I was scared this morning [the morning of the 16th]. At least very worried. I was opening my mail, of which I had a surprising amount, considering I only just got here, but I figured it was all welcome and offer stuff from local businesses.
The first letter I opened looked unfamiliar, and even with a closer look I didn’t recognize any of the names or items on what seemed to be some sort of business confirmation. In fact, it almost seemed like it was for someone else. I picked up the envelope once again, which I had not examined that closely before opening it, and saw to my horror that it was addressed to someone else. I looked at the rest of the mail, and found that it was all addressed to other people, and all looked very official. Not a single one was for me, but every addressee had a last name starting with ‘L’. Ah, so that’s what the receptionist had meant by “The mail is sorted alphabetically by your last name, so you get the ‘L’ box, see?”
Throughout the process of this realization dawning on me I had wondered, in the back of my mind, if it was someone else’s mail, but that was always quickly countered by a “They wouldn’t let allow the possibility of someone stealing another person’s mail so easily…would they?”
Clearly they would. I thought stealing an IKEA bag was bad, but stealing mail – that’s a federal offense. And I’ve only been in the UK for one complete day.
I decided my best bet was to reseal the envelope, but then I realized I didn’t have a gluestick. In times like these, I really hate being a new student in a new place with minimal belongings. But I closed the envelope and it stuck somewhat, so I decided to go with that. I was able to covertly return the stack to the ‘L’ box, and hope I never hear of that again.
It’s interesting the things that seem to be built on trust here. For example, I didn’t actually have to prove any of the academic qualifications I claimed in my application process until after I was accepted to the uni. I suppose preemptive limitations and knowing something won’t fly in the end are equally powerful deterrents. Britain seems to choose the latter in most cases. During this orientation week, nothing is really required except for registration (there’s no program), but I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of all the tours and presentations offered. And I hear that they place much more importance on large paper assignments than smaller homework or tests, much more than, say, America. These are all different sides of the same issue: less being taken care of, more responsibility on me. Which will be good for me.
In other news: This evening I was talking with the only other resident of our flat at present, and he mentioned that he might be taking some English classes this year. That reminded me of the fact that I’d taught English for the past year, but along with that thought came a feeling of distance, as though that had been a long time ago or even in a different life. A lot of things change when you move to a new country and start a new phase of life – a complete shift from the previous – the least of those things being perception, probably.
But I need to remember where I’ve come from, or else I won’t go in the direction I ultimately want.
That’s my cheesy one-liner wisdom for the night.
Inspiration's Waiting Room 