It is fall and school has started. This is my last year of coursework. Upon its completion and a successful proposal, I will be out in the field by this time next year. All things in Toronto appear to be resuming normalcy as the sunshine subsides and the cold of the next season rushes in. Because I have always been unfair to this city, there will be no charming descriptions of leaves changing colors, neither will there be any talk of drinking hot chocolate in the company of loved ones to keep warm, as though that were some pleasant side effect of the soon-to-be frigid temperature outside. Not that those things don’t happen.
All is well, relatively. I am getting more and more into the know about (American) politics and finances as the drama unfolds south of the border and, really, throughout the world. There is a Canadian election in two weeks, but I’d rather cast my vote for the election that I think is more important. (I say this most probably because of my troublesome relationship with this nation.) Things are otherwise as usual as usual gets.
I painted the condo turtle green, and then realized that it’s pretty much the exact same color as my previous room, which, I guess, tells me something. (I like green.) It’s suiting, and warms the place up in an organic manner. Hannah, the pillow covers from Mr. Varanasi look beautiful on my white couch, against the green. Appropriation. I bought a new thirty-dollar desk, and a chair. Also, basil and rosemary plants. I hung the lamp from Egypt, and placed the storks-with-pipes-in-their-beaks-standing-on-half-llama-turtle-brass statues on my shelf, alongside the Swahili fertility figures and carved candle holders. This is my effort to make this more of a home, away from where my heart likes to linger. (Although, in a conversion with Vincent, a fellow PhD from Singapore, I was reminded that people do make the conscious decision to not become attached to a place. Toronto can indeed be, simply, a temporal place. Fleeting, and not somewhere to plant your feet. It’s the time and place, and perhaps patience and understanding would suffice. Also, he’s thirty-something. I can’t blame myself. This place is what it is, and it is what I make it, and what I make it comes quite naturally. (That means I don’t care.))
I have an important decision to make.
As I try to decide where to devote my life’s studies, I think of Northeast India, I think of Tanzania, I think of China, and I think to myself that the world is before me, and it’s amazing and overwhelming. This will probably manifest itself in some kind of multi-series. And that is my update.