Through a glass, darkly
On Sunday, as the sun blazed down, I packed up my college room, said goodbye to my friends – a strange goodbye since we’ll all be seeing each other pretty soon, but still a final goodbye, as it was a goodbye to a way of life.
Then, once my belongings had gone, I trundled along to St Catz, tummy rumbling in anticipation of the promised dinner party. Driven out of Holger’s room by the heat, Johann, Laurel, Natascha, Marc, Anjli and I assembled on the grass to wait for the food. And we waited, and waited, and waited. In the heat, fire alarms kept going off around college, so as we waited we were accompanied by the sounds of alarms echoing around the concrete buildings. Finally a hot and dishevelled Holger appeared, bearing the promised food, his trademark mashed potato, broccoli, fried chicken, naan, humous and grated cheese. Later I found that we weren’t the only ones enjoying a feast that night – uninvited, the mosquitoes had joined the party, and certainly seemed to have gorged themselves upon my blood, leaving me covered in huge cancerous-looking, itchy lumps. As dusk fell, we retired inside for a round of the stick-paper-to-your-head-and-guess-the-name game. People pull such interesting faces when they are thinking.
Monday was spent wondering around town being hopelessly indecisive whilst attempting to buy varsity clothing and cards for tutors. I left Marc at midday promising that I would be back at Catz before him, complete with tuna and all my other purchases. Instead, unable to get into his room, he rang me after four, catching me as I stood in Sainsbury’s trying to decide which packets of tuna to buy. My excuse: I’d run into a tute partner in Vaults and thus spent the afternoon chatting to him. Fortunately, like a knight in shining armour Marc came to my rescue, I chose the tuna, gave up on the cards, and had him stand over me whilst I selected an Oxford hoodie which I am now proudly wearing. Later, with the help of a very accomplished assistant (even if I do say so myself), a delicious dinner of tuna on a bed of Thai-style Jersey Royal potatoes was served to distinguished guests by the residents of Catz 12:29. I was then exposed to the intricate voting procedures that are required to select a film at St Catz. I feel I presented an almost insurmountable challenge to their version of democracy when I vetoed a favored choice. Fortunately, the ideal of a just procedure prevailed and we settled into The Butterfly Effect. Later, talking to Marc, I began thinking about relationships and trust and truth. I don’t think I believe in absolutes, there isn’t one Truth, truths are formed by experience, perspective, and not a little expedience, but once faced with Marc’s more exacting standards, I did go to sleep with several of his comments playing guiltily on my mind.
Woke up late on Tuesday (well, we didn’t get to sleep until after sunrise), and shared a breakfast of cereal, with milk, out of the bag. Classy I know. I don’t think I quite got the knack since my milk ended up dripping out of the box and all over the floor. Went to meet the first year PPEists out of their exams. Where did the three years go? I remember finishing, Pete coming with champagne and rubbing sparkles into my hair – they didn’t come out for days. After nodding at the Stanners and congratulating the MUNers I wondered around with Holger looking for boxes. As he searched for the containers into which he would pack his Oxford life it struck me that of my close friends, Holger is the one moving furthest away. So far goodbyes hadn’t really felt like goodbyes. Even though I don’t know quite when I will next see people, and even though there will be far less of the hanging out, drinking tea, watching films and midnight chats, I will be seeing people soon, or at least soonish. I’ll have my London buds, and even those who won’t be in London won’t be far away. Holger though, he’s gone. He flew back to Germany last night, next year he will be in Geneva or Bologna, the year after perhaps in the States, and then, who knows? He could be anywhere, pretty much anywhere but England. And even though the world is small, it still isn’t that small, and one of my best friends is still going to be pretty far away. But, to look on the bright side – free accommodation when I go traveling!
Wednesday (and this is for you Tom), I was taken for lunch by the most dashing young man in Oxford, dressed impeccably in a crisp white t-shirt. He picked me up in his shiny successor to the Passion Wagon, sweeping me out of Oxford to lunch in a distant country pub, charming me as ever with his stimulating conversation, unfortunately mainly too x-rated to reproduce here.
