Clink!

8 weeks. Or is it half a lifetime?

It's 8 weeks almost to the minute since I got on a plane in Singapore that would take me to my present home in a suburb of Boston. 8 weeks since I said goodbye to the clipped Singaporean accent, the matronly Straits Times newspaper, avuncular taxi drivers, and 24-hour food centres with a constant supply of grilled sting-rays. 8 weeks since I drank Spinelli coffee (I wish someone would teach the guys at Starbucks how to make drinkable latte). 8 weeks and more since I worked off the angst of a working week over Kilkenny beer at Harry's bar.

Do I miss Singapore? Hell, yeah!
Do I regret leaving? No way.
I guess you could say that I'm happy, and at the same time I've been in a constant state of wistfulness for the past 8 weeks.

Did I say 8 weeks? Make that half a lifetime.

Because I am already starting to forget. Forget what it was like to live in an urban jungle. Twice a day now I go across the street and walk my dog in the woods. I'm starting to forget what it was like to have a maid always around to pick up after me. I like the routine at the end of the day: pick up stuff, load the dishwasher, and once a week take out the trash.

I'm frustrated, amused, and intrigued at the way I'm treated by the State. I need to prove once again that I can drive. I need to prove that I can be trusted to have a credit card. Or a cellphone. I need to show that I can be unfazed by the monumental rudeness of the Boston driver. Believe me, they could make Delhi drivers look civilized.

I'm relearning to listen. And I need to, so that I can understand the people among whom I now live. I think that is the best part of all. I'm learning something that I once knew and then forgot: how to slow down my mouth and speed up my ears. How to listen to what's said, strain to hear what's left unsaid, and try extremely hard to hear the nearly inaudible whisper of what is truly meant.

This is fun! And it's only been 8 weeks!

Or has it been half a lifetime?

Either way, here's to anniversaries!