Nastiness Diagnosis. Anthropology. Religion. Gender. Justice. A Personal Notepad For the General Public.
I hopped into the car, or in fact crammed myself into it, just quickly but thoroughly showered, running away at midnight in the summer end, from the most academic city in the world — with all my possessions and my husband. The backseat area was nicely piled up against the ceiling, let along the up to the forehead trunk. The city was left behind, with all my books in boxes piling up in the basement of Anthropology Department. A space that briefly amused me by its non-moldy smells and its post-modern style of decoration, or non-decoration — loosely structured by dormant furniture unlocked and archives locked. A space that doesn’t seem belong to a pleasant afternoon, but more like a place of night gathering.
Driving at midnight but riding as a passenger, or a partner. Route 2 was divided into crappy sections of construction area and incredibly smoothly paved road, thanks to Obama’s Domestic Economic Reinvestment Plan. Trees were silent, sometimes glossed by some foggy winds, pushing scattered drivers to swift their lights back and forth under the sheer moonlight, for traffic safety but also like warm greetings among strangers in a lonely darkness. The path ahead seemed to be a blackish calm river, with signal poles like spirits-loaded lanterns neatly floating on the water.
It was loads of fun. I’ve never felt this happy in my numerous times of moving out in my adult life, whether 4 and half times in Taipei or just 1.5 times in Boston. We drove like a hit-and-run bank robbery couple, absorbed by the darkness of tree and silence, sipping the last cup of coffee with caramel from the drive-through suburban Boston Macdonald’s. I feel so safe, so free. I feel I could swim into a warm sea of the darkness.
Now I just wanna sleep. And tomorrow I will again be a spirit-lifted athlete.