leave well enough alone

November 10, 2010 § Leave a comment

Last week, I bought a bootlegged copy of Inception for the equivalent of $0.71. Perhaps Christopher Nolan flipped the script and infiltrated my subconscious. Or perhaps I just reevaluated the amount of time I’ll be staying here. Whatever the reason, a nervous idea grew in my mind that I needed to change my visa situation. I do not want to provide too many details (this is a public blog, after all) except that I feared that keeping my current situation as it is might preclude me from reentering the country. Over the weekend, I scribbled an urgent email to my internship director, asking her to write me a letter or support so I may apply for a different type that would grant me more time. I met with her on Monday morning. “Did you bring a copy of your passport?” she asked. Though I could not have played it off as coolly as Miles Davis, it never entered my mind to bring my passport, or my address in Arabic because I thought I would go there simply to pick up the letter that I would later bring to the police department. We resolved to meet the next day, and I imagined, with dread, what it might be like to explain my situation to the authorities. I had a change of heart, though, when my inbox held advice from a reliable source in the United States who suggested that maybe I keep things as they are and continue to travel when needed. I returned to my internship director the next day nonetheless, but endeavored to explain that “perhaps the letter wasn’t needed urgently as I thought but maybe you could simply think about writing it and hang on to a copy of my passport just in case, pretty please, I’m sorry don’t think I’m a paranoid American, I swear Leonardo made me do it.” In other words, I am going to leave well enough alone.

If you care to recall, you might also be wondering, “it’s 9 am on a Wednesday. Why isn’t she in class?” As I blinked myself awake, the blue light of dawn showed faintly through my window, bathing me in the smell of the morning. I remained there in peaceful tranquility until the rumble of a motorcycle and a hasty exchange between a mother and daughter reminded me that I needed to get on with the day. I felt for my phone, finding it not in its usual place on my nightstand but on the tile floor. Curiously, I picked it up, rubbed my eyes a few times, and then a few more to make sure I was seeing straight. Shoot. I had overslept. No matter how fast I could jump out of bed and rush to the train station, I would not make it to my French Grammar class on time.  I have since sentenced myself to 2 hours in the library for my offense. I will catch an afternoon train to meet Soukaina and discuss our holiday travel plans as well as attend my L’histoire litteraire course.



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