Watashi ga Renai Dekinai Riyuu (not that I speak Japanese)

I have realized that when you grow old (because I do grow old, indeed. You can't help but notice when the students are younger than you, and when in TV everyone is younger than you [specially traumatizing]), you become more risky in terms of fashion.

I remember flipping pages of catwalks in fashion magazines thinking, 'who the hell is brave enough to wear such flamboyant fabric display?'. But now I love them. The more provocative and eccentric, the more I wish I could wear them.

And that takes me to a very special accessory. The country of flamenco dancers and fishy yellow rice that I come from teach you, from very early age, never to put on a hair grip. Never. It looks tacky, and it is mostly associated with house-cleaning jobs - the type of thing you would use if you had to clean your toilet seat. Please, it is not meant for the street. 

Look at that! Appalling, right?

But yet after those hundreds of Japanese shows that I may have already watched (thank you, gooddrama website), my perception of the fair grip has changed. In fact I am sitting in my office and I have the dignity to be wearing one of those. Because it is so fashionable in their culture (they might even have the cool to wear them on a date!)! So there you go, age has taught me a very important lesson - to wear what I want without caring.

And I shall finish with a happy dance, as I have an official deadline for my thesis. It is called Fist of June.

My cat is calling, as I won't be on duty today

I have to face just one fact: after more than 12 months without any signs of weaknesses... I got sick.

I never enjoyed getting ill.


Nobody does, I get that. But at least there were some kids that could not wait for the days they could skip those classes and stay at home watching Doraemon and ClupSuper3. They just could not wait.

Not for me. I would suffer. Of course I would also binge on cartoons, but still I much preferred to be at class. And 20 years later I find myself mirroring the exact same situation. Is it not sad?

I can sweat, have a fever and back pain, moan in bed for feeling week and sluggish, and yet the clock reverberates in the morning and I start packing my bag and putting on some make up.

Call it PhDaholic, call it I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-my-life-if-I-am-not-at-work. Or better call someone to make me feel better. So many things to do, and so little time to spare!


Kisses from a victim of tiredness and illness.