Amy Adoyzie

It was late morning and the sunlight bounced off the balcony and into the communal room at the Dove Cottage. My spine curved against the hard back of the red plastic lawn chairs, my legs stretched forward as I let out a yawn. We were in the middle of another TEFL (Teaching English Foreign Language) session, seated around the long table, when I felt a yank at my hair. A tiny spot at the top of my scalp throbbed and stung.
I turned to Auggie, “What the hell?”
“You had a gray hair, I was just trying to pull it out.”
There are a about a dozen strands of white hairs sprouting from my boxy-shaped head, and frankly, I don't give a damn.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't vain, but I just can't be bothered when it comes to these whiteys. It's bound to happen, with stress and getting older every morning. I know that getting rid of them is as easy as plucking them off my head, but it makes me squeamish. The combination of wimpiness and apathy leads me to wander around with white hairs, made even more obvious against my dark strands.
This speaks volumes to my ability to be oblivious, to otherwise convince myself that it's quite alright to let this superficial world see some of my grays. I've come to terms with aging, why can't everyone else?

We expect birthdays to be obvious reminders of aging. On a daily basis, we encounter subtle signs of getting older- you don't get carded as often or a gang of teenagers will holler you old at you.
It's the unexpected booming announcements like time has flown by, dragging your bloated elderly body along with it, that are unbearable.
I have been officially invited to the ten-year reunion for the graduating class of 1998 from Glen A. Wilson high school (through MySpace no less!).
Was it really just a decade ago when I was an angry and cliched angst-ridden teenager who almost dropped out of high school as a form of protest against authoritarianism?
Here I am, plopped in the middle of south Asia as an educator. Things don't have to make sense to happen. Needless to say, I won't be returning to Hacienda Heights for the reunion. The most important person that I met in high school is still in my life and feigning interest in the lives of people I've forgotten isn't very appealing. I won't lie, it's pretty awesome to say that I can't attend because I'm in Bangladesh, you know?

Still though, I'm never old enough to enjoy a ride on a mini-roller coaster designed in the likeness of a crawly insect! (From Foy's Lake in Chittagong!)