Following lunch I was escorted back to Catz where I attempted to effect a transformation into a sexy/funky Aisha ready for thrusting myself into the London scene at the launch of ‘Black Gold of the Sun’. Dressed stylishly in black and white, with my gold flipflops, jangly bracelets and big hair to add effortless glamour I power walked my way to the station, catching the 1700 with seconds to spare. Once in London I made my way to Strand, thinking as I walked that this will soon be my world. Entering Pearson’s offices, I ascended to the top floor, where, from the lavender scented balconies, one can look all across London, and as from the London Eye, appreciate it in its full beauty. The room was packed with media types, powerful looking black women, funkily dressed men, and a few small Eshun children. I think I knew about three people there, one of whom was the host, and so was forced to randomly introduce myself to strangers. At one point, I think the author’s father saw me looking a bit lost, and introduced me to half his family. Now, reading the book, I’m attempting to put half remembered faces to the names mentioned. The launch was good, and although I didn’t ‘work the room’ (my mother’s words), or take it upon myself to introduce myself to the personalities present, I felt proud that I had gone alone (I had planned to go with a friend, but newspaper deadlines meant she had to cancel) and that I was able to make conversation with unknown people and enjoy myself. It was also interesting to reflect upon the changing nature of relationships – Raph, who invited me, I first knew as someone giving a careers presentation, later he became Mango’s sponsor and then a mentor, and now, a friend?
Thursday I treated Marc to breakfast in bed, Aisha-style, i.e. not cereal eaten out of the bag, but fresh Maison Blanc pastries. It was a lazy morning, with me falling back to sleep, and then us talking, wondering whether we want kids, if life is worthwhile, and considering, again, The Truth. I remembered the passage from Corinthians “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known”, I think it applied. Later, we watched Holger pack the last of his things; I returned to Marc’s room and threw the rest of my stuff into my suitcase. They rushed to the bus stop. I, with my suitcase, trailed behind, holding back tears and trying to convince myself that although things will be different, they won’t be worse, half hoping that by the time I reached the bus stop Holger would have gone and I wouldn’t need to say goodbye. He wasn’t, so we hugged and saw him off, and then with Marc I walked to Gloucester Green, ready to board my own coach home.
Traveling back, in between dozing, I tried to fix these last few memories into my mind, the last few days in Oxford, spent in a haze of dazzling sunlight, sauna-like rooms, bonfires, full moons, wine and the inevitable goodbyes that I hope were really au revoirs rather than adieus.
Then, once my belongings had gone, I trundled along to St Catz, tummy rumbling in anticipation of the promised dinner party. Driven out of Holger’s room by the heat, Johann, Laurel, Natascha, Marc, Anjli and I assembled on the grass to wait for the food. And we waited, and waited, and waited. In the heat, fire alarms kept going off around college, so as we waited we were accompanied by the sounds of alarms echoing around the concrete buildings. Finally a hot and dishevelled Holger appeared, bearing the promised food, his trademark mashed potato, broccoli, fried chicken, naan, humous and grated cheese. Later I found that we weren’t the only ones enjoying a feast that night – uninvited, the mosquitoes had joined the party, and certainly seemed to have gorged themselves upon my blood, leaving me covered in huge cancerous-looking, itchy lumps. As dusk fell, we retired inside for a round of the stick-paper-to-your-head-and-guess-the-name game. People pull such interesting faces when they are thinking.Monday was spent wondering around town being hopelessly indecisive whilst attempting to buy varsity clothing and cards for tutors. I left Marc at midday promising that I would be back at Catz before him, complete with tuna and all my other purchases. Instead, unable to get into his room, he rang me after four, catching me as I stood in Sainsbury’s trying to decide which packets of tuna to buy. My excuse: I’d run into a tute partner in Vaults and thus spent the afternoon chatting to him. Fortunately, like a knight in shining armour Marc came to my rescue, I chose the tuna, gave up on the cards, and had him stand over me whilst I selected an Oxford hoodie which I am now proudly wearing. Later, with the help of a very accomplished assistant (even if I do say so myself), a delicious dinner of tuna on a bed of Thai-style Jersey Royal potatoes was served to distinguished guests by the residents of Catz 12:29. I was then exposed to the intricate voting procedures that are required to select a film at St Catz. I feel I presented an almost insurmountable challenge to their version of democracy when I vetoed a favored choice. Fortunately, the ideal of a just procedure prevailed and we settled into The Butterfly Effect. Later, talking to Marc, I began thinking about relationships and trust and truth. I don’t think I believe in absolutes, there isn’t one Truth, truths are formed by experience, perspective, and not a little expedience, but once faced with Marc’s more exacting standards, I did go to sleep with several of his comments playing guiltily on my mind.
