The Last One

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Alright, so I’m sitting here on the floor between something and something else, with a large bowl of pasta which overnight has become even tastier, even though lost its attractive looks, and remains of mulled wine. Yesterday we had a small party: Rishab’s parents and aunt, Jazy, Ather and Kat, and the day before yesterday we graduated. And the day before yesterday we graduated. (I’m repeating for an effect.)

The graduation was awesome. Awe-inspiring. We came and started rushing around in the attempt to register and collect our robes; I forgot how to spell my family name and was standing in the wrong queue. The tension was growing with every minute. The robes were flying in the draughts. Everyone was so handsome. I felt I belonged to some Society of Outstandingly Uncannily Handsome people. I definitely was one myself, of course, wearing a thin grey woolen dress and enormous heels, complete with my newly born little emerald earrings and a ring, and an invisible golden chain with a microscopic diamond pendant. Of course! We all were stars, a newly discovered galaxy. Aneta was wearing her ethnic Norwegian dress and jewellery, which were unsurpassed. Rishab was wearing a head-turning suit which his uncle gave him in June. Melvin was wearing a kilt. What others were wearing, I don’t remember, but surely something stunning. But even if they hadn’t, they would still have been Outstandingly Handsome. Sometimes you can’t help it.

When they were preparing us to enter the hall, we were told that the Principal will initiate a handshake with each of us, and it would be desirable if we could reciprocate, but not compulsorily so in case if it was against our religion. I loved that moment. I realised once again how incredibly diverse this community of graduands was, and how difficult it actually had been to accommodate everyone’s tastes, beliefs and values; and how successful the university was in that, at the end of the day. It’s such a small thing, a handshake, and so natural and straightforward; yet there might have been people who couldn’t handshake with the Principal, and… You see what I mean?

Then we went for a late lunch/early dinner to Bothy, organised by Dace. And then there was the ceilidh. I came late, entered the hall and froze in the doorway. Warmth, energy, flow. I subdued. I got carried away by the beauty and simplicity of the dance. It’s archaic, it’s archetypical, it’s profane. I wanted to praise everyone around me: they were so beautiful, wearing such beautiful clothes, such elegant smiles. I belonged there, I didn’t want to leave.

On Monday we had a reception. I might be wrong, but I felt as if it was the first reception where students and staff were genuinely united; or at least it was so for me. I absolutely hate parties and functions, I get bored quickly and want to run away. This time it was quite different; when I came in, I got overwhelmed by the amount of people I wanted to talk to. Some of them I approached immediately, of others I was very afraid. I absolutely panicked when the professor whose lectures I (we all, indeed) found the most difficult, started approaching me with a definite deliberation to talk. I think my eyes were round like two teacup saucers. And to my astonishment, I didn’t just survive, but I actually managed to converse with him very nicely, and I didn’t die or anything, which I had quite expected. Then I spoke to other people, students, parents and staff, and our secretary was saying nice things about me, which I was very flattered to hear, but also felt guilty to hear them, and I was very disappointed when some people vanished without me managing to have a word with them. Unlike normally: I usually can’t wait till a get-together finishes and everyone disappears and leaves me alone, or till I can sneak away. I don’t know what happened. I probably wanted to take a revenge on someone or something… Or probably it’s the kria course which I did over the weekend… I don’t know.

Yesterday we were coming back from the city-centre by bus, and Rajneesh got on. The first thing he said was: Ah, you went to the temple. I almost asked him: How do you know?, when realised there was a tika, a large dot made with red paint on my forehead. It’d been there since morning when we indeed went to the temple to do puja; it’s basically the act of worshipping Shiva, but nevermind. Rishab and I spoke to Raj for a wee while, and he even missed his stop. He said he’d applied for PhD in a few universities, and they even offered him funding in one of them (perhaps St Andrews), but suggested he did research in microeconomic foundations of macroeconomic theories, for which he’d replied: thank you very much; I could perfectly see why, and we had a laugh. It’s nice to talk to someone with whom you studied together, actually sat together and struggled through all those things which eventually earned you a degree.

So what else shall I write? This is my last post in this blog. Do I have a clear vision and plan for the future? Nope. Not a ghost of either. But what I do have is a great sense of gratitude and a completed patch of growth, if one can say so, and a firm belief that this will eventually lead me to the path which will be right for me. I’m applying for jobs, thinking of PhD, but I feel that right now the solution lies in something other than whatever I am doing. I mean to say, whatever I do doesn’t hold a solution. I probably need some time, and I will find the path, and meanwhile just do something to keep myself busy, just prepare. Or maybe it’s an illusion, and a dangerous one. Because life is here and now, and never tomorrow, and never one of these days. I’ve already been around for a quarter of a century, and perhaps about one third of my life, and still feel like a newborn baby. Like I only started living yesterday.

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