I feel that I need to go back in
time the last weekend, St Patrick Day, also known in the States as St Paddy’s
Day or St Patty’s Day. It’s Saturday morning, bright and early and I have to be
up and running by 7 o’clock because by some wise twist of the faith I had
signed up for a fast-track class. Not the most fortunate choice. Too late to
change it when I realized. Let’s go back to the morning part. So I wake up with
a numb head after an obviously sleep-deprived night for a glorious test was
awaiting me after an intense session of cramming. On American history. You wish
you weren't in my shoes. There’s absolutely nothing exciting about compressing
historic events and matching them with their timing. I love history, but I’m not
particularly fascinated about the memorizing process. This accounts for a
fairly description of my fore-mentioned numbness. Fair enough.
I leave my house at a brisk pace
– it’s always a brisk pace or else I’m looking up the word “gone” on Webster dictionary (the freedictionary is considered unreliable by
authoritative figures though I like it best ) and then I take a deep breath before
I’m be filled with frustration.
Well, here I am up on the
platform waiting for the trolley-train or vice versa when something hits my
eyes: the platform is packed with people. Green people. No, it’s not an alien
invasion, it’s an Irish invasion, best case scenario. Everyone’s wearing green
outfits, clover shaped accessories or clover-shaped green tattoos. Or golden
ones. Depending on the taste. Today’s celebrations caught me completely off
guard, otherwise I wouldn't have probably attempted to join the green madness.
Or maybe not. It’s a fairly jolly crowd, with excitement teeming on their faces
at the thought of the very near future alcohol boost awaiting them downtown.
Now I just got into conditioning. I can’t help myself. My psychology professor
is simply amazing and due to her greatness I got
to identify the phenomenon. Seems like school might actually have some
benefits.
I eventually get on the trolley,
spot a seat and head decidedly for it because it’s going to be a long ride and
I’m still not fully prepared for my upcoming test. Yikes! I’m already stresses
out, but it’s ok, stress happens. While engrossed in my reading material, an
elderly gentleman sits next to me, his wife and his seemingly granddaughter in
front of me. The spouses start talking. And it’s not English but crystal clear
Italian. I’m fascinated. I have a growing sympathy for all the foreigners I
meet, especially if they are European. And I think the feeling is mutual. We
strike up a conversation – half Italian half English – and yes!I love sharing
some thoughts with welcoming strangers. It just reminds the there’s still hope
for goodness in this tainted world.
So I had my moment early morning
now I have to look around, for you see, you can’t ignore an overwhelming crowd,
crammed on an obviously too small of a trolley. Which made me late for class.
And that’s ok. This is one of the things I love about Americans: they can say
“that’s ok” and they really mean it. Well, it wasn't really ok in my case
because I have just missed the beginning of test, but I was more than welcome
to sit down and take the whole test.
To be continued. It’s a promise.
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