I was running on the uni tracks today when i heard my 'title' being called from afar. It was a former pioneer whom i did not teach but recognised me nonetheless. Pshaw! The first thing that came to mind was a mild sense of surprise followed by weary acceptance. Looks like I still do not have the privacy i longed for, in spite travelling more than 4ooo miles away from home. I met the same student again later at night in town, when i went about getting cable and soil (what a combi!) for dvd connections at home as well as for potting. Deja vu indeed. Another tiring sigh. Still, I managed to retrieve a succulent bud beside Safeway and look forward to rehabilitating it with my green fingers, hopefully. Adrian and i scouted apartment trash like vagrants and found the pot i wanted. I went back to the city and collected the cold soil with my very bare hands, digging each pot as if they were shallow troughs of hidden gold. Be it jogging, digging or mere shopping or 'suppering', each activity was conducted under 12 degree temperatures. Coming home to a view of city lights from a 9th floor window. Sometimes drinking port aloft.

The cold adds a dash of thrill to everything. Not reckless but fun nonetheless. Like the pictures from orientation. 2 students dressed up in sumo suits trying to out-stump one another. Rubber-foam girls without the bikinis. Awesome like overweight aliens from Tatooine. The absence of rationality makes these actions and decisions memorable in a special way. Allowing litter to sprout existence from nowhere. Rubber suits into sports, only right conditions are needed. Choice and discovery. Exploring the backyard plus cautious calculations.

That's me trying to study in the Loft above graduate house. Well-equipped with microwaves, wash basins and wireless net. Just had my pre-packed lunch- my hibernating phase before the mental demon springs out to leap past city blocks, running tracks, upturned soil and flower. Surviving night chills once more...