Woke up late on Tuesday (well, we didn’t get to sleep until after sunrise), and shared a breakfast of cereal, with milk, out of the bag. Classy I know. I don’t think I quite got the knack since my milk ended up dripping out of the box and all over the floor. Went to meet the first year PPEists out of their exams. Where did the three years go? I remember finishing, Pete coming with champagne and rubbing sparkles into my hair – they didn’t come out for days. After nodding at the Stanners and congratulating the MUNers I wondered around with Holger looking for boxes. As he searched for the containers into which he would pack his Oxford life it struck me that of my close friends, Holger is the one moving furthest away. So far goodbyes hadn’t really felt like goodbyes. Even though I don’t know quite when I will next see people, and even though there will be far less of the hanging out, drinking tea, watching films and midnight chats, I will be seeing people soon, or at least soonish. I’ll have my London buds, and even those who won’t be in London won’t be far away. Holger though, he’s gone. He flew back to Germany last night, next year he will be in Geneva or Bologna, the year after perhaps in the States, and then, who knows? He could be anywhere, pretty much anywhere but England. And even though the world is small, it still isn’t that small, and one of my best friends is still going to be pretty far away. But, to look on the bright side – free accommodation when I go traveling!
Wednesday (and this is for you Tom), I was taken for lunch by the most dashing young man in Oxford, dressed impeccably in a crisp white t-shirt. He picked me up in his shiny successor to the Passion Wagon, sweeping me out of Oxford to lunch in a distant country pub, charming me as ever with his stimulating conversation, unfortunately mainly too x-rated to reproduce here.
Following lunch I was escorted back to Catz where I attempted to effect a transformation into a sexy/funky Aisha ready for thrusting myself into the London scene at the launch of ‘Black Gold of the Sun’. Dressed stylishly in black and white, with my gold flipflops, jangly bracelets and big hair to add effortless glamour I power walked my way to the station, catching the 1700 with seconds to spare. Once in London I made my way to Strand, thinking as I walked that this will soon be my world. Entering Pearson’s offices, I ascended to the top floor, where, from the lavender scented balconies, one can look all across London, and as from the London Eye, appreciate it in its full beauty. The room was packed with media types, powerful looking black women, funkily dressed men, and a few small Eshun children. I think I knew about three people there, one of whom was the host, and so was forced to randomly introduce myself to strangers. At one point, I think the author’s father saw me looking a bit lost, and introduced me to half his family. Now, reading the book, I’m attempting to put half remembered faces to the names mentioned. The launch was good, and although I didn’t ‘work the room’ (my mother’s words), or take it upon myself to introduce myself to the personalities present, I felt proud that I had gone alone (I had planned to go with a friend, but newspaper deadlines meant she had to cancel) and that I was able to make conversation with unknown people and enjoy myself. It was also interesting to reflect upon the changing nature of relationships – Raph, who invited me, I first knew as someone giving a careers presentation, later he became Mango’s sponsor and then a mentor, and now, a friend?
Thursday I treated Marc to breakfast in bed, Aisha-style, i.e. not cereal eaten out of the bag, but fresh Maison Blanc pastries. It was a lazy morning, with me falling back to sleep, and then us talking, wondering whether we want kids, if life is worthwhile, and considering, again, The Truth. I remembered the passage from Corinthians “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known”, I think it applied. Later, we watched Holger pack the last of his things; I returned to Marc’s room and threw the rest of my stuff into my suitcase. They rushed to the bus stop. I, with my suitcase, trailed behind, holding back tears and trying to convince myself that although things will be different, they won’t be worse, half hoping that by the time I reached the bus stop Holger would have gone and I wouldn’t need to say goodbye. He wasn’t, so we hugged and saw him off, and then with Marc I walked to Gloucester Green, ready to board my own coach home.
Traveling back, in between dozing, I tried to fix these last few memories into my mind, the last few days in Oxford, spent in a haze of dazzling sunlight, sauna-like rooms, bonfires, full moons, wine and the inevitable goodbyes that I hope were really au revoirs rather than adieus.
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