The ride down the lane; down the tube like straight roads of my memory. Blurred visions outside of lights passing by amid the darkness. The lack of conversation and the lack of memory of the few brief things we talked about. I was too consumed with comfort of a ride home from the place I interned at. No bus tonight. It was a smooth drive with a professional man who earned a living, who had a Russian accent, who had a place of his own, a car of his own, who paid his own bills, and who offered to drive me home from our office. I was just a poor graduate student who mostly associated with other broke students. Opening the door to his car, it felt like I was touching something valuable. And when I sat down, I felt so relieved in the presence of a real grown man. We were essentially working in the same department, but he had a legitimate higher position while I was a temporary intern. It was the first time I fell in love with the thought of being like him. I could smell the freeing scent of becoming a self-made woman one day; earning my own money, owning my own place, driving my own car, of being a professional, of being powerful, self-sufficient, just like him, someday…
Written 2014/06/12, based on past
Samasya Tapasya 