December holidays are over. Time to report back to school, and finally get done with campus. I am excited, very excited that I will be now be given the ‘advisor’ seat at home when one my younger siblings is being given ‘The Talk’. I’ll be sitting on the other side of our living room, a stupid smile plastered across my face, making mental notes on what the best advise as a grown up, I should give to the young ones. Don’t talk at other people, talk to them. Don’t take the guys who will katia you in your first year in campus seriously, they’re all a piece of shit. When on a date, laugh only at the jokes that are really funny. Otherwise you’ll go home with a tired, sore jaw. And you don’t want that.
So I’ll be a big person, haha. I’ve never really understood all the fuss there is about being a grown up. You are not supposed to do certain things, and ask certain questions, because then you’ll be putting your level of maturity in question.
Which reminds me of an incident last semester. I had accompanied a friend to the mall(well, Tuskys Kakamega is kinda a mall, as per the county standards). So as we went in, I exclaimed, ‘Oh, the mall! How I love malls!’ She looked me over, a puzzled expression on her face and said, ‘Huh! You are not mature!’ Honestly I was a little taken aback, and in a way a part of my heart was broken. I love new stuff. I love shopping. I love malls, clothes stores, food stores, book shops anywhere I can put my hands on something new and fresh and sealed. My pupils dilate when I enter a building that hosts rows and rows of new goods. My heartbeat becomes slower, and I can’t wait to touch, and buy. Or just see and make mental notes on what I am going to save for. But until that moment, I never knew this is actually, immature.
Anyway, I have about four months left at school(my high school teacher of English always insisted a university is NOT a school. It is a university. Period). It is a school to me. Like the ‘School of Life’. Which I think is bigger and better than a university but doesn’t find offence at being called a school. Even university tutors hate being referred to as ‘Teacher’. ‘I am not a teacher! I am a lecturer!’ One of my lectures would scream.
Why are you not a teacher? Because lecturers have more ‘school’ in their heads?
But I cannot say someone with a university education is ‘schooled’, because apparently school ends in high school. At university, you are now ‘educated’. You don’t get? Neither do I.
Welcome 2016. And hey yo! The School of Life!