect new vandalism:
maybe a confession of a crime [un]committed,
or declaration of hate towards the professor,
or a copy of your crush’s second number.

Carve the simple truth,
Embed your piece of history
on termite food..

Movements are compensated with memory, and memory is supplied with associations coming from the current lesson, or the recent module in class, or the lamest joke ever shared (and they, out of respect, chuckle vaguely).


The first time it ever occurred — the realization of moments fleeting — I felt that somehow I’ve grown older, but not necessarily wiser.


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