24th October 2006 – 16:41 – HCMC I don’t like being touched by the ticket guy whenever I want to get on the bus! I actually did not understand the true function of his action when he tries to hold a passenger’s arm and pulls him inside the bus. I am sure most of the people can get on the bus without his assistance. There might be some very old passengers who are in need of his help but the rest is usually ok. The way he holds and sometimes even squizzes my arm is very unpleasant. He also does similar thing to the young girls and I have seen the dismay on the faces of several young girls when he tries to hold them and almost drag them to the seat. Two days ago I told him not to touch me with both in my body language and in English. I don’t know what he understood but at least I was safe on my own feet. I did not let him to pull me inside the bus while the bus was still moving with a low speed. I wonder he does this thing because he does not have many things in the bus to make himself busy enough. This happens when someone’s job is too slack for his/her potential. He might not have any other duty than collecting money from passengers. Then whenever he has time, he goes to the door and tells to the passengers who want to get on to wait for the ones who are getting off. But isn’t this a stupid problem? If the chauffer opens both doors, then one can be used for getting on and the other one can be used for getting off. If everybody uses the same method, soon people will stop using the back door to get on the bus. Anyway, it is not my job to change the bus services in HCMC.
They have removed all the red tiles from the wall of the stairs and painted the wall white. Now, it looks much better than it was before. Last semester, whenever I walked up to those stairs, I felt like I am climbing one of the towers of a castle. Because there was no sunlight coming in to the stairs, they have installed lights, which always reminded me the torches on the walls.
The metaphor of the castle reminded me Kafka again. I have sent my diploma to the embassy of Turkey before going to Thailand. When I returned, I got it back with the necessary –according to who?- stamps on it. The lady at the embassy did a great job by translating the official stamps of Foreign Ministry and Education Ministry into English. She also sealed the translations with the stamps of Embassy. I was hopeful that the process of authentication is over this time. Soon I realized that we are living in a Kafkaesque world and hope is only a tool to prolong the torture. I went to Human Resources department in the afternoon to ask the situation about my diploma. This time the problem was unsolvable. In my diploma my two names were written together as if I have a 7 letter name. But on the authentication papers, on the passport and on my transcripts, my name is written as two names (3 + 4). Immigration department asks me to authenticate that I am the same person whose name is written on the diploma. Basically, what they want me to prove is 3+4=7. I was shocked since I have never imagined this could cause a real trouble. I have worked as a Math teacher in 4 different schools before and none of them minded this little difference. Now I have to prove that the diploma is mine! Because three authentication stamps on the diploma are only verifying that the diploma is from a valid educational institution but proving that the name on the diploma is mine. I talked to the HR lady and told her that I will not pursue anything anymore. If the officials in the immigration think that all these stamps are not enough, then I will return my home upon the expiry of my visa. I am tired of the long process and I am tired of asking people for a favour. She did not say anything! I left the room and I haven’t heard anything from her again.
The only solution to my problem I can think of is to go back to my university and ask for a new diploma on which my name is written in 3+4 form. Since this thing requires enormous energy, time and money, I would rather not to pursue the procedure and stop at the point where I can not go anymore. These guys at the immigration have no idea about what job I am doing and how it is impossible to teach Statistics or Discrete Mathematics without having a proper Mathematics degree. I gave up!
When I arrive at home, the little cockroach was lying upside down in front of the door. Then I laughed reminiscently while looking at Mr. Gregory Samsa who already reached to the end of the novel. He was lying there, in front of my door, making me laugh at myself since I was the one who could not get the way inside the castle in spite of my all optimistic efforts. All the roads going to the castle seem clean and tidy if I look from a distance but once I tried to enter those roads, I see the impossibility of my dreams, the utopia…
I was planning to write another short story today but the little cockroach and the authentication problem threw me out of my planned path. I will write on the concept of “self”, “freedom” and “dependence” tomorrow. Right now I am only writing the question which will lead me to the story: Are you from those who can not be categorized? Life goes on… I am hungry…
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